Danny Myers vs. Saint Mic [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Saint Mic]
Nigga YOU’SE a bitch
Straight fag…Coooookie Crisp…in the face ass
I’m glad they got me battlin’ yo’ bitch ass
Yeah I’m finna dump
Think shit’s sweet ’til he ice for the bread
Fuck you, your face looks like the inside of a Cinnabon
Nigga get mad
Told you I got hillbilly skill with the shotty, put a hole in ya cummerbund, don’t get cumbersome
I’m after big bucks to prove a point, yes my dear (deer) I’m on the hunt for some
Y’all be friendin’ king? Aight cool
With these scam artists he jip chins (Egyptians)
I prove your peer a mid (pyramid)
It’s a wrap for ya golden boy, yeah, the Mummy one
Bar God, they say, “Danny fire”
I say, “Another weak pussy.” Puttin’ his blood, sweat and tears on the pad tryin’ to stop the kid
Danny Myers a panty liner versus a camping fire
Yeah, shit’ll get intense (in tents) from this heated round
Why don’t you try trippin’, bringin’ ya family by us (bias)
Bar God, nah fraud
Name I can’t take this shit for real
Nigga up here with a wardrobe that ain’t worth five 20’s but still gon’ convince us that he fit the bill
This nigga cheap
Where it’s gon’ be just like the Jell-O pudding when I pop this ugly sweater built nigga and his bitch gettin’ killed
I’m Doctor Huxtable with the delivery and I’m makin’ sure the media gettin’ taxed for tryin’ to split the Bill
Bar God
My force greater, real kings enforce greater
They sent me the contract to kill you pst, I sent back divorce papers
Told ’em “Sign that.” And they’re like, “Why’s that?”
I said, “Cause I’m finna split this disloyal bitch’s shit for real.”
We on the wrong side of the court for paper, we on two different fields
Possess different skills, example
I let the .38 Special park in (parking) spots for the take out
Yeah I’ma eat at the crib, but that ain’t mean I’m goin’ in for my mil’ (meal)
Flip the pistol, you gettin’ hit wit’ steel
‘You Got That’- rapist Babyface in the face ass nigga ain’t no fault yo’ jaw got that ‘Whip Appeal’
Bar God
You straight sanitation
No, sport replay animation
Cause he only know the route to make the play after the fact, nigga you ain’t really in the field
Bro, me? Low key? OG
Ten toes down, nigga he ain’t of steel, you’ll never beat me
You an open cookbook, freckles yeah and your recipes be forever cheesy
So the steel gon’ still leave an impression for the bread, get ya head panini
Pull out the auto grip to his head like a leather beanie
Then hide the ooze like Shredder seen him
You can get a round then hooked for the low in (lower) case you ain’t tryin’ to let a G be
He said, cause he battlin’ Tay he finna go pound for pound wit’ him
Hoe nigga please
Only way Daniel sonnin’ me is cause his body Karate Kid around wit’ me
I’m past tight
I’m on a rampage
Every nigga in Cave Gang can catch a damn fade
Catch a cave man in his man cave
And every nigga from that gang hang from that cave man like stalactites
I’m that nice
[?] it’s all even, go ‘head nigga, it’s on you, talk greasy

[Round 1: Danny Myers]
If this guy here happens to boast threats
I’ll be in Saint hood (sainthood) like five years after a post death
In my hood, wasn’t go guidance, just Rugers was passed down
That’s why you’ll see a fallen Saint like Lucifer cast down
Watch what I do to this sad clown, I’ll pop off ya committee
What’s crackin’ bitch? If you got a problem, come and get me
.357, I was gon’ dog him with the .50
But Nebraska should be used to seeing a revolver in the city
Don’t get involved, there’s a whole lotta shit that the fifth can solve
I told my niggas when they see Saint nickle his (Nicolas) head like Mrs. Claus
We live by different laws, this is war but I’m not eager
This is a thot seeker versus Thoth’s teacher
I’ll son (sun) god, for talkin’ all this rah (Ra)
But the difference is I knew (Anu’) he wasn’t ready for this Egyptian shit
I am the pyramid, I’ve inscribed songs on blocks of limestone
The kid in danger when I expose the hidden chamber
You can’t win, you’ll pray that the pen ends
I got a sin for Saint just to purify Saint’s sins
I’ll send Saint, watch Saint ascend
But if Saint’ll sin, a shot will stand in front of God and hope He send us in
Boy I got a dangerous pen, but I’ll pull first and spray ya
I’ve been ridin’ with 2K’s since Bulls versus Blazers
I’m outside his house with some goons from my hood, nigga they all retarded
We knock on his window, it’s too late to squash the beef homie, I hardly thought it
He keep hearin’ somethin’ knock, so soon as Mic check, the tool will be in his face to get the party started
I depart these artists, he don’t be fightin’ like he said he does
He’ll soon see, Danny sharp with the knuckles like Freddy glove
Nigga from Nebraska? What the fuck happened to dudes
Surprised you ain’t here with a six shooter and spurs on the back of ya shoes
So how’d he (howdy) get this battle to stand in front of me?
Cause around high noon I got a call from a nigga that wanna tumble weed (tumbleweed)
I’m from the great western, I’m alive from tons of blessings
In South Central Crips and Bloods be among the sections
I’ll kill you for my sons protection
I’ll stare in the mirror with the strap but don’t see the guns reflection
My O.G., he’s 63, he had a lot of rumbles on them corners
He passed the gang life to his kids, none would get diplomas
Do you believe in a parallel universe?
(I do)
He told his kid to “gun ’em if it’s on ya”
See he didn’t become conscious ’til his son was in a coma
Michael Pointer, you can get two beams or gauge
Then I’ll give Pointer Sisters the same routine on stage
Aye bitch nigga! These hands, they break spines to minimum
They’re like Einstein’s theory, the way I Space Time and Continuum (continue ’em)

