Leprechaun-orange beard bars is somethin’ you gotta deal wit’!
Either that, or some real shit
I’m talkin’ no leg shots
The shit I palm for heads (foreheads) like I feel sick
Real shit, word to Mommy
For y’all thinkin’ this herb could stop me
My last 2-on-2, with Chess on my back: I’ll reverse the body!
I had to study this verse, rehearse the body
Then got a box to put you in one: I’m re-hearsin’ bodies
Get used to Steams shootin’ these niggas that’s not crew wit’ me
Wit’ army guns from the Carter battle, I got two or three
Old straps, ’cause these new clips (Clips) not what they used to be
You could be a bitch
When Dan yells (Danielle), I hear a broad now
Tell Chuck I’m tailored
We can converse whenever: I got star rounds!
‘Lyt get the longest night
King, you won’t see Day for a long while
I’ll take Chill’ out, and won’t calm down
Rip through the street, breakin’ ya block up: I’m layin’ tar down!
Who the God now?
Faking this inspiration, a sad actor
‘Cause you and B. Dot talked that shit, then battled white boys for the chain
For that factor, I gotta set him straight
‘Cause the only thing I’m offerin’ God is a flipped cap: that’s a collection plate
Bet he stay in his crib, screamin’, “Bar God!” like he did somethin’
Ashtray at Daishiki house: spinnin’ ’round his kids punchin’
Bet you gon’ say I used to choke a lot, and it’s disgustin’
But that shit got old before it started like Ben Button
Arnold and Wills: nigga, this kid drummin’ (Drummond)
Start sprintin’ when I’m hittin’, or y’all the Clintons
First you, then your bitch runnin’!
I’m feelin’ lucky, like Ace before Lulu and Mitch stunted
My palm itchy, I got the slot machine: I’mma hit somethin’
Stop talkin’! You did nothin’!
Hang it up, or these shots callin’
Before he bang on me, his end comin’
This kid buggin’, ’cause what he didn’t mention
Is it’s a ladder on this star’s .45, but that’s my secret extension
It’s like that!
Fuck you and ya light raps!
You taught your cousin how to hold the ratchet, then had to hold his casket? They hyped that
My unc’ gave me the gun from young, told me it’s my strap
Me, a group of niggas, and my gat
Off the stoop wit’ niggas, then right back
It grew wit’ niggas, but I ain’t like it…’cause of the nose: I’m Mike Jack!
Your light raps, it’s funny, ’cause you a fan of the boy Tay
This dick-rider ain’t wanna rock (Roc) wit’ Kannon ’til he joined Cave
But off Kannon, ’cause I took that battle for granted
But you got a death wish, I’m lettin’ the four grant it
You inherited this loss, money, so I can’t leave you alone (a loan) like poor parents!
These my war antics
But play hero, and settle for a cold cut like a store sandwich
I’m tryin’ to do more damage
Cut out the red meat ’til he turn vegan
This pussy goin’ back to Organik (organic)!
If your plan is to speak on Chess’ success, stop, chump
You ever heard
Me hate on that man? Not once
I’m from the Army: little bro ‘posed to be on the top bunk!
So stop frontin’ and drop somethin’
I got a bullet for every freckle on your face
Nigga, the club ain’t lit when ya spots jumpin’!
Wait, I forgot somethin’
One more subject to get touched
I hate wife-beaters, and you hit the slut when it get rough
So think Bonus Round, the way I be buckin’ his whip up
I’mma give D V cases for fuckin’ his bitch up!
One more thing that I got to do
He called me a janitor
Mailroom shit: this stock needed a ladder to get ya box to you
[Round 1: Danny Myers]
You went from Kareem Washington to “The Beam”
I’ll give you props to the fullest
But I’m a Wizard…
Even before the name change, I would’ve gave Washington Bullets!
