Dizaster vs. Tay Roc [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Tay Roc]
When I think of “disaster”
It’s a hundred niggas in your crib with strange masks
When I think of “disaster”
It’s hollows out of the Calico when the thing blasts
When I think of “disaster”
It’s, “Lord, please don’t let this plane crash.”
When I think of “disaster”…
The last thing I think about is your lame ass!
Now, real shit, I probably met your dad before
To keep it a buck, I called a lot of cabs before
Ayy, I’m at his door with the bullshit, I’m a matador
R&B singer, I’m tryin’ to see
Can he (Kenny) handle the ladder more (Lattimore)?
Diz’, you ain’t faced a nigga with this kind of style before
Shit get fishy, I’m packin’ the can’: that’s albacore
You’ll get jacked, MAC in your face, you doomed my nigga
This shit sing funny: I let the auto tune a nigga
If you got a problem, speak up
You creep up, I’ll knock you out
Then dump water on you to fuck your sleep up
Y’all talk about Diz’ ability… well, for him, I don’t need much
Special Olympics: I don’t think Diz’ able to keep up!
I’ll walk in the spot and say, “Freeze!”: that be the chillest one
Nigga, I’ll pull or squeeze the cal’, like I’m milkin’ one
Ayy, two pistols on me, I’m concealin’ some
And even though the pair lies below the waist, I still can run!
Ayy, in this battle shit, I kill for fun
Like run your kid over with the Eclipse, pull off and reveal your son
I’m talkin’ so much damn speed he couldn’t Dodge a Ram or Impala
It’ll be a stampede to see a man bleed
I’ll stretch a guy when I’m wavin’
Scope zoom in and out, I exercise when I’m aimin’
I’m the gun bar king, you’ll never find a replacement
I’m like the iPhone 10: you better recognize who you facin’!
I’m in the best condition
This fella trippin’? The Heckler spittin’
The pipe explode in your mouth like you got a crystal meth addiction
Niggas that’s in the set that’s with him
Better have a vest that fit him
I got a ladder hangin’ from the chopper: this a rescue mission
If I catch you slippin’, this somethin’ crucial
I let this micro wave, ya top get peeled back like a cup of noodles
Swing on me, I do somethin’ to you that’s fuckin’ brutal
Kick your front door in, raisin’ Llamas like your mother used to
I grab your moms, then I follow up with one
I let it cock in her mouth and she gon’ swallow when it come
Clean the evidence off so it’s no problems with the gun
Nick Cannon in Drum Line: I’m even polishin’ the drum
From BWI to LAX I’m out
Real shit, I’m only here in LA to X him out
If it’s problems, the TECs come out
I ain’t Math, I’m algebra
They gon’ be askin’ why I hit this nigga with X amount!
I can take this off the hip and start smokin’ Dizaster
Or show up to your crib, gasoline and a SIG
It’s about to be a smokin’ disaster
But you know I’m a smoker, Dizaster
So I bury you with the weeds
Cross-breed him with the seeds and start smokin’ Dizaster!
You know what I’m after
I’ll take a cleaver and make a bleeder
Docs couldn’t stop the damn flow in a lake with beavers
Think you Jesus? Out of non-believers, I make believers
With this inf-red beam, a ray be in Diz’ facial features!
The best bet, get your neck snapped
Middle East restaurant: I’ll cater shells to you when the TEC clap
I said that, this a death trap
To get your blood up, I use a towel
A band I pay ’em to leave your head wrapped!
Dead that, or my cannon’ll dump
The chopper heavy, I had to pack a stand in the trunk
I leave an Iraqi nigga from Pakistan in the trunk
You an Eminem fan: I’ll literally pack a Stan in the trunk!

[Round 1: Dizaster]
Now hold on, before I even get to these bars, that’s some gay gear
Man, that shit look way weird
Look like you cop that shit from Slauson Swap Meet on your way here
This gon’ be a walk in the park: Grand Theft Auto on easy
Beasley, I’m the new space odyssey, Mohammad oughta see
You oughta see more bars than Adebisi
If I said how bad he’s about to get boxed
You probably won’t believe me
Think Dizaster versus Ben Grimm…
‘Cause I’m ’bout to body Roc completely!
