Arsonal vs. Brizz Rawsteen [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Brizz Rawsteen]
Brizz vs Ars’, it’s gon’ be a crazy one
There’s a lotta battles on this card, this gon’ be ya favorite one
And I ain’t gon’ play wit’ him
So he back SMACK? Cool
No sayin’ he’s sorry
Today my birthday, I brought a couple thangs to the party
For you to get them dreads clapped and leave wit’ ya head wrapped like Damian Marley
Get ya cranium parted
He got drive but if he test I roast (Testarossa), this ain’t a Ferrari
Let’s bet it Ars’, I want that better Ars’, that legend Ars’
That used to be the bus driver, pick the kids up by 7:00 Ars’
Desi spark, take his head apart
On stage like, “What now?” Nigga I’m Kevin Hart
This where the fuckin’ stops
How you a gang member and ya man is a fuckin’ cop?
Never mind, fuck you, tell ya mother I said, “Suck a cock”
We only here tonight cause ya bitch ass was duckin’ Roc
On the main stage, then booked him on ya lame stage
Roc fucked you up and I’ma do you the same way
I scrape graves, no I leave him with No Ceiling 2 (too) like a Wayne tape
The cal’ will blast I kill him at 4:00 PM In Calabasas like my name Drake
Aim great, I bet his top tear (tier) when I Hitman like a Hollow Surf and the brain waves
Magazine after magazine after ma- wait, wait, let me get y’all on the same page
You remember Durrell, Mr. Got More Fame Than Money
When the game done brung him from plain and bummy to chains and money
He done moved down to Florida wit’ his favorite honey
Where it shade and sunny
I’m like, “Oh you think you made it dummy.”
You don’t think the Gang is hungry
To Cave ya roof in with two tens, who need change for twenty?
Ya daughter gettin’ chained to something
I put her face in the sink and a pipe under ya wife, I ain’t changin’ plumbing
Knock, knock nigga I’m at the door
I’m not a matador, I go head up wit’ the bull and I crack the horns
You gon’ say I’m signed to SMACK, of course
Bitch I got OG’s that been sellin’ smack before SMACK was born
I see the signs, amazin’ what a queer he is (Aquarius) but with a Taurus I’ll cap a corn (Capricorn)
He know I’m the shit, I know he a bitch
Nigga Lux ya father, but ironic I’m the one that keep ya mother Loaded wit’ dick
I’m wildin’ right?
Well we can throw down, whatever round you like
I make it rain on his block for a thousand nights
Under the umbrella, scoopin’ shit like Italian Ice
Fuck that shit talk, nigga let me see that Crip Walk
Cause I see Bloods in ya future, and you know they love that stick talk
That stick talk to every Grape on the family tree and get ’em picked off
I always been around Gunplay, I feel like Rick Ross
I pull up on the block wit’ friends, clip and the Glock extends
Call it “Divac” that shit longer than Vlade chin
If it’s a problem then, I have a Hot 97 shot, shakin’ the block like Bobby Trends
Shit stickin’ out this bitch wig ain’t no bobby pins
It be a hole in the body big enough to fit a body in
Get ya gang involved, I brought pain for y’all
Or have a nigga you don’t know let it ring, you ever seen When A Stranger Calls?
Clip empty, cool
Well this left over shit gon’ do more than stain ya drawers
It won’t take long
Soon as I make calls, it’s pretty much Nicholas Cage, a nigga Face Off
I told SMACK, for that petty dinero I’ll leave his head over there bro
Two straps over the shoulder and a flame on the side like I’m Eddie Guerrero
I hit his head wit’ an arrow
Rounds on his top like he’s wearing Sombreros
I’ll put a number two pencil all in the air hole
Break it into the blood leakin’ all on the earlobe
I’m that fuckin’ wild
They think I killed a Detroit nigga
Cause wit’ the Calicoe I had traffic backed up for Miles
My shit is raw, my name is Raw, my shit is Rawthentic
And you can’t spell “brawl” without puttin’ that ‘rawl in it
You can’t spell “draw” without puttin’ that ‘rawl in it
If you heard I fucked ya wife I prolly went raw in it

 

[Round 1: Arsonal]
Before I get it crackin’ man, I just wanna say, I appreciate my fans. This might be my last time y’all see me on a URL stage and I appreciate y’all man

