Real Deal vs. Math Hoffa [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Math Hoffa]
In this battle rap game, there are no friends
The way I use a razor, I’ll make you think me and Zorro twins
I’ll put a pocket on ya side, give him cargo skin
Or let the four bang on his chest like when Goro win
Deal…cut the deck!
Fuck ya rep, where ever I go, I get ’nuff respect
Mass what up?
I mean it took me two years but I’m here tho’
This weirdo make the scene corny
For this bird they call a scare, crows pecked at my grave like Brandon
That’s when my head peaked
I’m Bruce son, fuck what you brung, nigga I’m deadly (dead Lee)
This is big business, I came here to dig his ditch
And bury you next to Nocando and Syd Vicious
That Grind Time style’s so old I gotta dust him
You the same Trevor, through every era you not adjustin’ (a Justin)
See once upon a time, you was killin’ these pups
Now you a back page prostitute, your delivery’s butt
I mean it literally sucks
Trevor you’ve given enough
You not that Cinderella Man you Hillary Duff
Let’s keep it a buck
You can’t spit with me lyrically
Far as punches, my hunch is, you can’t get with me physically
Picture the imagery
I swing, hit his chin, he get the boot shake
I turn this fruit face into Italy
I’m the epitome of punchlines, yeah they know that shit’s real
They need to take your name on the cards off, they won’t miss Deal
Me? I’m entertainin’
You? I think you playin’
I watch all your battles after Sno(w) bored (board), you Winter Gamin’
Let me put this into laymen’s terms, you on the down slope
For years I watched you tryin’ to hang, well now you found rope
Cause you don’t got bars like that
After this match, you gon’ be at the bar like that {snaps fingers}
So try not to fall asleep you know his bars type wack
And I’ll be here the next round to bring the bars right back

[Round 1: Real Deal]
Speaking of, did y’all see me at Gully vs ‘Ganik? I was fuckin’ hammered
{crowd cheers}
No, I was embarrassed, I need to make that more than clear
I got to thinkin’, Cliff notes, it’s not cool to battle rap
When everybody knows your name and you’re revered
I was drinkin’ Sam alone like, “I could die and (Diane) what’s worse, how would my son feel?”
Like, “Would he (Woody) resent me?”
Sam alone, Diane, Cliff, Woody, fuck that Boston I know what the Norm is {cracks open a beer} cheers!
I said, finally, somebody found this man a ride, I see
He’s actually here, ready to rap, no excuses surprisingly
You look really fuckin’ confident Justin as far as I can see, the irony
He went from not havin’ a ride to Mass’, to feelin’ like he’s in the driver’s seat?
The fans was askin’ like, “What happened with your transportation with The Saurus?”
I know they offered, leave him alone
Havin’ to admit you’re almost 40 without a car, I know it’s awkward
So I just say, “Thanks for comin’ out.” Cause if not it would’ve been a disaster (Dizaster)
I would’ve been at a loss for words like you on Total Slaughter
It’s like the Golden Globes, for you it must’ve been a bitch comin’ out like Jodi Foster
I said, they said, “Math” I rolled up the sleeves on the chef coat like, “Bet bro. What’s the pitch?”
No need for the clef note, I’m talkin’ Venmo
No Nintendo
If you down B, I’m down B, so pick the play
Don’t matter, you still tryin’ to catch Bo and this is Tecmo
I bring nightmares that could burn a hole in the dream catcher above your bedpost, let’s go
One sucker punch gave you all the petro from get go
You went rogue then chin checked Jones, he was your next Dose
Sucker shit, so far as you and me, it’s gluten free, check “no” for breakin’ bread hoe
I ain’t tryin’ to fuckin’ stomp him
Since we up in Boston, I’ll lace him up the retros
Jump around and put ten toes through your breast bone
Do the Math, even ya homies keepin’ they distance
Shit Ernesto got you friend zoned
Hold up, “Do the Math”, that’s ironic like Suge Knight bumpin’ Beats By Dre on Death Row
Motherfucker you ain’t been the same since Diz’ went klepto out the west coast
You got punched and that’s somethin’ you just don’t let go like En Vogue
So what’s it gonna be?
You over the hill Justin, ain’t nobody fuckin’ with Trevor but Will’s cousin
You know gangs in New York, cool?
I got former students that’ll roll up on you, a pupil with an Eagle like Bill Cutting
Or we could throw hands bro ham if you think that I’m still frontin’
No guns, I’ll put down the mop and finish Math in Boston like Good Will Hunting