But I ain’t here to fight with a rookie
Listen, damn they didn’t react to that shit
It went right over their heads
Welcome to the left side, the best side
Yes I’m from the Westside where death might come
You catch a Colombian Necktie, wait let me catch my tongue
Let me put this in East Coast terms that you can understand
I’ll cut your neck wide son
You can talk about carrying straps on the east all day
But now you fuckin’ with Conway
‘Cause you gotta deal with this Westside gun!
Yeah, you think I’m playin’? You get your face blown off
Owww, I’ve been patiently waiting to take your spot
A real predator, I ain’t gotta be a Muslim in the middle of Mecca to prey on Roc
But before we start, let’s put out all of his stats
Your 2-on-2’s with Surf was fire
But that’s ’cause we all know he probably wrote all of your raps
Down to a chemistry thing, y’all was not a good match
You had Surf up there lookin’ like them peasants who built ancient Babylon in Iraq
Because before we seen him get locked in chains we had to watch him walk around carrying Roc on his back
Your battle with Rum Nitty though, that was my favorite match
Shit was a major clash, it could’ve got dangerous fast
So settle the fuck down and let me state some facts
Don’t play with me like Math
I came to Smack so I can hit the stage and rap
So you can save the crazy act ’cause you can get cut now
I ain’t Rum Nitty, you try to take my hat
And like Kung Lao it’s comin’ with a blade attached
Watch his face get slashed like a Jason mask
Roc, you a buck ten soakin’ wet
Who in the fuckin’ hell are you yellin’ at?
I’ll smack you so hard your bobble headed neck will hit your chest and back
But he gon’ scream “Cave Gang” in my face
See that’s the shit I don’t like
‘Cause it’s all hype, we already know that he won’t fight
Talkin’ all this bat cave to me bullshit like I don’t know what his world like?
Bitch my last name Bin Laden
I’ve been with this cave business my whole life!
I’m about to spaz on him
That’s why I don’t believe shit he say when this man talkin’
Smack got him on cam’ flossin’ like he really got racks on him
But a slingshot is the only time we ever seen Roc with a band on him
Man this gon’ be bad for him, you gon’ hit Roc bottom
Name is Tay Roc, what kind of rocks do you bring?
How come Roc never rock any bling?
‘Cause we dealin’ with a nobody, he don’t got any links
The next bar from me is gonna be an astronomy thing
You remind me of the planet Saturn
‘Cause you gassed up and I’m ’bout to crumble Roc in the ring
You clap toys, I clap asteroids
I send Roc into space, I’ll sock Roc in his face
Then I’ll take a bunch of rocks
Put ’em in a sock, then you’ll get rocked in his face
You a serial killer? Well I’m a pyramid builder
‘Cause I got all the right angles to put Roc in his place
Well y’all probably gettin’ sick of all the Roc name flips
Why? He gon’ do the same shit
Except just a buncha Math, King of the Dot, fuckin’ Arabic race shit
Well I knew, I expected it, my pen is greater
So I’ma make this look to them out there on the East like the entertainer done came up on a detonator
Fuck this battle! In my head, I’m already at Heaven’s Gates
Thinkin’ of the 72 virgins I’ma have sex with later
You can keep talkin’ that race shit
I got somethin’ special tailored
So if you say I’m from the Gaza Strip or I’m Palestinian
It’s ’cause puttin’ hands on Roc comes to me as second nature
I pull up on him with the metal flame
And with the Dezi I’m a steady aimer
Bust on him, while he hooked up to the respirator
Put a big cap on his head like Walker, the Texas Ranger
Bitch you could die anywhere on the map, pick a spot
I’ll kill your extended fuckin’ family too
And let you connect the dots
Long blade, I pull it out and douce it to his fuckin core ’til he drops
You gon’ see Tay Roc’s skinny little body go into shock
Pierce through his thick armor like King Arthur
Y’all gon’ see me pull a sword outta Roc!

[Round 2: Tay Roc]
Nah, congrats to you for doin’ 5,000,000 view in under a week
Boy, you just as dumb as can be
Oxxxy just gave you all them viewers
And you just gave a fraction of them to me
If I was you, I’d have an attitude
How you lose to a Russian that learned how to speak English the day he battled you?
