Niggas claimin’ Gun Bar King? Niggas not me
I used to carry one, now I pair it, they tryna (*crowd*: mock me)
I could take that bar and switch how it’s comin’ at ya
Like, I used to carry one, now I pair it like “Polly want a cracker”
So you made up the phrase Gun Line King, save that
Nigga you owe me ’bout 2 years of homage and you ain’t paid yet
I told Smack “I’ll give Rum a shot off top.”
How can you knock off Roc when you’re a knock-off Roc?
The Cave is here, don’t disrespect in the spot
I have niggas that rep lick a shot and leave my replica shot
Ain’t nothin’ similar ’bout us
That sound like stupid shit, two tools to spit
I tuck the original then beat this copycat with the duplicate
Ruthless shit, somethin’ to air you
I have Nitty starin’ down a shotgun: that’s how you put Rum in a barrel
Fuck up his apparel, this mag’ full of hollows
Leave Rum split down the middle like niggas went half on the bottle
(That’s light! This is my house!)
But look, fuckin’ wit me tonight? This where your ship sink
Talk shit, when Rum get punched it ain’t a mixed drink
We run in his house, click-clank
My man cover the top floors
Roc got the bottom covered like a fish tank
We search the whole crib, make sure the shit’s scanned proper
If your bitch don’t open the safe, she get the shit slammed out her!
Pump with a clip lookin’ like a big damn chopper
She’ll have to duck a shotgun like she Hitman Holla!
(That’s light! It’s a long night bro!)
When Smack said “you versus Nitty,” I said “I’ll take him happily.”
I just battled Arsonal, this shit is degradin’ actually
Fuck it, if he touch me I make a casualty
It’ll be off on a limb, I’m puttin’ Rum in a blender and makin’ Daiquiris
I’m Bruce Leroy, tell your niggas I’m with the action
Sho’nuff, when it glow you’ll be the last nigga draggin’ (dragon)
I’ll put you in the sky, nigga, you can sit with Jasmine
Meaning you’ll be laid out on the carpet if I get a lad’ in (Aladin)
This Desert from the Middle East, the lead clap
No turban but I’ll K the nigga and leave his head wrapped
Try and play me in the place
I play with beams, if you don’t see a G hide (Jihad)
A ray be in (Arabian) a nigga face
Like carryin’ school lunch, the tre be by a nigga waist
Or I let a nina take him out: that’s a dinner date
I tell the waiter “That’s my man over there, send a stake!”
Y’all gone see him get the stuff in his face like the dinner great
Boy I will let a Eagle clean your clock, I always had a loose screw
To make this bird pop out the box, you must be cuckoo!
‘Cause a man gettin’ shot, I get my hands on a Glock
I have a metal round in the middle of him like a grandfather clock
You said you’ll leave Roc on Ave like cobblestone
You should stop it soon
Before I catch you and the Poet, I got a lot of goons
That a run up on him… Sonic BOOM!
They’ll find Rum on KG
What’s that? Kevin Garnett drinkin’ in the locker room
You told Clips you could flip out with two bars, cool
Well when I clap mine
I just leave a nigga dead with one flat line
I come to Arizona to air a zone, I pack mine
Y’all gone see the 4th Quarters split like it’s half time
Oh nah, he Team Homi now, nigga, fuck you still!
I put you in the same Pontiac trunk as the other fuckin’ Will (wheel)
I fuck with Swave, the love is real
‘Cause I can dap the whole Team Homie, get to Rum and snuff him still
NOME 6, I’m tired of waitin’
Next Summer, if I don’t see Hollow, Hitman, Con, no conversation
You can’t take my spot, this spot is taken
If Smack was hoopin’ and his ball went flat, he’d never find a Roc replacement—light bars!
[Round 1: Rum Nitty]
You not even the leader in your clique, go and get your boss
Nigga’s soft, and speakin’ all that killer talk
Is really just gone get you off’d
He gave me a shot in Irving Plaza though, real nigga y’all
If I return the favor it’ll be another venue lost!
A clip get tossed, we get sticks involved
For war we ready, Russian AK-47, Kalashnikov
Conceited said it’s me and you next… tell him don’t get involved!
I might snap your neck after I black Roc eye, Con (black rock icon)
I’ll Jimi Hendrix y’all!
