Charlie Clips vs. Brizz Rawsteen [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Brizz Rawsteen]
Brizz versus Charlie! It’s gon’ be a crazy one!
It’s a lot of battles on this card, and it’s gon’ be ya favorite one
And I ain’t gon’ play wit’ him
I’m gon’ leave a hole in somethin’, BAOW! It’s gon’ be the cranium
I’ll cave it in
You gon’ need head wraps, you gon’ look Arabian!
Crazy shit, told his mama I’m gonna put his baby in a sleeper hold
You gon’ see me breakin’ shit
Who callin’ Clips they favorite?
Well, you gon’ get ya faces split!
[*sshhk*] Y’all all see the razor lift!
I go against the grain wit’ it and keep goin’ around: I’m 360 wavin’ shit!
Smack called, said he ready to book it
Told him I’m ready to cook him
I’ma kill you for every one of y’all that said that I wouldn’t
Y’all gon’ see the steam – [*chk-chk*] – deletin’ scenes
That mean I’m cuttin’ Clips like I’m editin’ footage
Speakin’ of footage
Bitch, I have Clips bleedin’ everywhere before he drop
Now we leakin’ the footage
What scrap forgot?
You must ain’t seen my scrap wit’ Roc
Cause now we in Houston and my Geto Boys will give him a Scarface if he Rap-A-Lot
I had to switch it out
Nigga this time the fif’ is out
Choppin’ on ya shit, chop-choppin’ on ya shit
{Slow it down like it’s chopped and screwed}
Chop-choppin’ on ya shit, chop-
We roll up with the SIG up: I’mma Swishahouse!
Houston, I’m flamin’ dude
My Slim Thug leave him Sittin’ Sideways
Cause the bullets in this tre (Trae) The Truth
I’m talkin’ all y’all
My white boy leave ya brains on Paul Wall
He run down on and have him runnin’ from the pound like a lost dog
Texas, I roll with some Outlawz like the Boss Hogg
Texas, it’s the devil with the Longhorns
Do I ball? Nah
No shot clocks or scoreboards
But I get us in the shot with a gun long as small forward
I have ya mother suckin’ cock on the hard floor on all fours
Like, “Oh, Lawd!”
I came smokin’, I don’t want that Clips that came jokin’
I want that Clips that came focused
Two rounds? I can’t do shit wit’ Clips that ain’t loaded
My raps is legit, they know my raps is the shit
But I feel like Drake ’cause I’m up against a nigga only known for half of the clips (Clipse)
Y’all better let Clips know
One call to my Texas folk, the TECs get blown
The Fire Stick fuckin’ Clips up like the Netflix broke!
Look around, I got ’em sittin’ ’round by the exit rows
The gun ain’t petty: it know how to let shit go!
I brought the Arm and the Hammer, I ain’t stretchin’ coke!
I put 30 in him: that’s how ya turn Clips into an extendo
I’m tryin’ to get my money right
You know, extend dough
I give this new bitch five shots, but give his ex ten tho’
Smack, you said this was a Texas show
So I came for the big bread like Texas Toast
You pull up, all you see is the pumps like Texaco
Smack, we got no space for this, predictable, basic shit
He fake as shit
Like how he vegan, but Born Legacy weekend, he was orderin’ a steak and shrimp?
That’s right, that’s right, it was me, T-Top, Tay Roc, Rain, and Clips
He had a major dish, plate this big
I said, “Goddamn! Who the fuck gon’ pay for this?”
It don’t matter
The SIG Sauer get a pig slaughtered into bacon bits
You a gamblin’ man, play ya cards right, save ya chips
‘Cause I’ma light this bitch up like a Vegas strip
I piss in ya girl cup and make her take a sip
Right hooks will have more Chins on the block than an Asian pimp
Ya not gettin’ rich!
If Clips get into a bag, it’s on chips at the top of the fridge
Y’all know how clips be on the bag of chips at the top of the fridge?
Okay, stop with the shit!
You said your whole life, your moms had you locked in the crib
Playin’ the game, sloppy as shit
Never able to speak when the topic is chicks
That’s why you 37 years old, and you ain’t got you no kids
You a fake fraud
Fat nigga that hate hard
And yo’ fat ass look like you ’bout two days from a rape charge
He got daddy issues!
But from the world, that’s somethin’ he wanna safeguard
But it’s the Godfather, and even Al Paci’ know you will get your face scarred!
I’mma black on all these niggas: I hate to pull the race card
Your mans have been demoted, and you can’t even control it
The pistol twerk (Twork) in ya mouth
That mean when it’s strapped in, it could snap at any moment!
You don’t do drugs!?
Your brains will be on Smack at any moment!
Yeah? Brains? Drugs? Smack at any moment!?
I’m so motherfuckin’ mean wit’ it
I’ll bring that shit and do a whole ‘nother scheme wit’ it!
Nigga, ya brains will be on Smack at any-
Fuck it, I’m so motherfuckin’ mean wit’ it
For a whole seventeen minutes
I’ll open your mother mouth and put the whole fuckin’ thing in it!