Nah, nah, nah, you let a Russian come out to your city and run the block
Son just stop, there’s nothin’ that nigga coulda done with Roc
I woulda been a bartender servin’ cheap vodka
I woulda left a Russian shot
If I woulda buck-fifty’d his neck, Belly it’s done for Ox
Stop it faggot, this not a classic
I know you seen me shinin’ on the last card
The shit I did to Hollow, graphic
I pull up, hop out the van and pop the ratchet
Think Training Day, he got caught by the Russians
And now he gettin’ Roc’ed in Traffic
Instantly, you’ll be in a wheelchair livin’ miserably
All brain dead and we gotta take you outta your misery
I’ll leave a square split down the middle, line of symmetry
Forensics gotta gather the kid up like an assembly
Wait, this who suppose to get rid of me?
Mr. Multis and Similes is endin’ me? Are you kiddin’ me?
Do y’all know the difference between DiGiorno and delivery?
Well Diz’ you’re not good with delivery
You’re Eminem mini-me
You ain’t Grape Street, I’ll take your flag and throw it in the air like a penalty
Shout out to Clips ’cause he said that bar to me in ’06
And it ain’t effect me ’cause just like you, I’m not no Crip
Oh, you a gang banger Diz’? Well tell me somethin’
Did you clap some rival gang members, did you get jumped in?
As far as Crip knowledge, what the fuck do you know about that?
You out here gettin’ all this money, cousin
And you don’t even know how to stack
That’s how I know you a fake Crip, bottom line
If I woulda said, “You don’t know how to stack.”
To Nitty, he woulda started throwin’ all kinds of signs
You fraudin’ on that Loc shit, you straight trippin’
You look like Drake in Degrassi and you fake crippin’
Ayy, the real Crips ain’t down wit this sucka
That blue means somethin’
You ain’t never put an opp in the ground for that color
Why you usin’ them for protection? Fuck nigga
You might’ve got your blood drawn
But you ain’t never drawn blood from a Blood nigga
Your life sucks, this fake Crip will get knifed up
I’ll be at your funeral in that famous red Suge Knight tux
You be reppin’ Grape Street in your raps like you type tough
You battle rap gang bang, you only Crip when you mic’d up
I’ll take the Roscoe and paint the wall with your blood like my name Picasso
Go ape with them bananas clips, I coulda played in Congo
Hook, a right jab, left jab then a haymaker follow
I’ll box you like Little Caesars, I got a crazy combo
As far as that crazy combo…
Your whole head will get split if I connect with this shit
And I will try to knock the head off your shit
You be dead as a bitch
I will tie you to a little tree on some Confederate shit
Untie you then hang you from a bigger tree on some prejudice shit
Why you be sayin’ “nigga”?
Oh, oh, oh you think you one of us nigga?
I be the first to tell you if you was black you’d be a dumb nigga
I’ll take your bitch from you
I have fun wit her, then be done wit her
And I doubt that slut walk after 21 hit her
As far as guns niggas from Oakland brought them hammers ’round me
That’s somethin’ black and silver kickin’ like Janikowski
I swear my guys too live
Jewelry store, we linked up with 24K’s and nine .25’s
Jerk wait, right at your birthplace
You’ll get stomped out, Dizaster under my feet like an earthquake
We got eyes on ’em, get out of line, put 9’s on him
It’ll go downhill for Dizaster if Roc slide on him
I try to tell him, this is not what he want from me
Battle rap is not a job to me, this shit is fun to me
Fuck a scheme, angle, punch, it’s ’bout a gun to me
A gun the only thing that get this job done for me
Gang shit man!

[Round 2: Dizaster]
Aw man, after that round, a friendly disclaimer that I gotta just put out: watch your fuckin’ mouth!
Don’t think ’cause we friends this won’t result in a fight
‘Cause it can still happen
Say anything stupid or do some stupid shit while I’m mid-rappin’
And I’m sayin’ “Fuck all the friend shit” and I’m takin’ quick action
Get your little grill smashed in with a fist full of rings
Shit gon’ look like Phil Jackson bitch slapped him
But I ain’t over here tryin’ to pick a fight with the rookie
I brought the rifle in with me
A short stocky ratchet from Jersey, the .25 is my Snooki
Why overlook me?