{Danny goes Super Saiyan}

Then I son (sun) god like a pendulum
I don’t wanna go with Daniel but to save energy I’ll put the heat on his roof like a solar panel
He on a lower channel and you on the ground with this shit
This wack MC got another two rounds of this shit

[Round 2: Saint Mic]
That shit was cool my nigga
But see your predicament of forcin’ sentences
Is also the source of your predictiveness
I’m more meticulous at enforcing penmanship with a swordsman diligence
More inquisitive, I’m now caught and pit against
Raw inquisitive, raw vindictiveness, Lord forgive him his
Father’s ignorance
We all know the Bar God is a fraud’s job
Cause that would give the Lord an image when the Lord is image-less
I’ve gotta enforce the sentences of death behind bars for playin’ God, y’all consider this false imprisonment
Cause once he met a four (metaphor) a mess I’ll (messiah) leave, they hired me to make sure God is victim-less
Side bar!
My nigga…you have a rapist amount of children
Hold on, that only one of two personals I got for ya nigga
We ain’t gonna make this ’bout ya feelings, why bother nigga?
I believe every single one of them kids is really yours
But is your wife at home being faithful? You ain’t really sure
I mean I ain’t think yo’ ass was old enough to have Alzheimer’s
But I bet the men she (Dementia) around got yo’ old ass feelin’ lost
You gon’ blaze who?
I just copped a new chopper to spray too
So let it get past tense, the gun’s still proper
So you should already know that the K new (knew)
Yeah, and I can weed out the fake with this K too (K2)
Far as bars, you gon’ have to pull shots from the bird for thinkin’ he got a clear body
Gotta be on that liquor, he the Grey Goose
Let’s spike the punch
I land every, told you I got the juice now but for you pal it’s gon’ be cranberry
You just food for the mob nigga
Meanin’ I’ll a cart (a-la-carte) this impostor off
Once I lick a shot from the bird they gon’ find Danny in a pool of shells and Vodka sauce
This fag rappin’? Bad fashion, knock it off
Spinal shot, get ya chakra lost
Kennel owner with the bars, yeah I bought a lot for dawg (dog)
Damn nigga, you got way mo’ fans killer
But spent all this time tryin’ to “whoo” the crowd and still get slept on main stage
I ain’t gotta talk about Rex, you got a Serious Math problem on yo’ hands nigga
They say he the Bar God, that nigga gon’ kill you, he gon’ go off
And nigga?
Up this tree I hang niggas
Say Clayton Bigsby, blind to the bullshit, I’m a Klan member
The whole hood know I’m on point
So quit actin’ like Danny’s sprayin’ the fifth
Arabian bitch, in other words, they likely to find you underneath the sand nigga
This ain’t the time to pick a round pussy
They gon’ have a hard time tryin’ to identify ya body like you transgender
Wait, trans-gender?
Well my pen say that don’t know which side you track the plain you stand nigga
But that’s ironic cause, even though I ain’t makin’ sense it’s still inevitable I be the transcender (trans-sender)
These niggas talk too much, but refuse to hear the street
So I’ma help you get on track and make you listen clear
See it may sound wavy but once you stretch it out, the shit don’t mix
So I’m here to make the comp’ press (compress). clip him for gettin’ loud
What’s a motor mouth to an engine ear (engineer), I mastered this
You ain’t fuckin’ wit’ Mic
So either own up to what you say, Ryda, or get ya ass capped (ASCAP), I be in my bag
So if I don’t see [?] from you Publishing Rights [?]
Believe me, it don’t matter the tier it’s all easy
Go ahead nigga, talk greasy