[Round 2: Math Hoffa]
“King Of The Dot champion” that shit would sound nice with my name
Y’all know I used to rob niggas, so it’s nothin’ to snatch ICE in the chain
Get that right in your brain
That title ain’t fittin’ on you
Your bars? They light (Daylyt) so it’s only right I’m shittin’ on you
You trash Trevor and I know you been knew that shit
I found his rap book at the hotel, I picked it up and THREW THAT SHIT
A couple minutes later…raccoons was goin’ through that shit
I swear I heard one read a line and the rest of ’em booed that shit
So Boston, don’t gas him cause he’s white y’all
Cause he prolly don’t even like y’all
Y’all don’t got no happy hour out here, I know he tight y’all
He’s from Pennsylvania and he lived there all his life y’all
The way the Celtics just beat the ‘6ers, I KNOW HE WANNA FIGHT Y’ALL
See I’m from New York, I wear Yankee fitteds for the look, them shits be extra clean
But speakin’ of doin’ things for the look, ain’t you on Rex’s team?
You Dot Mobb, right?
But you ain’t swingin’ if Rex hookin’
If ICE got him knocked out, he saw ICE and was like, “Hey Wolf, when’s your next bookin’?”
I guess you did it for the gun bars cause now he got gun bars
Trevor he likes heaters
After that shit in Santa Fe, really Mr. Weller? You like ninas?
Well I understand, cause he a real life teacher
And it’s cool, they don’t tell kids things they would use in real life [?]
All you Dot Mobb niggas, when y’all come around I get hype
Who want what?!
Y’all all butt
I won’t even flinch if your four tucked
I flash back to Iron, you’ll be all exposed like dog nuts
I’m on that goon shit
I’ll knock you out in the bathroom bitch
Grab your head and slam your face on the urinal, make your tooth chip
I’m God with the pool stick, Nino with the Uz’ clip
If I go broke I’ll run up on you and get some new shit
That’s true shit
I’m cookin’ hard white like I’m preparin’ hard
Two D’s on my waist like O’fficial when she don’t wear a bra
You hear me dawg?
I can teach an atheist to fear a god
Put the barrel on his neck like a Saint Bernard
I’m hard
And you don’t got bars like that
After you leave school, you’ll be at the bar like that {snaps fingers}
If y’all ’bout to fall asleep you know the bars type wack
But I’ll be here the third round to bring the bars right back

[Round 2: Real Deal]
You are not beatin’ me when they watch this back
You’re not beatin’ me in the room
I punch better, setup better, angles and consistency see I’m the truth
All you have is your image
You’re right, like when you say gun bars, people can see it from you
But didn’t Trump say he’s start armin’ teachers? Bitch I’m about to be more believable too!
I said, I’m just better all around and you know that, the shit ain’t a question
Oh you want an example?
Hold on Math, I’m not [?] give me a second
It’s like Breaking Bad cause I’m a teacher and a chef cookin’
He know I’m a monster and-
It’s like Breaking Bad, the white kid go dumb walkin’ with the sticks
Yeah we go out with choppers
It’s like Breaking Bad this square supposed to be a killer as Jesse lost
Yeah we don’t rock with Hoffa, no!
It’s like Breaking Bad cause my name ringin’ bells until I blow up like Tio Salamanca
You good Math? Did you eat?
You know how he gets when Math isn’t fed
The best chance is to punch me so they can overlook the trash shit he says
He told Shotti P, “it’s like a flow master versus a chiropractor”
Y’all lookin’ for somethin’ hot you’ve been Catfished instead
You suck and you’re overrated like a fat bitch’s head
Think about Math versus T-Top, Beasley hyped it like nothing was bigger
“A Brooklyn legend taking on an up and comer”, good luck coming up with a winner
But then T-Top was just “ehh” and he still washed you, I’m like, “What’s with this picture?”
You said it’s cause your girl gave birth to your daughter that day, well at least someone delivered
I said, he got a scar on his face as a reminder of how he changed and won’t go back
To me it just looks like a scar cause someone marked ya homo ass
You popped shit, they ran down and caught you dolo Math
You had to face the music, be glad it wasn’t Gun & Roses and all you got is a solo Slash
Look, I know the drill yet y’all give the boy a sucker like my first Philly
He got a scar, that said he wasn’t even worth killin’
You’re right, I’m at a Brooklyn bar, posted on your turf chillin’
Like, “Give me a pitcher” and I sock blood like Kurt Schilling
I said disrespect, I smack your baby mom on the ass like, “Bitch let’s ride”
If she don’t come right away I throw her on my shoulders like she ’bout to get that five
I fuck the dog shit out of her, then sit back and take pictures until she crash like Princess Di
Only because the boy savage in the bed like The Princess Bride
I will pull every woman you care about cause I’m selfish fam’
Your aunt, sister and your baby’s mom like, “What can you tell the champ?”
Brooklyn bitches tryin’ to act bae
In the backseat like, “Real, it’s hella cramped.”
Aston Martin, I put the Cougar in the middle of that John like Mellencamp
Oh I forgot, it’s Mr. No Ride, No Show cause he ain’t got cars like that
But let me guess, my bars type wack
You told Shotti P you “cockin’ the 12 like a pedophile”
You’re right, I ain’t got bars like that
But you gon’ have to pick your kid up 500 feet from the school if you bring them bars right back