I’m the one they place the bets on, I am the bookie
You the Baby Boy/Tyrese of the game tryin’ to pick a fight with a Tookie
Look, I don’t think you understand the rhymin’ scheme fully
I got a big .45 in case he think of tryin’ to push me
Your crew better move together like Hugh Hefner
‘Cause they better be ready to die for this pussy
Fuck Cave Gang! Truth is, your whole crew bitch
Your man Ave said we owe you one for Hoffa
Well I’m standing here right now
Saying, “Suck my dick, you ain’t gonna do shit!”
Battle rap friends
Y’all gonna die for your fuckin’ battle friends?
See this is my thing with these battle friends
They disguise as friends but what type of friends?
Friends that haven’t became rivals yet
Look at what happened with Shine and Rex
All of a sudden all these little guys in sets
‘Cause alone they feel like Kevin Spacey
They only pose a minor threat
To come up with those type of rhymes you gotta be inspired by someone else
You got Cave Gang, Dot Mobb
Tsu Surf be givin’ you all kinds of help
And that’s the difference between us, I did this all by myself
I don’t need help with bars
I’m a Tesla car: I survive off the drive itself!
And I got an unlimited supply, never run dry
The rap game Michael Phelps
What the fuck good is a Gun Title when the title belt is the one title you should be trying to get
But I’m […], you not entitled yet
You tried to threaten your idol with idle threats
You idle around live on set
You’ll get these idle hands you trying your luck like an Irish elf
Even Math got sat down ’cause he knows I’m not the guy to test
Wait, ain’t no room for no goofy-ass battle gangs in the real L.A. street culture
I know after NWX a lot of y’all trying to form teams of your own so you don’t feel cornered
But I see through the whole thing
You just puttin’ up a smoke screen like sober limousine chauffeurs
You scared of being alone ’cause you know you’re too weak to stand on your own two feet like a real soldier
From the Marine Corp so you’d rather be more like a team of WWE warriors
Plus, he from B-More, the leaders of the free world in real form
I bet they throw battle rap Cave Gang sleepovers
Where they all huddle up in group
And get to massaging Brizz Brawsteen’s shoulders
He got a cramp there, all on the spot
A certified West Coast steam roller
I’m the Asian guy from The Matrix, the golden key holder
That’s pushin’ this whole scene forward
But it’s not just me, it’s the Geechi Gotti’s, the Dre Vishiss, the Aktive’s, the Rum Nitty’s, the B. Dot’s, we breed soldiers
But the way I see it we need order
In order for us to leap over this hump in the road we’ve seen over and over
Every time it keeps goin’ and every time we seem closer
To reachin’ our goals ’cause of us, we the seed growers
We the ones that nurture the trees
Then forget to weed out all the leeches and free loaders
So in the end when the tree falls, all that leaves for us is being the leaf blowers for these greedy-ass league owners
So fuck King of the Dot
I’d rather die than let you get another piece of me like a spleen donor
‘Cause y’all thought the audience wasn’t gonna rock out
And I know you heard a lot of Fred Flintstone bars for him
But nobody ever felt this comfortable in Roc house
‘Cause what? What the transition ’bout?
The URL crowds in the East Coast they all garbage and basic
They always react to the same shit
We want some new stuff, they always follow the same script
Over there that’s some shit you can get away with
But now you have to relate on some L.A. shit
‘Cause y’all ain’t even a hip hop fan base
Y’all crowds like air traffic control
‘Cause you always wavin’ arms for that plain shit
And you cater to the fuckery
It’s not like they not basic enough
They way you write your lyrics is like hieroglyphics
‘Cause Roc you outdated as fuck
And you be dreamin’ if you think you gon’ make them wack-ass tracks pop
Even if we got you a Jamaica man to lace you with a dance hall backdrop
You still couldn’t come up with a single jam Roc
You could put Bobby Brown on a track
And you still can’t get it to crack Roc
Man I’m the foundation and you still can’t get it to crack Roc
‘Cause I’m the foundation my events leaves the town shakin’
‘Cause everything I do is groundbreakin’ like Hancock
Fuck a gun bar, you’ll see me gut him before a slug will fly
Custom made blade that comes with a double side like a Russian spy
I cut him wide with a butterfly
Knife leave it stuck inside his fuckin’ eye
‘Til the blood runs dry just ’cause I don’t give a fuck
I’ll stick him from the side, leave him with an eye cut
Leave him stickin’ from the side
Leave him bleedin’ like a sunny side up
When you see it get busted wide I said it
He don’t really wanna try
He get clipped on the spot
How am I the one on steroids when ya ass the one gettin’ the shot?