[Round 1: Charlie Clips]
I said yo, my grandmoms called me the other night
And she said, “Baby, let me give you some advice
You only as good as your last battle.”
I said, “But, Grandma, I won 13 in a row.”
She said, “Oh, baby, I know, but the fans are only gon’ talk about that Ave battle.”
She said, “What happened anyway?”
I said, “It was 200 degrees, the AC broke, he choked, I was on-
Long story short: it was a bad battle.”
She said, “Well, baby, do everybody a favor
If you not gon’ go hard no more, it don’t even make sense to have battles.”
I said, “So what you want me to do, Grandma?”
She said, “I want you to walk on stage and look in that snake eyes (Snake Eyez) like a Math battle
And show ’em I’m O’fficial wit’ a big head like one of Jaz battles
Hit his whip, make the car flip
It’s gon’ be his last battle!
‘Cause they gon’ find him on the Freeway with no beat like one of Cass’ battles!”
Houston, I’m on my shit!
Oh, I’m smellin’ it, inhalin’ it
MAC, Ruger, .9, pumps, All That, Kenan & Kel’in’ it
T-Top, mind ya business, or ya head gon’ get a shell in it
And you gotta live the rest of ya life without Top: nigga, ya celibate
Ask Houston if Brizz better than me and watch they say, “Never”
Aye, Loso! You did a Rocket scheme earlier, cool
But I got one I think is way better
Aye, Houston, y’all know Charles been playin’ wit’ the Rockets in ‘9-8
My whole team great
Eddie Johnson: it don’t get a lot of burn, but it’s a mean eight
The deuce-deuce, make ya soul glide like Clyde into a dream state
Then Olajuwon hit ’em while he sleep and make his dream shake
Nigga talkin’ ’bout he got Berettas and shoot better than Eric Gordon
You need to stop it, fella
If the Clip fall, Chris Paul, ’cause the handle is gon’ drop whoever
Nana and Clint: that’s two big Rockets that control the block together
But if I put Clint in (N) the center then everything goin’ acapella (Capela)
With these MACs, I’m the one that you call on whenever you need answers
He had a Rocket, but it fell off, harder than Steve Francis
I put niggas in comas for years when that thing sparkin’
You gon’ go to sleep lookin’ like Ariza, but you gon’ wake up lookin’ like James Harden
Aye, Smack, you put me against a crackhead
You don’t get a face like that from sippin’ Bacardi and rollin’ up spliffs of the Marley
You know my name in London mean “cocaine”, so you was out there sniffin’ the Charlie?
And you ain’t do it by yourself, I heard you had your wife sniffin’ it probably
So we can find yay’ (‘Ye) in ya queen’s bridge (Queensbridge) like Nas’s listenin’ party
But you know what!? I’m over that!
I’m back with that AK and that shoulder strap
Y’all know the one, that’s like a ratchet parent at they kid graduation because it (over-clap!)
Nah, nigga, I’m about that life
And I got a new AK, and it’s about to strike
And it clap more than a little black girl that’s about to FIGHT!
Oh, but you want me to rap about a knife
Okay Brizz, don’t let Clips get you
Let’s not forget, your machete disloyal and I think that was a big issue
See, this was a little knife
This my wife, but you can take the bitch wit’chu
See, she not disloyal ’cause when you give her back, she still tryin’ to stick wit’chu
Aye, but fuck a machete and a lil’ knife
Let’s talk about guns, I like to grip mine
I’m infatuated with hammers, I’m talkin’ big time
Like if I call my gun connect phone, and he don’t wanna answer the shit? Fine
J Prince Jr., I’m walkin’ all through Houston lookin’ for 6-9! (6ix9ine)
Round 1, nigga