Once again I’m here-

[Crowd]
I’m in another nigga’s state
Up on another nigga’s stage, up in another nigga’s face

[Arsonal]
Brizz vs Arsonal, this gon’ be a crazy one
I know that’s ya man SMACK but dawg ain’t no savin’ him
This lil’ light of mine, I let it Shine, I put a K to him
It’s O’fficial, why? I done knocked all of the DNA from him
Saga better pray for him, Rain better spray for him
I got a gun so big it ain’t a sound effect that Big T can make for ’em
They like, “Why the NWX scheme? What sense do that make to him?”
Cause T-Top yo’ right hand so why that clique raisin’ him?
I’ll leave him hog tied
Kick in the door, roof, that’s how the dog died
Metal above ya nose now you cross eyed
Two lumps stickin’ out his head lookin’ like he frog eyed
Then I open hand slap him with a knuckle that said “Came From The Darkside”
I gave him more shit
This left hook feel like a horse kick
Twizz stop recordin’ forget cameras, big hammers on some Thor shit
This side bitch split up families, she divorce shit
This .40 bust way different than the nigga O-Dog was in the store wit’
I came Locin’, lettin’ off SIG (cig) after SIG (cig); I’m chain smokin’
Bitch nigga tenancies layin’ Brizz and Frank in the same Ocean
I’m a real nigga, I’m talkin’ shackles on ankles and chains chokin’
They say you deserved it if you die and ya eyes remain open
Man, my niggas don’t give a fuck, ya niggas got remorse
.40 will take ya daddy from ya mama like them niggas got divorced
I got a rifle wit’ a scope on it, bullets spittin’ out wit’ force
That Polo man that be on ya shirt? I’m tryin’ to hit him off his horse
You ain’t never gave ya family nothin’
These cats slam, it’s time I Randy somethin’
I’m out the Camry dumpin’
You better hope Swag don’t hand me somethin’
All y’all gon’ see is Brizz and his team fall outta nowhere
Think Toy Story when Woody yell “Andy’s coming!”
Y’all are just a bunch of big bitches that’s packin’, I see trannies comin’
If you ain’t tryin’ to use yo’ hands wit’ me nigga don’t try and hand me nothin’
Cause anybody can shoot a gun
Grrr, I’ll treat him like Kunta if he choose to run
Grrr, The coroner gon’ be givin’ out Lyfts soon as that Uber done
You know you in some shit when you pop shit and yo’ shooters run
Why your name “Raw” and you don’t know what to do wit’ none?
You in a dry bando, I kick in the door, fly camo’
Slap the shit out the bitch at the stove with my banjo
Niggas done tried Rambo
Darkside, I let ’em all in
Take ’em paint ballin’ and load up my guns wit’ live ammo
Nigga this is nine years of knowledge, you should be learnin’ off the dreads
Think chlamydia if I freestyle cause I could still burn him off the head
No homo
Pistol whip ya head, butt, no Ocho
The .40 jam I gotta go for the .9 like go Romo
Pssst, you plain to me, Jermaine Dupri your flow So So
I’ll whip Rock ’til he raw tell OT that it’s no cocoa
I’m a legend in battle rap
For this culture you ain’t done nothin’
You done bluffin’?
Pistol whip him and now he got a concussion
This nigga still ain’t done bluffin’
You the type of nigga that’ll run a train on yo’ bitch wit’ yo’ man, then eat her pussy when you done fuckin’
You nasty nigga
That’s why it look like ya sideburns got ringworm
All this shit comin’ straight off the top, that’s a mean perm
No activator, I’m Russell Crowe, I’m a Gladiator
Put a potato on the nose and squeeze nigga that’s how you make mashed potatoes
What else on that plate? Ask me
I got beans, greens, tomatoes, potatoes-
My shit is real, my shit is raw, my shit is authentic
You can’t spell “bars” without puttin’ that Ars’ in it