People say I don’t make sense and I be doin’ irrelevant shit
Whether you sense it or not
Every sentence I put together comes with an intricate plot
Plus my delivery like a kitty litter box ’cause mine is shittin’ on Roc’s
That wasn’t even meant to be a punchline, that was a visual drop
I’m the real cave man ’cause I’m painting a picture for Roc
Yeah, you say you the Gun Bar King
Well maybe over there he is, to us that’s just meaningless
‘Cause we brought guns here, we keep them drums near us
In case we get confronted by one of they cheerleaders
I’ll gun butt you with something custom and luxurious
Silencer on the muzzle so I can let off a slug without anyone hearin’ it
I’ll sample the sound of your fuckin’ vest rippin’ from the slug piercin’ it and make a fuckin’ beat wit it
You might be the King of Gun Bars, but I’m the king of guns period!
Bitch!

[Round 3: Tay Roc]
I’m from Maryland, but the weather and weed is real nice in Cali
Fuck you, these my vacation nights in Cali
I caught a flight from Cali
I got two daughters to make it home to
You interfere with that I’m doin’ life in Cali
Ayy, you take the pick, with the ratchet or the dagger
Hit your spinal cord, everything in your back is gonna shatter
I ain’t come to L.A. to play, I travel here to trash ya
Me being out of my comfort zone, that’s natural Dizaster
Your cap is gon’ splatter, you’re done when I bang mine
It go through you, Geechi and Rum at the same time
I double back for Danny and Shotgun with the same 9
I let six pop, but five drop throwin’ up gang signs
Soon as I walked in this building the shit became mine
You was dead when my plane crossed over the state line
You’ll leak DNA when my K-Shine
You a Crip but the fake kind
You will get picked off of the Grape vine
We can do this anywhere that you wanna choose
It don’t matter what card he be on
You couldn’t fuck with me if you wanted to
If he act rude he go to cliffs: that’s a Huxtable
Gun clap, when this buck back it ain’t refundable
Ayy, y’all know gun bars how I do things
But before that I was known for this bat man like Bruce Wayne
I’ll leave this cat woman in all black when I’m sparkin’ the shotty
The pellets riddle her and now the cops questioning the marks on her body
I tell mister freeze or cut this joker face, I bet he think then
It don’t matter who I’m goin’ against in the ring, nigga my pen win (penguin)
That’s a reach, but why this boy gonna try me
He gon end up in a hospital gettin’ a poison I.V (Ivy)
If I see Dizaster trip, his ass get whipped, bad as shit
I’m Ike in Tina Turner crib, that’s how I drag a bitch
Savage shit
You don’t wanna get Roc hella mad
We got choppers on deck: that’s a yacht helipad
Are you a crackhead or a steroid head? It’s hella funny
You look like you in shape and outta shape, you a healthy junkie
Somebody tell this dummy, now I see why Lush like ya
Y’all the type to bring your crack pipes to a blunt cipher
You got steroid pills, powder and needles, all facts
You know what else come in that form: coke, dope and hard crack
You hit a dope line, then you give a crack pipe a hard tap
Don’t act like this your second time ever bein’ on Smack
You’re a nigga that I’ve gotta do grimey
What makes y’all think I couldn’t take on a Dizaster?
I survived a tsunami
I disrespect you, like I wanted this beef
Soon as you grab your Quaran I pull your prayer rug from under your feet
You not supposed to eat pork, you a Muslim from the Middle East
But I’ll force you to eat it, straight disrespected Diz’ belief
I pull this you gon’ be lookin’ at it in disbelief
Black suits tailored for your gang: that’s Wiz Khalif’
Kid capiche? Competition? My nigga please
You can ask Dizaster, “Am I the best?” and even Diz’ agrees
Ayy, y’all know Roc wilder, two Bull Dogs, I grip and squeeze
And I can leave you lyin’ dawg when I’m pickin’ these (pekingese)
That’s a dog flip, I’ll flip dog, this guy high
You sniff coke like a K-9, we shave it like a chihuahua
Nigga, the pistol near, you’ll disappear like viola
Your fam’ at the funeral in sync, tell ’em bye bye
Fuck the jokes, they get saved for y’all later
Round in his mouth, lookin’ like he ate a Jawbreaker
Somethin’ wit a drum, I’ll wave at y’all haters
A hundred rounds left Dizaster in the streets nigga, pray for Las Vegas
You gon’ beat me?