[Round 2: Brizz Rawsteen]
{Brizz clapping}
The nigga ain’t never got no-
Give it up for Charlie Clips, man!
That was good, man. That was good, man! That was GOOD, man! That was mean, man! That was mean
My, my, my, my, my, how heavy is the head that wore the crown
I mean you once was a king, then you came with these awful rounds
I guess since the game done got watered down
They figured me and the bum Clips can go to war for now
You used to rhyme iller
But nigga, now you Godzilla
I say that ’cause you was a monster but it’s been awhile since you tore shit down
After ya loss to Lux, you was in a loss to luck
You lost ya way, you lost ya babe, you even lost a little weight
I figured he had lost enough
The fans said, “Charlie, he don’t give us that same feel”
I said, “That’s ’cause he lost his touch”
Well, now you on Wild N Out
Well, my nigga, is you bossin’ up?
Or are you just another battle rapper that’s on Nick’s nuts?
Keep it real, yo’ fat ass still in that Harlem apartment stuck
Ya walkin’ bruh, Smack send one car to get all y’all picked up
Called his slut
She said, “Yeah, he fat. Charlie gut make it hard to fuck
He trash and his bars just suck
He garbage, plus he was doin’ so bad, him and Goodz had to partner up.”
Nigga, talk ya stuff
I’m here to spar wit’ Chuck, he gotta sharpen up
My aim right on the money like “In God We Trust”
I dump the can’ in his back: he a garbage truck
I don’t care what Clips act like
‘Cause see, Clips that type that jump the ship
That’s right: he left URL to go suck Nick At Night!
This is a bitch bull versus a pit bull
I get the fif’ pulled [*ch-ch*]
When he catch one in the head, you know the Clips full
I show ya how to handle Clips
First you gotta duct tape the handle grip
The machete slip ya top, then peel him: now he Banana Clips
Yo, I was a fan of Clips!
Goddamn it, we all was fans of Clips!
What I don’t understand is this
Every time yo’ ass showed up shitty, the fans pull up to Pamper Clips
I want that pullin’ them dirty clothes out the hamper Clips
I want that fat ass, “Give me everything upon my sandwich Clips”
All that and a bag of chips, and the dip
Quiet Charlie
You fake, don’t even try it Charlie
How the fuck is you this fat, and you been on a vegan diet, Charlie?
(You just sucked ya stomach in, too, nigga)
I ain’t surprised with Charlie
Char-L-I-E: I can see the “lie” in “Charlie”
I’m violent Charlie
I put a knife through the right it’ll come out the other side of Charlie
He’ll survive it hardly
Before it jam, rock, it locks on all they fam’, they not the Marleys
But they still get the smoke from the SIG (cig) like Rastafaris
My Philly niggas will hop out and chase you: you’re not Safaree!
My white boys raise arms and got some baldies: it’s a Nazi party
We ain’t playin’ wit’ him
In Texas you gon’ see a mean blade in him
And that shit’ll open ya dome like AT&T Stadium
I told you, I’m givin’ Clips the magazine just for kicks like the Eastbay
It’s like the knife keep singin’ the same song in that weak fade
Cause I keep bringin’ that shit back like a DJ
It’s the stingray
With the sling blade
I kill ’em, they can’t bring Clips back: it ain’t no replays
Motherfucker, you got jokes and Raw flips
He don’t know I’m bipolar, you’ll die if Raw flip
I’m on some wire jaw shit
I let this iron off, bruh
The side come off ya, it’s sayonara
I’m sendin’ big rounds through the air like flyin’ saucers
The animal is back
All they seen is the dawg on Clips like When Animals Attack
Rogue warrior with the Hawk: Animal is back!
Nigga, I came for the fight in the damn street
This Zangief, the fang teeth
The knife toss and turn in a nigga like it can’t sleep
Rappin’? I’m just better at it
I got a resume of better matches
All kings die and tonight, nigga yo’ head detaches
Not only is you losin’, I’m takin’ away ya legend status
But to be all the way honest, nigga, you never had it
Darkside, nigga