If I had to take an odd guess
I’d say I’m about five steps from God’s breath
My boy just got killed in his Charger
Now me and my niggas is tryna Dodge death
When you first started, you was fire
I can’t call that trash
But you got lighter, and blew up around all that gas!
Don’t get it twisted! I’ll put this steel in ya face!
I raised ten babies: I know how to peel from the waist!
I got loyal soldiers
I swear to God my boy’ll smoke ya
He said this beef been simmerin’, but he’ll put Steams in the air if it boils over
It’s been anticipation, but at the same time, niggas hatin’
So I’ll reach in this holster and draw from it like inspiration!
Jeez, he should first cover, ’cause you been actin’ funny on the block
So for that, I’ll follow up and put money in a box!
All y’all missed it
Jeezy, Inspiration was the follow-up, and the first cover had money in a box
See how I trap rappers?
Do you believe in a Parallel Universe? I do
Let me demonstrate it
My granny was puttin’ change in the collection plate, while I was holdin’ a nickel-plated
So you the head of the Cakes? That’s cool, because I shoot leaders
I’ll be in your hood, lookin’ for the correct marks like a proofreader
First nigga run up, head shot
It’s worse following
I’mma wig (Whig) on every man around like the first Colonies!
I promised him: he was destined for death
Or plastic surgery: I brought somethin’ extra for Chess (chest)!
Aye, JayBlac, look at his squad
He run wit’ a bunch of crackheads
You ain’t gotta do a review, but I’mma hit four out of five black (Blac) heads!
Hold on, hold on…
And you brought this bitch Tay Money wit’chu!?
You gon’ suck me ’til I dribble on the ground!
That’s how you come off the top in the MIDDLE of a round!
Steams, you in for a long night!
I don’t care if I have beef wit’ a blind man: it’s on sight!
I’m from the bottom
To this day, I’m still sick ’bout it
I had enough school clothes to last from Monday to Wednesday
Then I had to mix outfits
I had to borrow shirts
I went to school with shit another nigga worn
I didn’t realize it then, but that was training me how to adjust to another nigga form!
I am Plato’s ideologies wrapped inside Horus’ mind
You can’t correspond wit’ a man who has the core of Spawn
Spawn…chain – shout to Mickey Factz
I remove wigs
But niggas deny my greatness ’cause I ain’t one of the cool kids
Get ya life together!
Miss me with all the hi-jinks!
Nigga, you 30, and best friends wit’ a nigga who can’t even buy drinks!
But between y’all, I’mma have to say the child the best
Soon as I get space, you’ll see the baby monster poppin’ outta Chess (chest)!
I could go into God Mode, I’ve got options
I don’t have to fully wipe the floor wit’ this nigga: I’m just spot-moppin’
Glock-cockin’, come ready wit’ both 9’s raised
I’m with the shit, I already know crime pays
I brought the Great Western for ’em (Forum)
Y’all gon’ see an L.A. shooter pass a bullet to Kareem like the Showtime days!
Your team questionable
BOW! Spine shot!
Even if he don’t die, it’s (diet) gon’ make Steams vegetable!
Incredible, I’m different, King
And my fif’ is mean
I don’t need a two-way pager just for me to get The Beam
Go ‘head and spit your schemes
WeGoHard, they some witty scoundrels
But who voted for you?
You just a nigga that City counsel (council)
I’m too much, I’m too much
So you ‘sposed to be a role model for Chess?
Well, that’s some shit you gotta prove, then
‘Cause in two years, he gon’ get his own apartment, and you gon’ move in!
You ain’t gon’ have shit on the bills
This is not what the norm do
You gon’ be on his fridge, writin’ yo’ name on the orange juice!
Aye! Aye! Aye!
Chess gon’ have hoes in the house
Bitches gon’ be gettin’ fucked by the floor
You gon’ in your room, being a pervert with a cup by the door!
So you from the Projects, huh?
The OGs taught you to extort cream?