[Dizaster]
Fuck yeah!

[Tay Roc]
Nah, still niggas lyin’
Tell you like I told the others, 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: Dizaster]
Yo that last round from you was nice
But you just had an N’Sync bar
Bro, you’re the biggest faggot I’ve ever battled in my life
N’Sync? Man you sound like you talk to white cops
You shop for fuckin’ nice Glocks to let the pipe off
You gentrified, you like those Greek houses on the beach, Roc is whitewashed
You got more Arab shit? Well I ain’t gon’ let those bars slide
Any more As-salamu alaykum rhymes about bacon
And it’s this pig gettin’ hog tied
You can squeeze the can’ like Popeye but any more Arab shit?
I’ma stomp Tay Tay til he Sheneneh cross eyed
I ain’t never been the type of guy to judge people ’cause of color and race
Especially with the women that I fall in love with and chase
I told this black girl she was a Nubian queen
And for that I respect her and I move with her at a comfortable pace
Before she could say “thank you” I busted a nut in her face
Oh you can say it, but I can’t get away wit it?
Shanequa gon’ get work!
Picture a hairy terrorist Arabian balls deep in your African queen
Went to fuck her in the ass, couldn’t find the Vaseline
So he dipped into your can of Afro Sheen
Took her to the back of my 7/11
And I had her empty out my whole sack
Pulled out and busted a nut on the ho’s back
I made her toes curl and she never hit your phone back
‘Cause once you Iraq… you can never go back
But I’m a dirty Arab fuck it, why should y’all be shocked
I’ll break a bottle of whiskey on his top
‘Cause I’m old school I like my Johnny Walker on the Roc
Shit, of course Smack gon’ gas him
You the golden boy, they even support you publically
But deep down they knew you wouldn’t be enough for me
See you wanna be king but only one can be
From views to accolades his resume can’t fuck wit me
A chump MC who raps about bustin’ guns
But bumps his gums when he’s in custody
You ain’t even create none of this
You came on after URL created the money tree
So this ain’t even the real match up we wanna see
Smack should be battling with McDonalds to see which one of them chose a bigger clown to represent their company
‘Cause you battling me to get up on the ladder
Had a couple of million but surpassed you after
You can’t match Dizaster
I’ve battled legends like Canibus, Cassidy
I’ve battled actual rappers
You battle with battle rappers, your battles don’t matter
You battle with motherfuckers like Chess
Little wienies I can beat with little one liners
If that little kid acts tough I’ll put paws on Chess like Eve from Ruff Ryders
Of course Cortez gonna feel some sorta way
Me headlining on Smack is like coming to the sandlot
And taking him and Math’s favorite toys away
“Ayo Diz’ gimmie my toys back!”
Stop all the bullshit, I got on him with the plot
He act like a hard rock but I’ll tell you what Roc man not
You act like a gangster, that’s what Roc man not
You better stop before you leave here with a rock man knot
Yeah, a real rock man, nah
Your battle with Hollow was debatable
But the way you acted online made it look like he defeated you
Online desperately arguing with everybody
‘Cause you know you needed to
Maybe your win when you said it would’ve sounded more believable
If you didn’t get online and desperately retweet every fuckin’ idiot that agrees with you
“Roc 3-0. Cave Gang. You’re the best Roc.”
But it’s just talk
His actual report is like magma above the core
Because you don’t have any depth Roc
See that’s the truth, goddamn, what y’all gotta wait up
What am I supposed to do? Freestyle in this bitch?
Yo, ’cause you the Gun Bar King of what?
Gun bar and all that bullshit?
See I used to think gun bars was a life that’s nice and fun
Yeah, until you realize it’s the reason most of our homies die when they’re young
See I’m telling you this, next time you on the field
And you out there firing one
Just remember, Tay Roc, no matter where you hide your time gonna come
‘Cause when you live by the gun your bitch ass gon’ die by the gun
Mark!

Follow us on Twitter @BattleLyrics

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s