[Round 2: Brizz Rawsteen]
I say yo, fuck all that rah rah, I came to let my men check him
Bitch, you gotta about five/ten seconds before I palm this Wesson
You better calm that breadren
You think it’s a game? Nigga the clip longer than a Meek Mill comment section
Bitch stop actin’ like you changed the game
Nigga you left SMACK, started ya own league and the white man made you change the name
Lux vs Hollow, that’s ya claim to fame
But you stole that from SMACK so really you shouldn’t claim a thang, nigga
URL killed Ultimate Warrior, now it’s dead like the real Ultimate Warrior
SMACK, we gotta make a movie, first
I gotta see how that Uzi work
Then paint them dreads another color, Lil’ Uzi Vert
Baow, too much sauce
They gonna try to put yo’ shit back together my nigga, but I done knocked too much off
You came this far, millions of views and fame from bars
To bein’ one of the lamest Ars’
Jersey’s Crip, yeah he carried the flame for y’all
Then a St. Louis Blood killed you and became a star
Nigga this .40 wanna know why you wasn’t on the last SMACK
BAOW! You can have that!
That ain’t even what I’m mad at
What I’m mad at? You turned down Roc on URL but booked him on your league but didn’t tell SMACK that
What I’m mad at? The man your mother was, pussy, you’ll never be half that
What I’m mad at? Your last 30 battles just been somethin’ to laugh at
Know what I’m mad at? You was fake in Jersey, Surf became the face of Jersey and you never got past that
What I’m mad at? You turned your back on Suge, you a hoe diva
I mean where you at when your Crip folk nigga ya?
Three years they went broke with no leader
Nigga SMACK had to put the C’s on they feet like coach sneakers
You better get fuckin’ lost, I’m a fuckin’ dawg
I’ll fuck ya mother in her ass and make her suck it off
All sorta options, nigga I’m talkin’ leg up, hand behind her head wit’ his daughter watchin’
You ain’t never had to steal them battles
You started ya own league and was stealin’ battles
You got the face of a nigga I steal in battles
Said you retire my nigga, but you still in battles
Now, you wanna talk about Dot Mobb
Even though every nigga in my crew was in ya top 5
Yeah they was nigga, stop lyin’
You a dread head, one up in ya rasclot get ya top fried
Leave these shits all red lookin’ like Hot Fries
Ya wife told me to tell Top “hi”
The bitch gave me top and was givin’ all kinda hi-5’s
And I bet y’all ain’t know that bitch was cockeyed
See it’s all about a check, I tie a cord around her neck and throw ya daughter down the steps
This [?] will knock out a quarter pound of flesh
Coulda been killed you, SMACK said it wasn’t worth it yet
You got the worst respect
I can’t work wit’ that but I can work the TEC
We pop up, the car full of 30’s these ain’t Percocets
You bitches in love wit’ life, you don’t even wanna flirt wit’ death
I’ll kill all you Grape Street niggas, I’ll make a purple mess
It’ll be a fuckin’ slaughter, down in fuckin’ Florida
This Grape Street nigga was gettin’ chased out the events by Trump supporters
That’s a fact ain’t it?! Ain’t it?!
Aight then, once again, fuck ya daughter
She old enough, I’ma fuck ya daughter
My machete, leave a Jersey nigga in all red, man (Redman) drowning in Muddy Waters
That’s fuckin’ fire nigga
Darkside, mainly gifted, trained militia
I’ll rock a fella (Rocafella) wit’ D-12 and the Eminem (mm) in a suit, for the Shady business
I’ll knock her teeth out, go and get ya babe some dentures
For them six flags I come through Jersey lettin’ that machine scream, “Welcome to Great Adventures”
I told Top, “Bring the apron witcha.”
Roc, we finna make some dinner
And cook ’em in front y’all like an Asian nigga
Gun in the doo rag, watch how it waves on niggas
In the face it look like you got AIDS my nigga
He dead holmes, before you Pass, pay the dead toll
I’m Loaded wit’ a Calicoe and it’s gon’ be a lot of head rolls
I’ma lay him down bro
It’s muffles on the sound bro
But this one Loaded wit’ a Charlie Clip, look at how it come around tho’
He gettin’ it bad, I’m kickin’ his ass
Tell the crowd how ya mother used to sit in the cab and suck dick for the cash
They said that nasty bitch had genital warts on her mouth and was pickin’ her scabs
Came home and was kissin’ ya dad
How sickenin’ is that?
Look how I got him in his feelings
The .40 like a nigga with all performance, you know I got it in the buildin’
Yeah, I bet he know now, I bet he know now, I bet he know now
For three whole rounds, I drag dawg ’round the table like Martin when he was actin’ like Nino Brown
Stick a syringe in his neck and bring the needle ’round
When I trips, heads crack they think we playin’ cee-lo now
Darkside nigga

[Round 2: Arsonal]
You from North Carolina, right?