How can there be any veterans from yo’ hood, when every nigga in yo’ Fort Green?
And y’all got a sports team!
We on the ‘Net, I told these niggas
Steams can spit, but every bar clay (Barclays): I mold these niggas!
Look at his face right now!
They gon’ make that an emoji, nigga!
If Gwitty is Paper, I’m Origami: I fold these niggas!
I hold these triggers ‘til you on the ground wit’ this shit
This wack MC got another two rounds of this shit!
[Round 2: Steams]
You the Bar God?
I’m the Pen Sire, boy (SyahBoy)
That mean I two-step wit’ my jawn (John)
So you know I’m extra strapped, like a dyke threesome in a lesbian porn
I brought the Desert for your heifer, and this TEC for your mom
But I’mma put this MAC on you like Miss Parker, wettin’ the lawn
Potholes: I get around (a round) in the street
That’s instrumental, like the sound of the beat
Try to dance and get rocked slow
We move out, like bagged-up sneakers and boxed clothes
I’ll let a shot go…he’ll have a celibate casket: his box closed!
Or I’m at your door, puttin’ in pain (Payne) wit’ the Roscoe
It’s long, and the front of it drip: it’s a snot-nose!
Til the block close, or I’m comin’ to get him
He think it’s set-up ‘til he got set up by one of his niggas
He’s married to the block, slums, and the trenches
Well, his pop’s a rolling stone
And the kids? It’s goin’ out to every one of you bitches
Okay, D? Shots ain’t just for you and your main squeeze
I plot on the God, get the drop on his squad like J. Reid
That go for you, Chilla, and JC
But where’s Trez? I’m tryin’ to get next to the Chef, like KD!
Let in ring in the East, then send you back to the West with KG
So I could use this new thing I’mma buy
But I couldn’t bring it out here
It’s a J.R. (Jr.) Smith: they don’t ring in N.Y.!
But you gon’ call me a PG?
Cool, I move at my pace, sir (Pacer)
But this PG gon’ still outshine you: you Danny Granger!
If I use two fours, I’ll get twenty for (24) retirin’ you, like the Lakers
Or let it sing in your face, cause he gon’ see the two fours like Shaq
I’ll let the first three win with the 8 just for cryin’
‘Bout some top ten list, cause you not in it
Stop bitchin’, you not winnin’
This shit is a lot different
Double extendo, hand gun, everybody get shot wit’ it
Tell the Bar God, make sure I don’t serve over the shot limit
I’m not wit’ it
I will yellow tape all of these block nig- Yellow Tape
Do y’all get it?
I will still NuBorn, I’m not kid-ding
But this west coast nigga gon’ feel it in his soul like ‘Pac lyrics
With these arms together, I’m bringin’ y’all close to the God spirit
Do y’all hear it?
I say “break a leg” it ain’t luck bitch, I can’t stand you
Fresh off Double Impact, I ain’t need my brother to Van Damme you
Whatchu want? The lake or the damn handle?
You can get picked up in a white van or turn up in a dam, Daniel
Fuck Karate Kid I’ma show Daniel guns
This Smith, boy and the next kick is for Daniel son (Daniel-san)
This other grip in my palm, is not for ya Baby Boy arm Melvin big
It’s gon’ lift up ya moms cause she made you a fuck boy
Time to address it in round 2
You see Surf and Math debatin’
Wanna get in the crowd too, how you
Screen shot JPay e-mails to clown Boom?
That’s how clowns move
Then said free him in a battle to sound cool
And I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ that
I don’t know y’all reason for callin’ him a turtle, but mine? Is cause he fuck with the rats
I had enough of his rap
Stop soupin’ this nigga
If gas made Caesar’s monkeys smarter, well he’s a turtle so the oohs (ooze) make him bigger
Truthfully, I hate snitches
Why do you think you should speak?
A tomb deceased is the only place that you should be
Ah Di home, nah, that’s a face shot
Come watch this Boom release
Who is he?