[Round 3: Math Hoffa]
You talkin’ ’bout my bars and cockin’ the 12 like a pedophile
Well I’m a truth seeker
When I spit that line, you went fuckin’ crazy like, “Yo, that’s true ether!”
And I was like, “Word Deal,”
Then I remembered, “Wait a minute. That was a pedophile line. This motherfucker’s a school teacher.”
Three battles in three weeks, I’m on a path to the best
They figured I wouldn’t last and I would crash at this test
They thought my passion had left or I’m just snatchin’ a check
But the best revenge for those that doubt you is massive success
And I’ve been killin’ it, I’ma do ’em bad, just witness it
They put you against death like you an abolishonist
I’m back, like I found that bag full of tabs from Limitless
Boy you make me mad you get stabbed or pistol whipped
The four give ’em knots like I ain’t past the bitterness
The blade will find a vein while I stab and split ya shit
And I stab and then stab and then stab ridiculous
Boy I’m tryin’ to find your main like wrath of mistresses
Whoa, let me ask, who’s kid is this?
How you end up on my dinner plate?
He the grandfather from Get Out
He thought this body would keep him in the race, big mistake
You took that bread to get slumped
Blame Bishop and Organik, they set up this bump
They said they can’t let the chain hang around the neck of a drunk
So you that Fresh Prince Trevor, you was dead from the jump
Now when I battled Shotti P, you was the drunkest thing I ever seen in my life
Correction, every battle event I see you at, you the drunkest thing I ever seen in my life
Now I ain’t sayin’ you wrong, go ‘head get ya groove on
But why after events we all gotta pick up Deal, this ain’t Groupon
I understand you goin’ through some shit, your reasons are too legit
I mean I lost people too, right in front of me when that toolie spit
But you got a son, and a school full of kids
That should tip the scale
But you out here relivin’ ya failures until ya liver fail
Listen to me, schools don’t teach shit but they good for human relations
And you’re a kind face to those black kids in a world where cruelty’s waitin’
So if you can get them focused on all the jewels it’ll save ’em
But if we lose the doctor then we losin’ the patient
You understand?
Rest in peace Bender
If we lost you, that would be sad to me
If this don’t charge you to go to AA there will be battery
See I’m doin’ this for you, cause I feel like you would do this for me
Cut your drinkin’ down by a third, keep it to like two or just three
I know it’s gon’ be hard but stay true my G
Especially tonight after losin’ to me
Cause we cool!
I saw that video where you rap to them kids in your school
Nigga I’ll get the tool it’s a wrap for the kids in ya school

[Round 3: Real Deal]
I told y’all a million times, I’m not a killer
I’m Attila, keep it a Hun’do this was ill advised
I ain’t missed a beat even when Dilla died
A grape Swisher Sweet, I’m fittin’ to get really high
Burn Hoffa live and roll up his ashes, blow smoke rings to the Vanilla Sky
Then put it out, in an ashtray from the hands of the guerrillas that said you’re solidified
You’re a certified hater
Shittin’ on up and coming rappers, tryin’ to go for they throat
Mad they gettin’ plates instead of getting props they showin’ some growth
If they winnin’, the culture winnin’
You a vet, this are things that homie should know, so why am I tellin’ him?
Well I said, “Fuck it. Being a gym teacher, who better to show him the ropes.”
He couldn’t give y’all a battle with The Saurus cause he couldn’t find a one way commute
King Of The Dot would’ve compensated you extra and flew you back first class Sunday to boot
Now he’s back in your good graces Organik?
Wait up, son’s playin’ you
Travis, you rock with this mark? Cool
He on some punk shit, before you can Blink, he gon’ pull somethin’ and 182
See it’s always small things, right?
But let me talk to him
I don’t believe in karma
But as far as that Dizaster shit, it seemed inevitable, something that you couldn’t escape
Math I like you, but when I reflect I’m like, “This was good in a way.”
Cause I think how you portrayed yourself for years now I smile every time I look at your face
Cause as a school teacher we get a little extra joy when we see a bully get put in his place
So here’s some advice Hoffa
You need to start double checkin’ the people you know
You think they par for the course til it’s time to tee off and go
You told Iron, “Math is an acronym: Me And The Hoes.”
I believe that, cause I watched Clips when you got hit and seen how he froze
I said that punch had him stumbling like senior prom
Boy laid down gettin’ his fetal on, “Help!” like The Beatles song
You was In Too Deep; Nia Long
Lookin’ for Charlie like Vietcong
That’s alright, I’m not the street battler you wanted
Keep thinkin’ I don’t know about the slums, I’m not Ill Will
It’s Real Deal, I don’t have a Jamaican connect
Guess what, I got a southie one, I call him
I said, “Yo Mickey, call up the Donnelly’s, we have this little problem here. His name’s “Math.”
“Oh the one that says you ain’t got bars like that? That fuckin’ Hoffa queer.”
I said, “Hold on bro. I ain’t say all that. Take it easy fam.”
He said, “Come on, he acts hard and wears a Yankee’s ball cap. He’s probably a Jeter fan.”
He said, “I’ll call Sal from old colony. Matter of fact, I’m gonna see him tonight
Joey just got out the yard, fuck it, he’s always eager to fight.”
I said, “Hold on. Castle Island is feasible, right?
I got you for a couple G’s, is that light?”
He said, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll give him a wicked beatin’
Give him a couple Louieville Sluggers leave him by the harbor and give him three for the stripes.”
I said it’s your boy RD The Chef I made sure every line cook cause this is my meal ticket
Hoffa! You just lost to somebody Real, Deal wit’ it

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