[Brizz]
By the way of…

[Arsonal]
I should punch you in ya fuckin’ face
Just for lettin’ Donald Trump win ya fuckin’ state
I wanna beat ya skull wit’ a cinder block ’til I hear somethin’ break
Stab you on ya birthday in the neck and use the same knife to cut ya cake
You a fake tough nigga, actin’ like he’ll hurt me
I ain’t even worried, I’ll run down until my sneakers’ dirty
I’ll be in Jersey and keep a .30
Cause of that, my whole hood callin’ my bitch, “Ayesha Curry”
Now let’s play a game
It’s called, “Who Are You: Remind Me”
I mean you Murder Inc but you the bitch in ya crew, you Ashanti
I mean, I was trapped in the game since a youngin’, I had to grind B
Came out a grown ass man, I’m Allen in Jumanji
Now roll the dice, this a prototype vs a poltergeist
Lyrically this is Nasir Jones versus Obie Trice
I’m Ginobili nice, what’s the .40 price
Cause I retired them two .4’s, they on that night stand, sittin’ next to Kobe wife
One of these will break a nigga jaw
I get to trippin’ on Sunday you’ll be sippin’ ya Thanksgiving through a straw
I give a fuck if we fistfight, you takin’ a loss
What I gotta spell it out?
It’ll be (B) raw L if we “brawl”
But on the flip side, you still catchin’ an L if we go to war B
Damn, that was “brawl” back and forth G, don’t cross me
I’ve been fire, off top and my pen fire
{Slight stumble}
Rubber grip around the metal I call it a thin tire
I’m here, Top here, you there
Statistically you North Carolina niggas always been behind bars
Why you think Petey Pablo is in jail on Empire?
Now I’m thinkin’ fast food, only fast food when I disrespect a nigga
Meaning, I doubt if anybody from Raleigh gonna check a nigga
I give him that number nine, super size, somethin’ extra nigga
SMACK fuck this battle, I came in this buildin’ to really disrespect this nigga
Violate yo’ space nigga, I get all in ya shit
I’ll leave ya whole family disabled nigga, all of us Crips
I’ll hook Top, he’ll lean on me, you gon’ think the doc wrote all of us scripts
This left hook gon’ look like I hit ya jaw wit’ a brick
I’m tryin’ to fight after
Like, soon as he yell “time” I’m talkin’ RIGHT after
I’ma smoke a blunt then rob the nigga blind, I’ma hijacker (high jacker)
Now I told Serius Jones it’s a lot of talent in battle rap, but you ain’t got ’em either
Why they keep feedin’ the top tiers to the bottom feeders?
But my money long, I can afford to kick yo’ ass in designer sneakers
This nigga nice, I swear to God, that’s why I’m finna let him rhyme for Jesus
You gon’ fuck around and die tonight
Yo’ lil’ heart, finna stop tonight
SMACK, tell him, I already copped a flight
He first class on a one way to open up for ‘Pac tonight
Brizz try to stunt on me, not happenin’
Shotgun bark like “Boom”! John Madden him
Ray, you said I only get one shot, I look back at him
Said, “Not wit’ that extendo I had. I been practicin’.”
My knuckle game ill, I’ll fight, y’all wrestlin’
One arm cross face, chicken wing I’ll Bob Backlund him
I know a lot of y’all hate on Ars’, but why tackle him?
Y’all know the slogan, haters they pivot while I’m travellin’
Now makin’ it out my hood ain’t suggested, it’s a goal now
Suicidal thoughts, he commit ’em, he send his soul down
Why your little brother chose to be gay with all these hoes ’round?
Oh let me guess, they forcin’ faggot acceptance, they puttin’ it in the shows now
But what’s on TV ain’t reality tho’
Cause security can stop a fight on a reality show
But on this stage, nah, my niggas out here carryin’ bro
You’ll be underground on in the tub man (Tubman); Harriet flow
My city like Compton in the 80’s
When bitches asses were real and they were wobbling in them daisies
Bitches was real too, wasn’t no option to be shady
Your baby mother file her taxes just to make a profit off ya baby
Her baby father a loser, ya older brother, he a shooter
14 wit’ a Ruger, nightmare worse than Krueger
I’ll drive-by on a scooter, no regret to the ops
I’m screamin’, “I shot the sheriff”, no respect for the cops
Now you said, you would fuck my mother in the ass and make her suck it off
No, you’re gay, you will bend over and try to make my mother suck a fuckin’ fart
Cause you’se a bitch nigga
My shit is real, my shit is raw, my shit is authentic
You can’t spell “bars” without puttin’ that Ars’ in it