I don’t give a fuck about this God hobby
God prolly pussy, strike me now, like “God try me”
Fuck ya belief, I will knock the science and math outta God body
Bodyguard, switch it, get past tense, have God bodied
[Round 2: Danny Myers]
We Go Hard gon’ remain lame
I send these niggas to the grave slain
Someone will give it to you, but you won’t know who, it’s like a slave name
You can’t depend on folks, so fight for yourself or get your dental’s broke
He is not fire for real, Steam only resembles smoke
I don’t say much, I just hold ’em off with the tre tucked
Arm to the back of his head, he’s showin’ off with the layup
You gon’ wake up, I’m all in your house with the .5 airin’
Me sendin’ his mom and dad to Heaven gives new meaning to God parents
Niggas be talkin’ crazy in them blogs ’til you get in they face and see what side they’re on
I’m here to put the beam in check like Cyclops with his visor on
A pound of flesh will drop outta his body after the ‘matics burst
You’ll see some nasty shit comin’ out this pussy like afterbirth
Ya baby mama, sucked my dick at y’all baby shower
You don’t believe me, ask her for me
That bitch an animal wit’ the head, that’s taxidermy
She a freak hoe, with a bomb head game
Lil’ crazy bitch, and she gave me that wet pussy that made me twitch
But the most disrespectful part, she wiped my nut with a napkin
Balled it up, shot it at yo’ son crib and made the shit
Me and the homies fuck, the whole team would smash it
When I nutted it, that hoe had me lookin’ like a Steams reaction
The thing’ll clap him and the TEC’ll blow
Steams, death is close, once Chess in scope
I start lickin’ wit’ the finger like I’m testin’ dope
Which one of y’all niggas I’m [?] next?
Presidential Dubbs can get dragged behind this bitch like a weddin’ dress
Rap vandal- fuck it
I’ll hit this nigga with beam ’til he die
JR Smith didn’t win a championship but these bitches ringin’ in NY
Rap vandal, the gat ram you ’til they CAT scan you
This extended clip look like a fire fighter holdin’ an axe handle
I’ll pull out my blade, sharpen it, then sever his skull on it
My point? War with me, there’s never a dull moment
You better hope this shit is worth the war
That Mossberg put you under the Earth for sure
This shit’ll knock down a wall like gettin’ through to a bitch that’s been hurt before
The plug fronted the homie a whole brick, he ain’t know how to act wit’ it
He fucked around and let a nigga hold it who ain’t come back wit’ it
I paid 26K to save his life
You and Chess did a helicopter move
What I’m sayin’ is, we put our niggas on our back different
The MAC lift him, bars is raps spittin’
I say some cold stuff, I’ll give you one line which can turn into a fade like a bowl cut
But hold bruh, I’m just followin’ the callin’ to the truth
Catch you in Brooklyn, it’s Saki until you fall into the stoop
Ain’t no callin’ it a truce
You won’t understand the gravity of the situation until your baby’s fallin’ from a roof
The fo’ will clap
And I hold this MAC until his soul relax
This cartridge makes me a warrior amongst dwarfs, that’s Golden Axe
The next time this nigga be at a battle, you’ll see a .38 clappin’ like me at a battle
Alright, alright, I ain’t .38 but close enough
I’m only off by a few days
That’s just a metaphor tellin’ y’all I’m the top gunner in this new age
I’ll headshot Chess right in front of you
I’m gon’ spin this banger
You’ll see a man sleepin’ amongst Steams like when you open a cryogenic chamber
If we took away all the chokes and stumbles you did
Your resume would seem meaner
There’s too many blemishes in your fabric, I wanna see Steam cleaner
I’m the GOAT, but these dumb ass niggas keep attackin’ Danny
You’ll get a headstone faster than a cheatin’ wife of Pakistani
You can’t rock wit’ me
I’ll up the blade and part through him
Even if he holdin’ a knife and a gun I’ll still put you on a sharp shooter
This is an art junior
And even though he already on the ground with this shit
This wack MC got a whole ‘nother round of this shit
[Round 3: Steams]
My pen movin’ vs Danny Myers from Writer’s Bloque
Which really don’t make sense, cause you write a lot
Fuck Writer’s Bloque
When I swing, duck this right or block
You won’t be able to get past the punch, cause that’s writer’s block
When his iron pop, I let it sprinkle around your house
It’s like I’m tryin’ to get a wrinkle out of a blouse
The way I iron tops
New chrome, off the shelf, like fresh rims in a tire shop
But if this gun jam on Myers, watch
I go nuts, pick up another grip, spin him again like the Plies drop
But for Danny, I ain’t gotta pop
I give you defeats, make you go home and reminisce on the beach like retired cops
But fuck retired cops, Danny, you ready to die or not?