[Round 2: Danny Myers]
Keep runnin’ a gang of lip
We don’t do no talk back we just aim and lift
Y’all see that movie Arrival? We only communicate by paintin’ shit
We the foul type
Fuck with the squad and get your child sniped
With the Eagle, Llama and Ox, we took wild life
Cappo set this up
He said, “Look homie I like your fire.”
I said, “Who you want me to mask up for?”
He said, “Michael, Myers (Meyers).”
Without sayin’ a word I got to cuttin’ up
When these bitches get to trippin’, that’s when they fuckin’ up
You ole scary ass nigga, I know this bitch can’t fight
But I still keep the rubber on the handle so the grip stay tight
Face shot close range, his mama don’t call him by his rap name
But she gon’ say, “This ain’t Mike (Saint Mic).”
Bitch recognize
I was taught to keep a gauge
Because of your weak character, I’ll make this niggas Skate in these Streets Of Rage
MAC-11’s, .38’s, we peep the varieties
I’ll dump his body in a soul cellar then join a secret society
I got my eye on you, somethin’ heavy will spray
You got skills, but bitch you gettin’ buried today
New nigga versus the GOAT
Is this your Iverson crosses Jordan moment? Let’s not get carried away
You stashin’ money huh? I’m not for play
Nigga the Glock’ll spray
This pretty bitch singing closer to where ever the gwap will lay
I’ll have you plugged up in a hospital, it’ll be a gorgeous site
Then I’ll snatch all the plugs out the wall, I like cordless Mics
I adore your wife
She give me that pussy and I stroke her wild
And the head good, that bitch mouth wider than The Joker smile
Don’t put your toaster down, I got mine and the cavalry nigga
It’s about bars, I don’t care about who’s salary nigga
The niggas is sheisty, I don’t give a fuck about these battle leagues nigga
The movie Ghost taught me to stay away from these shadowy niggas
I got two choices, we can box with the hands or I can get the shit
If I had hair, I’d pull it out, why would I pick the fist?
I’m a lyricist, I think back to my innocence I had a Christmas list
My little brother got a Genesis but I’ve always had a different gift
You wasn’t meant for this, I’ll choke this nigga out
You want me to Earl, your followers can’t be strong unless the leader thorough
You do music, huh? Stomach shot, I bet his feet’ll curl
This bitch was fake before the music like [?] world
Another shot, he astral projects he gon’ see the world
I cut two X’s across yo’ bitch eggs, it’s gon’ be a girl
I don’t wanna hear nothin’ ’bout your chrome’s lock
Dome shot, from the sniper says you won’t live by a long shot
I got a strap, cause when it comes to hype, I ain’t got a lotta that
You’ll see short nigga [?] like Robert Pack
I cock it back, and send a Saint up with the angels
Gee, I’ma treat (geometry) these niggas like they can’t fuck wit’ these angles
It’s nothin’ that I can’t [?]
And he on the ground with this shit
This wack MC got a whole ‘nother round of this shit