Don’t piss me off, I’ll do you very bad
I’m ruthless, I can kill you Jerry Heller fast
Bullet like a Pepsi can, you say some light shit
‘Til somethin’ big races (racist) and you go in a heavy bag
But you wanna hold the G.O.A.T. spot
Cool, I’m thinkin’ after this cut I give you, I know you won’t Roc
Shit is over, close shot
.357, six shooter, give him Polio shots
Bah! Fuck a distance, close-range the best
Think The Game of Death
‘Cause I let a kick from one foot stay in your chest
The fans tellin’ me, “Use more personals!
Put the gunlines up! Add some angles!”
I’m thinkin’, if he get personal you’ll see the gun line up at an angle!
Is that an angle?!
The upper room where the ladder take you
I let it go behind your back: nigga that’s betrayal
You get to actin’ brave and you get bodied wit him
Mini chopper pistol
Tempt me and I’ll let this Draco loose like Rihanna trippin’
You all can get it
I hit Wolf out in Harlem with it
Y’all gone see me put I.C.E. on Roc: it’s like I’m water-whippin’
But this nigga so trash, y’all be givin’ a pass
He be sayin’ shit like “Area 59,” “Sat-ur-in,” and y’all niggas react
This battle shit is turnin’ into the music industry, facts
‘Cause the shit on the radio sound good
But they don’t make sense when they rap
And what’s the top-tier motto?
“It’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.”
That means “Fuck the content, it’s ’bout the cadence.”
Don’t make sense but it sounds amazin’
Then the crowd go crazy, I had enough of that!
I shove a gun down your throat and tell you run it back
I go in your mouth with the lil’ Uzi: NOW YOU CAN MUMBLE-RAP!
BRRRAT! (THIS is why you was duckin’ me!)
(That was why he was duckin’!)
These niggas not as tough as they sound
I mean they only really tough in they rounds
Fuck Rum, the gun Brandy: it’ll lay a wannabe down
Nah, fuck that! I get drunk then crash your shit
Henny shots then lay a wannabe down soon as the Brandy hit
Now that’s legit, I wish you would try, fam stop
Double-barrel so the 12 take both sides: good cop/bad cop
Nah, I lift the carbon up, click [?]
If you ain’t got it on you I’ll plant Roc
You not nice you kiddin’ me, you not grippin’ heat
You light with no gun: Top Flight Security
This where the hype stop
I got the biggest heat
But you’ll get the little nickel piece since you light, Roc
That was light, Roc
Watch your mouth ‘fore I leave you leakin’ from it
Don’t be speakin’ funny
Or get your jaw tapped, you’ll be speakin’ funny
I got past security with this heat I’m tuckin’
I snuck the MAC backstage: don’t make me Sigel somethin’
I pull up at your moms in a taxi, leave the meter runnin’, run in
Slap the plate out her hand like “Sorry bitch, I don’t eat turducken!”
We do not play!
Put two in your chest when the chop’ raise
Then one mo’ could (mocha) sit in your mug
I do this shit a lot, Tay! (latte)
Fuck a Dot Cave!
It’s 4th motherfuckin’ Homi, my whole team might bang
And them niggas will get on your head if you speak my name
Nigga we not playin’, fully automatic pop
Then I let Jesus handle Roc thinkin’ he got game!
Nigga real shit, you can’t keep it real yourself
Nigga suicide or I’ll do the job, you decide, kill yourself!
[Round 2: Tay Roc]
First round I was bein’ nice, the courtesy is done
Tell your mother I ain’t takin’ care of you ‘til that paternity is done
You are my child, this certainly is fun
I feel like 50 in that episode of Power
Killin’ him lettin’ him know you don’t deserve to be my son
This is where I put you in time-out! Get in the corner!
Be in the house when them streetlights come on
Or I’m flippin’ on ya!
I will beat ya ass in front of your friends, start pickin’ on ya
Long as you in my house there’s some shit we gonna get in order!
Do everything that your mother say, ‘cause that’s my broad
And you better not disrespect your mother, ‘cause that’s my job!
Fraud! Now you punished for the rest of the night!
Wastin’ my time playin’ checkers… I was tryna play Chess tonight!
That’s my other son
We’ll get to that and another one
Look like a percussionist wit’ two sticks and a double drum
You want trouble? I’m troublesome!
I’ll let it pop in his mouth when I air rounds like bubble gum
Act like you men never bleed
You’ll get hit wit’ a hollow
Hollow get hit wit’ a K too: that’s synthetic weed
You can send medics, please!