[Round 3: Brizz Rawsteen]
So you the most poppin’ battle rapper?
A lot of people that been viewin’ you?
Well all that mean to me is that it’s gon’ be a lot of people at ya funeral
You done came up here and talked what you used to do
I’m like whoopty whoop nigga we used to you
See the game no longer has any use for you
And at night I gotta unloose the screws
And it’s cool, because before rap I worked on roofs wit’ tools
Now I use tools to get a nigga roof removed
I’m work for these niggas
All legends on my resume and if I ain’t kill ’em, I been hurtin’ these niggas
You know we rivals, nigga you know Loaded Lux, bitch I know loaded rifles
You will see clip after clip, oh now we goin’ viral
They don’t give credit but when you winnin’ they ain’t supposed to like you
My pops said, “Son, so what they got more bread, that just mean they ain’t molded like you.”
Motherfucker that’s my style that was stolen by you
I need to get Paid In Full or I’ma pull up like Rico on a motorcycle
It’s loyalty over money, stay wit’ a Hollow like I’m close with Nigel
I’ll tell ya daughter like, “Lil’ bitch. I throw you right through-
The TV. Face first. I Poltergeist you.”
I need the body way down in the jungle deep, I Dolomite you
I’m somethin’ that a bitch won’t play wit’
I’m on stage lookin’ for the .40
Soon as this located, baow, everything gettin’ dislocated
Clip disappear in a Crip mouth, I think this Loc, ain’t it?
I ain’t talkin’ ’bout Trick Trick and how he bullied you
And I ain’t talkin’ ’bout you denyin’ Suge even though that was a pussy move
I’m talk about you gettin’ chased by G Mayne Frost, he ran you out the club, had you lookin’ like a pussy duke
Scared of the white boy, look at you
In Florida, you had a chance to do what Trayvon couldn’t do
So wait, you outta state lettin’ white men bitch you
In Florida, a state, where gun right defend you
Gang member, and he had a licensed pistol
Heard you was in the car, lotta wipes and tissues
Ya man the police, he was right there witchu
You laughin’, but y’all let these niggas slide with these types of issues
You fuckin’ faggot
I put ya daughter in the trash wit’ some fuckin’ maggots
Take the body out the bag then I fuckin’ drag it
Up the block, tell ya man L Wisdom I don’t fuck wit’ cops, nigga you not this stupid
We both was college students
I see you tryin’ to get the crowd into it
Usin’ ya fan base for the crowd influence
See what he tryin’ to do is talk gimmick while he paint a false image then tie you to it
Quit talkin’ diva, if you ever had quarters on the block I’m sure they was gettin’ dropped in the parkin’ meters
Aye Suge, Surf, come talk to me bro
Did this nigga used to be a Blood?
See, why won’t none of ya partners speak up?
I mean we all right here it ain’t hard to reach us
Coward, let’s talk about you Jersey niggas
I can go on for 30 minutes about you Jersey niggas
Like how O-Red the best and you the worst at sinnin’
How y’all use this gang shit as a thirsty gimmick
But none of y’all was birthed up in it
How Suge and Surf all up in the street wit’ they personal business
It’s shit like that just hurt me to witness
Hope they don’t see it, I’d hate to have to hurt me a witness
Reason for the extra credit on that work we’ve been given
Cause me and Top the only niggas in our class that had perfect attendance