[Round 3: Saint Mic]
So keep lyin’
Don’t matter, you gon’ keep dyin’
I keep my rays like hippies with the peace sign
Stomp this fruit out for little to nothin’, this nigga cheap wine
Mighty midwest, just know I’m a boss on mine
So Danny, show respect whenever you cross those lines
Cause if my finger itchin’ and I don’t like what I’m hearin’
It’s rounds to yo’ ear nigga have you lost yo’ mind?
So you believe in a Parallel Universe?
That’s a pretty oxymoronic sentence, but since this nigga think he the god of lyrics let’s talk quantum physics
Cause if you can’t play the part of cool (particle) excel or rate (accelerate) what I send big rounds at him (atom)
Smash ’em, just to prove that only dark matter once the light remove
[?] bitch nigga
I’m here to prove that God bleeds
And wouldn’t feel the need to scream if he was a god if he truly believed he was godly wit’ it
Moral of the scheme? To up the ante (anti) matters when you, try to sit beside (synthesize) the god with digits so
Every action has a reaction and that’s why the good die young for tryin’ to defy the law of physics
I’m your father figures
So fuck whatchu heard bro
I don’t ask for respect nigga
Always politickin’ ’bout who top tier
Only shit about you that’s top tier is the first row…back of yo’ neck nigga
Far as a nigga from Nebraska concerned I was top tier when I got here
How the fuck do you think I got here?
Cause I rap like there is not tiers
So all you so-called top tier niggas, since they dodging ’em
My peoples will off his (Office) nigga; Craig Robinson
Split his Pineapple just to Express he won’t gain consciousness
Loud [?] strap, clap clap, let’s state the obvious
I smoke shit and you gon’ listen to him
We like fightin’, I’m likely to dumb out
Through these fists is flowin’, bring the prison to him
Be at his front yard flexin’
No guns out just kick the [?] through and {huhm huhm} put some scissors to him
That’s how I give it to him in his living room
All you’ll hear is wehw wehw, sound like a lil’ nigga playin’ Mike Tyson Punchout
What the funk ’bout?
Fuck yo’ couch nigga
I don’t spare niggas, I’m a rare nigga
You should’ve knew since, the moment I got here was time you hung it up
I’m up next, I’m a new since (nuisance) that’s how I got here nigga
You team extendo?
Well you gon’ be under 20/20 with the scope for livin’ with vision that is not near niggas
You thought that “I’m a God shit” was gon’ rock queer nigga?
Not here nigga
I’m from The Blast ya
Home of Malik Shabazz, Omaha Steaks [?] beef gettin’ boxed here nigga
I’m back again
With the red dot the lead will (letter) know I’m short with words but fuck the acronyms
Literally, that ain’t even the half of it
Master pen, through the pad I’m sharp with bars
Lift you [?] I write with javelins
Bash fuckers
Last Supper
Yeah Mary ain’t the only discipline with a mag to lend (Magdalene)
You can not stop him
I don’t care if the cops watchin’
If I want the chain smoke this fag, yeah
Sig’ (cig) long flame him to ash we hot boxin’
I’ll turn your street to a wall with these stock options
Ya guy through
We from the same class, I’m not new
And every nigga in that class can get lifted too
Welcome to flight school, come through
Soon as I split the window you get in the bag I’m trained to go nigga, drive-thru
It’s bigger than battle rap
If we bringin’ assassins straps to rival habitat
He gon’ dance with the stars, try to get off that psych rappin’ act
Til that rifle clap him, that’s when it hit his chest
Spit ’em hard, I break his neck
Listen nigga, tell- all I’m sayin’ is I got somethin’ in the whip that could bring Michael Jackson back
Believe me, don’t matter the tears
It’s all easy
Go ‘head nigga, talk greasy

[Round 3: Danny Myers]
A born hustler…versus a corn husker
I ain’t tryin’ to provide jokes
I’m here to slap the shit out this nigga and hurt his pride most
You be on Facebook with subliminals, that’s some shit you can’t hide folks
I’ll get two batteries cause you gettin’ jumped for them side posts
You usin’ this league to get back to SMACK, that’s why they gon’ dump off on him
You think The Connects gave you the plug just so you run off ’em?
You be in Lincoln, Nebraska, I bet you lame
I’m from where niggas pull up in that Lincoln and bruh ask you, “What set you claim?”
I’ll wet you lames, I’ll run in the spot and leave him hog tied
Only 12 left in the clip, I’ll let ’em all fly
The homie wanna shoot his ass again
I said, “Whatever you feed him after 12, shit’ll pop out his back like a Mogwai
My niggas Gremlins
I got inside connects at the Kremlin
All bets are off when I pull up with a Russian named Detrolov
This the death of y’all
Large shit, sub-machines and AR’s lick
We don’t play them fightin’ games, this HK ain’t for “hard kick”
I bar spit, you study us legends and copy our shit
Them .9 irons we pull out the Caddy, he not on par wit’
I’m from a dark strip, it was welfare or you had to hard pitch
I had solo sequences with the rock like a guitar riff
I sold the best dope, that’s why my memories wrong
But they knows (Thanos), these fiends tried to stay Infinity Stone-d
My boy said you ain’t half as nice
Fans be frontin’, they ain’t actin’ right
It wasn’t complicated, my dawg (dog) vision was black and white
You can’t handle Myers, ain’t no survivin’ when this ammo fires
Big shit sit in the Desert like a camel spider
If you Crippin’ let it be known, boy just tell us
Don’t rep them colors in disguise (da skies) like Aurora Borealis
Home invasions, my niggas do falls very crazy
You’ll see the devil in the crib like Rosemary’s Baby
Sunday morning, first service, during the church verses
I ask his pastor, “What’s a Saint on Earth’s purpose?”
I question him, “Who are the descendants of the Nephilim?
What evidence did Jesus leave after the death of him?”
The breath of him, Holy Spirit put melanin in my skeleton
Yet the gellin’ him over the very pigment of the flesh of him
I pressure him, “Who wrote the Testaments and can I message them?”
But it turns out, Saint a false prophet like the rest of them
Nigga, you be actin’ tough over the internet, that’s why they had to fly me in
You think you can do karate behind an IP like Donny Yen?
I’ll make his body spin, 100 round drum, you better save grace
I’m missin’ ten tho (Nintendo) but this 64’s tryin’ to wave race
I’ll play bass, but wasn’t a musician
Just to keep my family on track like my cousin a beautician
You fuckin’ wit’ true spittin’, nothin’ you do hidden
Open ya eyes, battle rap is under a new division
Bar God!

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