I wait ‘til a train comin’, you get tied to the tracks like synthetic weave
Nah… check out the plot when I go schemin’
Claude Banks, Ray Gibson: you’ll lose your life for no reason
Meaning? The can gripped tight
You say the wrong gun line, I’ll fuck up ya life
That’s somethin’ that you can’t get right
Nah, FUCK the back-and-forth, I ain’t playin’ your game
Gun Bar King, stop takin’ my name and makin’ it lame
You plan on takin’ my chain?
For your life I’ll make the exchange
I’m in the field with a Tom and 12 on me like a Patriots game
This nigga said I don’t got bars… fuck what this clown think!
The pound put Rum on ice: watered-down drink
I ain’t an alcoholic, I don’t drink the most
A couple Glocks get Rum double shot when I raise the toast
That’s a great approach
Damn, this a real slaughter
.50 clip, you in some shit, man I just feel for ya
I’ll make this shit a movie, the cannon’ll peel on ya
Kill your whole house and call that “Am-Nittyville Horror”
Roc fire, you touch it and burn Nitty
Lately I been playin’ with lasers, the inf a turn Nitty
I kill niggas in this building and this your turn Nitty
You sleep on me and you gon’ end up sleepin’ for eternity
I can get you murked for the bills with the blue strips
I know [?] that’ll make a movie out him for a few scripts
True shit, you won’t have a Thanksgiving, I’ll get rid of it
You come home, open your oven and find your kid in it nigga
Your mother don’t love me, she just love Daddy dick
Stay in your own bag and stop sneakin’ in Daddy shit
Now all of a sudden you want this gun bar wave heavy
But you a Crip nigga with punches, you one of Magic’s tricks
But what broke my heart and had to make me sad
I had to cut his mother off, that bitch had to make me mad
That paternity test came in though, I actually am glad
‘Cause it said “Roc, you are not the father, B Magic is his dad.”
That means I’m your step pops
I still give your mama backshots
And I hope you find that porno me and her made on your laptop
I dare him want a fight, it’ll be a burial tonight
Nitty, you die on Ave: you like Harold at the light
Tried to tell him that this ain’t what he want from me
Battle rap is not a job to me, this shit is fun to me
Fuck a scheme, angle or punch… and fuck Rum Nitty!
A gun is the only thing to get the job done for me
[Round 2: Rum Nitty]
They’ll be reminiscin’ over you since you wanna compete Roc
You try to keep up, we hear the struggle in ya bars like you T-Top
We keep chops
He try runnin’ out the room when the heat cock—bah!
This bitch’ll hit you throught the wall and lay you in a sheet Roc
We takin’ it back to when niggas have to rap
No antics Smack
And that gun line back-to-back shit, I mastered that
You got guns in half your raps, but never had the gat
At 17, I had two ’cause I had to, nigga that’s a fact
You and Surf get half the strap, ratchet clap
It ring and put a Title in the sky: that’s a ladder match
This my style, why would I steal Roc’s? Nigga stop it
Soon as you say I copy, machines come out: that’s a Xerox
Mook hit me up and said he respect my grind
So how I’m not live
When even your bossman’s bossman got me in his top 5?
They say fuckin’ wit you I’ma get taught a lesson
‘Cause all I got is bars and he’s wild aggressive
I’m cool, calm, collective
And I do not respect you
You get outta pocket Roc, get the pocket rocket after I pocket check you
[Fight almost breaks out]
You told Calicoe you “not Pat Stay” and he’ll get shot for doin’ it
…But he didn’t get shot for doin’ it
You pussy, shoulda got extorted
You carbon copy, my carbon probly got a couple bodies on it
My nigga Rich brought a [?]
It’s from Mexico so if you wanna trip then let Rocky point it
Blaoh! But you the nigga with the big cans
I don’t believe nothin’ this bitch said
How Surf help you with your shit, fam?
I mean you gone need a ghost assistin’ with a Roc like The 6th Man
If this jam, head go over the fishing tank, you get pushed in
I’ma hold you down ’til you die, I’m a good friend
Then show up at that funeral service
Set the casket on fire, K-Shine: I leave that whole funeral burnin’
But everything out your mouth is “chopper that”, “chopper this” nigga
‘Til I run down on you like “Where that chopper at?” lil’ bitch nigga!