Click on your brows or (browser), just heat up your Earth like FireFox
Tell that ant lookin’ bitch that it’s time to rock
That marriage was suicide
If you ain’t gon’ hang in there, why did you tie the knot?
Myers stop, with that ugly bitch and all them kids you should be used to
The worst day of your life? Being inside a box
Why did Dot say you had too many kids to pull out?
They gon’ have to mourn you
Cause you said you never reached
So why would we expect you to have it on you?
A flick is a shot
That’s a box
You gettin’ framed like they stashed it on you
Fried for your chips
Grab the potato and mash it on you
When your spine broke, your sense of feelin’? You’ll lose that
Your old crib was torched, ya get it?
He won’t be able to move back
Legs, shoulders, knees and toes like nursery school rap
Then I’mma tie up your family with enough rope to have a nursery school wrap
Matter of fact, turn my back cause I shouldn’t be rappin’ towards you
Yo, Chess, don’t tell chrome wifey, but I got a new ratchet for you
It’s a little toy
What that mean? That I’m blastin’ for you?
And he (Andy) knows I’ll bust through the plastic for you (foil)!
Yeah, we still jumpin’ niggas
‘Cause I hate Danny, fuck this nigga
It’s gon’ be dirt naps, bodies, covered in bed sheets, I don’t comfort niggas
I run down, you run from niggas
Ya bitch? I come and mix her
Think production, have something with an engine near (engineer) or get punched in wit’ her
Old Celtic, the knife Pierce, you lay flat when you drop
Or I use this .8, that’s A. Walker: he’ll shake after the shot
Treat them games likes a sex change, you’ll get clapped in the twat
Treat ya funeral, like his surgery
He’ll awake after a box
Let me stop, ’cause I can’t understand the position this tranny’s under
With eight rugrats, this nigga has got to be scared of rubbers
The Ol’ Dirty Bastard, who likes it ‘Raw’
If a bitch fuck him, then I’m scared to touch her
‘Cause that pussy gotta be a Lethal Weapon even if Danny glove her (Glover)!
Danny what’s up? I go postal with grips like I mailed the strap
This nigga here will fall then all tears (tiers) will fall like the jail collapsed
I heard you dipped on your fam’ and Indiana is where you left ’em at
“Daddy gone”, how you tell ’em that?
Kids like, “Where the hell he at?”
For that, you goin’ to Hell and back
This .9 in my hand? Like death row, you’re like time in the can’, how you gon’ bail on that?