{Crowd starts chanting 3-0}

Hold up! Whatchu tell Rex? You never seen Redman and Tretch chased but treated no suckas
But you did see Jim Jones and Cam’ get chased out the Rucker?
But you and all your fam’ came down to Florida and let one white boy chase y’all all out together
The irony
Nigga swear you ain’t run off with two bands worth of Beasley’s money
And when he seen you at the BET Award that shit ain’t seem as funny
They said you had the wide surprise eyes when you seen him comin’
They said he grabbed you by your motherfuckin’ neck, like, “My nigga. Have you seen my money?
No, no, no, my nigga I really need my money.”
This that lock the door ain’t nobody leavin’ money
They said you got away, called his phone like, “Yo I don’t appreciate you puttin’ your hands on me.”
Beasley responds, “You could’ve said that in my face my nigga. Ain’t you a man, homie?”
You ran and gotcha man on him
Rain had the can’ on him
C-Dub had the can’ on him
Right before my nigga Sheist was about them hands on him
His wife and the bitches they was with, this nigga ran on ’em
You ain’t nothin’ like me
My name Brandon, I’m the real thing damn it, you ain’t cut like me
Yeah I’m from Delaware
Yeah they well aware
I got niggas from Riverside to Belvidare that’ll leave you buried there
And I be everywhere
Niggas is Snakes in the game, so we move wit’ the Metal Gear
And I rep’ Carolina cause I was there for eleven years

{Crowd starts chanting 3-0 again}

That’s it, you put in all this work and nobody cared
Darkside nigga

[Round 3: Arsonal]
It looks like I wandered outta space again
I realize them killin’ off my own race again
If I’m back that mean SMACK must’ve emptied out the safe again
We was at ya brother funeral
The sound of ya mother cryin’ got my patience thin
So I walk up to his casket and shoot the nigga in the face again
I open up the wound that we put the staples in
This devious, I can’t pretend
I tryin’ to pierce ya bitch pussy with a safety pin
And then I pull out this one big ratchet; Ms. Gracie friend
Y’all gon’ see purple everywhere like a Laker’s win
Ya chances of beatin’ me are slimmer than Big T gettin’ in shape again
I’ll mush ya head in the same pan that I’m fryin’ bacon in
I’m Debo at the dice game, I’ma take the win
Then pray for forgiveness cause I hate to sin
Then bust a nut on ya new born face and chin
Ass whoopings I’m handin’ those out
.30’s on me nigga and the nose out
The whole can’ in yo’ mouth
Comin’ through yo’ chimney, I’m takin’ Santa’s old route
I wanna know how you the man in yo’ city, you ain’t even the man in yo’ house
We ain’t never heard of you
You out here doin’ the shit that birdies do
Man that .40 fuckin’ pretty and she [?] pretty too
Man I remember walkin’ to school, with a gun in my dirty shoe
What you? 32 with a .9?
Nigga I was nine with a .32
Man, stop the comments
Piece (peace) on me like I’m tryin’ to stop the violence
This ain’t rocket science
Boo! Boo! Boo! Then you hear awkward silence
I got a gun so big, it’ll knock the Big T off the blooblocka nigga
Hold ya head underwater now you Aqua Nigga
Shot the nigga, knife work, got the nigga
Rush them to the doctor nigga
Who would’ve knew you would’ve died from a Scar? Who you? Mufasa nigga?
You lyin’ (Lion) King
Comin’ into battles just tryin’ things
What make you think that you can stop a whole Arsonal
I tried to tell you ain’t no “i” in “team”
Let’s rewind to Trayvon, then fast forward to the riot scenes
A young nigga in the hood who city got destroyed and he ain’t got to see the finer things
That’s you Brizz, truth is, you are not raw
A lot of y’all tryin’ to mistake him for Roc, let me stop y’all
All I need is a Pyrex, some ice in a stove, I could lock Raw
Just for y’all thinkin’ Raw Roc, I’ma whip his ass and rock Raw
Man I ain’t come to swag on Brizz
I came to punch him in his face soon as he start rappin’
Pull a Joey Jihad on Brizz
I’m serious, whooo, I’ll pull a Math on Brizz
R.I.P. is somethin’ they’ll have to idol Brizz
You the type of nigga get emotional cause you ain’t see ya dad in a week
I’m the type of nigga make ya mother get out the car, pump the gas while I’m in the passenger seat
And she was drivin’
I’m her supervisor
Tell that ugly bitch I’m her new adviser
She gotta do somethin’ for the hood, what I gotta find ways to utilize her?
So while we sittin’ in the car, she suck my dick listenin’ to Young MA and Gucci Mane
What that mean? I guess that I’m her Uber driver
Uuuu-ber for those that ain’t get that
Was that a reach? Well sometimes you gotta reach just to catch that
Goin’ over heads is what I’m best at
I”m a veteran of this game, suck my dick if you don’t respect that
My shit is real, my shit is raw, my shit is authentic
And you can’t spell “bars” without puttin’ that “Ars” in it

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