You lost to Surf and Magic, now to this nigga
That’s why Roc ain’t got the K, he’s not a Crip Killer
You done partner, I should unbox ya
You light with the punch
I throw a lighter in the palm and make the punch harder
I get to spazzin’ on cousin
This a motherfuckin’ bag, you better have somethin’ bad you wrote for me, smoke you fast as 420
Clip out the nickel look like a panhandle
I can give you what you askin’ for, money
But you rap about all these straps and never got caught with it
My first gun charge was deadly misconduct with a concealed weapon, I was poppin’ shit
That’s not an acomplishment
But if you out here shootin’ like he say he doin’, you gone catch a charge, that’s obvious
With these I’m dead nice, get your head iced
The situation can get outta Roc’s hand
I don’t gotta put on a red light
But this bitch’ll throw lead, the kick like a Pro-Ked
I make you eat the sub quick as a Conehead
Your face get blown in
They can’t explain what happened to Roc like Stonehenge
And you don’t even keep a gun
You got these fans thinkin’ you a live nigga like Afeni son
I’ll light Roc like a fiend tryna treat his lungs
Said I ain’t had substance, you just seen me smokin’ a legal one
Real shit, nigga can’t keep it real yourself
Nigga suicide or I’ll do the job, you decide, kill yourself!
[Round 3: Tay Roc]
(Not gone touch you neither)
Real shit, are you either a fiend or a fan?
This nigga be hittin’ Smack like “Yo, yo if you can give me Roc I, I, I got these cheeseburgers maaan…”
You had on fake Jordans last battle
(Those real but the last ones was fake)
You could see the nigga lost
How you ain’t know they was fake?
The Jordan logo looked like Jesus on the cross
(Shout out to Ill Will though ’cause he helped me think of this)
He think he is your gunner Smack
I ain’t the weaker person
You like him ’cause he do everything Roc do
He just a cheaper version
Nah nah, he think he is your gunner Smack
‘Cause he went from Ave straight to Clips
But it’s NOME 6, damn near sold out, he battlin’ me
And you barely paid him shit!
But he think he is your gunner Smack
I’ve been here since a teenager
You had me out in Detroit turnin’ dirty money to Qleen Paper
He think he is your gunner Smack
You think you me?
Go do a battle at UDubb, I bet you ain’t comin’ back
(Facts, facts, facts!)
You won’t accomplish as much in the game as I did
I’m good with gas but don’t really need it, I’m the hybrid
We in New York so it’s only right I take my kid
To the Bronx and let my son (Mysonne) off a high bridge
Ayy, I had to work out on my own when I bought this
I wasn’t sightseein’ but the kick back tore a wrist (tourist)
You know how a kickback tourist be sightseein’
You don’t know half of the shit you might be in
You gone have a hard time at night sleepin’
When I’m masked up broad daylight
You in that same trouble that Mike P in
Your bitch’s mouth I might pee in
We ain’t at all homies
That disrespectful style from Ars kinda rubbed off on me
Fuck you and everything you represent!
I’ll T Rum, pee on him and make him the next president
Spell it out: T, Rum, P… that’s Trump!
Nigga, I’m hella sick, the weapon spit
Your temperature drop like the weather switched
Son wait, that was dumb straight
But back shot, bullet Steam out his chest (Chess)
The block smellin’ like rum cake
Run in his house with a bunch of rope and duck tape
With the barrel of the 12-gauge ya bitch get butt-raped
Your niggas gone flair a lot of candles
Trust me, I got a graveyard somewhere I can land you
Control your eyes, watch how you stare, I can blam you
Drum on the 9 lookin’ like a air hockey handle
Remember I said “50 clip, you in some shit…”?
Well this a drum Rum
Don’t get caught in the middle of this instrument
You ain’t even catch what I said, that was magnificent
Spell it out, the word “Rum” is in the middle of “instrument”
Niggas know where Tay Roc is from
Innocent bystanders hit when Tay got the gun
Everybody die, that day gotta come
You won’t make it to Christmas
When somethin’ slip in your egg noggin Rum
(Egg noggin Rum, Egg nog and Rum)
Come at the Cave like you so brolic, get dome shotted
Or stomped out in a bunch of Jordans and foam ‘posits
Act like you do when you don’t got it
You gone end up in a wheelchair usin’ that thing on your neck soundin’ all robotic
Who in here seen that movie Bad Santa?