Should shell his hat
Kill this man to be finished but no mam’, phone plan
Shit work better when your whole family get it
But if the URL family wit’ it, I want Ty
Cause I hate you and (in) Law like family visits
Fuck your whole family nigga, with metal I’m foldin’ shit
Twin .9’s, get raised on Danny, it’s like the Olsen Twins
No, no, left hand turned, right laid over it
So Danny gon’ get 2 for 1 and he won’t notice it
Y’all know this no fair, when he fire like Street Fighter we both kick fire
Dan’s ain’t goin’ nowhere
He just throwin’ the air
3-0 [?] but no body this beam good
Let’s see what you do when it’s ya go Scottie
[Round 3: Danny Myers]
Y’all had a to jump a nigga
Should’ve been a lil’ tougher, you a lil’ sucker
What type of nigga y’all know go fight wit’ a nigga but go and get his lil’ brother
Dear Ms. Battle Rap
I spent my entire life lookin’ for you
At age 20, with only $200, I moved from L.A. to Brooklyn for you
I tried to get your attention to let you know I was into you
I took $12,000 out my own pocket to throw a battle that a nigga threw
Yet I remained loyal, despite all these niggas that wanna get wit’chu
Soon as I turn my head, you fuck wit’ lame niggas but that’s just what bitches do
Then niggas start puttin’ money in ya pocket
You became less pure for them lust offers
So we had to downgrade
We went from bein’ in love to just fuck partners
So I married Vicki but kept you as a side bitch
Then it became apparent you got jealous, wanted me back and started fuckin’ with my marriage
But you ain’t want me when you had me!
I showed you I can be down
These other niggas fucked you for two minutes
I constantly gave you three rounds!
Bitch, I’m done wit’chu, ’cause you don’t know what bein’ a team ’bout
My bad, my nigga, I just had to let a lil’ Steam out
Bitch, this Writer’s Bloque
After this, he gots to hate his life
Chilla don’t give a shit, he the constipated type
JC will send ya fuckin’ soul, ya stock will pay the price
How ironic, the Beam could never fuck wit’ a concentrated light
This is not the day to hype!
I rep the West, but niggas gladly hate
Niggas think I support ISIS the way I care about Cali fate (Caliphate)
I blast his fuckin’ friend with the sawed-off pump
I’m where the trouble stems
The shot went in and out
I blamed it on a double rim!
You ushered in this era of “breakin’. Down. Every. Word.”
That shit forever slow
Why the fuck you rap like that, honestly, I will never know
Fans and bloggers hate that shit
Yo’ style remind me of yo’ haircut, ’cause you holdin’ on to a line, when you really just should let it go!
Berettas blow, I’ll creep in your window wit’ the chrome boomin’
Detectives will bring chalk in his house like he home-schoolin’
I’m a hood nigga on everything, raised around deadly gangs
Cabinets full of 7-11 cups and bowls wit’ the spaghetti stains
And I don’t wanna battle Chess, ’cause at that point, I would’ve lost my merit
I would only fuck wit’ the kid for the check like a foster parent!
When you be sparring wit’ yo’ squad, they don’t be tellin’ you the truth, Champ
You don’t have live rounds even when you train: that’s boot camp
You got a deuce clamped
I ain’t into that, I got a bigger strap
I blew (blue) .44: that’s how a nigga Snap!
You gon’ pay for somethin’
Calm the fuck down, nigga! My patience runnin’
You gon’ hear *chk* four times in a row, like when Jason comin’!
The K is dumpin’! 30 shot!
You finna get hurt
The clip longer than the last ten minutes of church
Niggas always put they self on a level with God
‘Til they die, and find themselves havin’ to level with God
Bitch, come to California
I don’t sit idle for threats
The gang culture is real – we beat rivals to death
That shit is passed through generations
It’s like Bruce and Brandon Lee: I done seen fathers and sons die on the set!
When I battled Rex, a lot of y’all had some mixed thoughts
I seen what happens when the niggas run off on the plug before…
And I seen what happens when they get caught
Fuck all the slick talk!
Surf! I’ll let sparks blast at your mark ass!
You supposed to be a gangsta, but all up in yo’ battles gettin’ hard-grabbed
Runnin’ from water bottles, but supposed to have a dog pass
And since we in New York, this is the perfect place for me to Park Ave!
You on the ground wit’ this shit
Thank the Lord he ain’t got another round of this shit
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