Nigga I know you heard of that
Well I let it peel, SIG smoke faster than Bernie Mac
I’ll murk a cat
Your neck get cut soon as you turn your back
Meaning I’ll give your jugular knives, look like a circus act
(Juggle knives, circus)
Why you trappin’ a mouse?
You disrespect me, quickest way to get you smacked in the mouth
You a King of the Dot nigga, fuck are you rappin’ about?
Over here tryna fit in like Blac Chyna in the Kardashian house nigga
Fuck outta here!
Ayy, call for back up, I hope none of them come
If they do, the crime scene gone be a wonderful one
Cops pull me over like “Sir, what the fuck have you done?”
I got Nitty tied up in the trunk, I’m smugglin’ Rum
You gone beat me? Still niggas lyin’?
Tell him like I told the other, I don’t feel niggas rhymes
Who he foolin’ with them steel grippin’ lines?
Tell him fuckin’ with me he’ll get smacked, we on real nigga time
[Round 3: Rum Nitty]
Yo, now I can punch back to back, back to back
We all know I’m capable too
But before I get back into that, you got some explainin’ to do
Now I swear to God Ms. Hustle told me
You was out here fuckin’ with a tranny she knew
And I want y’all to ask her too
Said that they three-wayed you
While her and Dan Bars was at the booth so he know too
Swear to God that ain’t true
(*Tay Roc*: swear to God)
Was those lies my nigga? You got proof?
Was it a different Roc? Was it you?
So that D Nanny wasn’t DNA in NY
God, you was out here fuckin’ on a tranny
You on a DL, nigga you lied
Why? Alright, I’ma stop PP
But I’m willin’ to bet $50 with a grant on it that your favourite wrestler was Rikishi
You sweet, these niggas marks
We up close and personal wit it, ain’t no squeezin’ out the car
12-inch tactical blade reach into your heart
He sleep with a knife on his chest like Deebo in the yard
I don’t think these niggas smart
Smack, why we had to wait for the 20th for me to burn shots
Why not the 1st or the 15th?
Those are the best days to serve Roc
This bird pop, I don’t think cuz want it
I shoot your mug, Frank Lucas rug
What I’ll pack a (alpaca) have your blood on it
You want problems, make a choice
Top shotta, get your top shot up, you hear that yappa makin’ noise
I brought the chopper for your boy
And I’m sharp with the hands
You wouldn’t understand but Roc (Barack) a get the point
I let a gun blow, you don’t even gun toat
Straps everywhere, turn this bitch into a gun show
Both hands on a gun though
I’m in the gas station, what you think I put ten on pump for?
You want smoke?
I have shooters invadin’ yo spot, paid killas
‘Cause you know it’s a game winner when you put paper on Roc
Nigga stop, it’s like you joined the Dots yet
They not pushin’ your progress
No Total Slaughter or BET, they not lettin’ you Shine yet
You see how he got left
I mean how they expect Roc to cook when he don’t get his piece of the pie Rex? (pyrex)
And your bitch-ass brother cannot be yo nigga
Why is he lettin’ you leave the house with them dumb-ass writtens
I know he heard you fuckin’ up while you spittin’
Misspellin’ puttin’ wrong presidents on the .50
You don’t think smart
You said some shit like your whip a look like it hit a deer
But that’s just my DE and AR
And now it sounds fire if you don’t understand the shit
‘Til you think about it, catch the shit and realise you gassed it, quit
‘Cause that’s his trick and he mastered it
I can’t believe half the shit you say fam
I mean you’s about as dumb as a cavem– damn!
It’s been enough runnin’, I brought the duck tape
Hell, you get amped with these two 12’s
It’ll have me makin’ Trump space
The gun raise, you gotta zigzag, don’t run straight
I shot it through a duffel bag, I ain’t even drop a slug case
You never beat a gun case, Tay twot
I take the .40 out the box and beat you with the gun case
Gunplay, shit sound like a drum base
Baoh! That’s how I roll up Roc with somethin’ loud: the blunt laced
Shit is over, think not
Biggie mama on Notorious: I can trash you with a throwaway Roc
All that gun talk’ll make me dump mine off
And you’ll fuck around and lose your life over a gun line boss
Real talk, nigga you can’t keep it real yourself
Nigga suicide or I’ll do the job, you decide, kill yourself
Follow us on Twitter @BattleLyrics