[Round 2: Charlie Clips]
I said yo, Brizz Brandon Rawsteen
You is one confused silly nigga
Born in Delaware, raised in North Carolina
But all yo’ life, you wanted to be a Philly nigga
You thought you was gonna grow up and really get a track on Dreams & Nightmares wit’ Meek Milly nigga?
You silly nigga!
Two guns, one in the left, but the bald head comin’ from the right like Gillie, nigga!
You so fuckin’ sad
Ayo, Houston, you wanna know what got me so fuckin’ mad?
This nigga beard can’t even fully grow but he wanna be from Philly so fuckin’ bad
My nigga, look at ya sideburns
That ain’t even hair, that’s a fuckin’ scab
If you do go to Philly, I bet you won’t step foot outta the fuckin’ cab
Make me put this knife to ya cheek, Raw
Bring it down, then let the shit poke him
Then I had the TEC (Tech) 9 black (Blac) in ya face; Champion
I’m just jokin’
But I will throw a smoke bomb in ya mother house and have the shit smokin’
Then it’s gon’ be like a Cortez battle cause all you gon’ see is ya sis’ (Cyss’) chokin’
Talkin’ ’bout how you be in Philly and you play wit’ strippers
And you touch money and you one of they favorite tippers
You get a little money, buy some Dutch and a Spade
Now you think you gettin’ major figures
Oh, this is why I don’t play with niggas
Western Conference, Rockets, Blazers, Clippers
If we was in Philly, I’d shoot so good I could’ve saved the Sixers
But this nigga need to save his sister
Cause Smack hit it twice before
Beasley introduced her to URL, I had her bent over like she was tryin’ to wipe the floor
My nigga Surf just came home to buy a condom, and he was gettin’ ready to pipe the whore
But I told Surf, “You don’t even need a condom, because Tsu, she (sushi) like it raw”
Speakin’ of Raw, when you added that to your name, did you tell yourself, “Dang, it’s awesome.”
Was writin’ in ya book, graffiti artwork, you used to tag it often?
Okay, Raw, well my pistol whip game sick wit’ the Mag’, it’s awesome
I would beat Raw ’til he’s sick wit’ a Cookie like Magic Johnson
Aye, talkin’ ’bout you gon’ rob me
But wear some hardware if you try to take my key
I will give this little nigga 21 and over like a fake ID
{Guy in the crowd starts to boo. Clips ain’t havin’ it and starts talking back to the crowd}

You ain’t boo Brizz ONCE when he was shitty!
You ain’t gon’ boo me, nigga

{That REALLY gets the crowd going. Now they’re all booing.}

Got ’em. Got ’em. Got ’em. Got ’em
Houston, listen, I understand it’s not everybody
I know half of the crowd still fuck wit’ Clips
But we gon’ play a game
Next time you boo me, you suckin’ dick!

{Crowd starts cheering}

Don’t be scared to boo now!
This round ’bout to be crazy from now on

Like I said, nigga talkin’ ’bout he gon’ rob me of my work
Tell him to wear some hardware if he try to take my ki’
I give this little nigga 21 and over like a fake ID
My [?] gon’ say “Yo, Rawsteen fire. You gotta keep it safe, my G.”
I told that nigga I’m two levels above Raw: I’m H.I.V!
Goddamn, I’m barkin’, and the can’ is sparkin’
Shootin’ everybody in the precinct, from you to Lieutenant and the sergeant
This nigga called my phone last week like, “Yo, can I borrow ya gun?”
Talkin’ ’bout, “I gotta jam a target.”
I told that nigga, “I don’t share magazines, I’m Angry Man from Martin.”
But I’m from Crime Square, where the little niggas on the block play on all kind of stoops
These niggas hustle hard in the summer
Sweatin’, while losin’ weight like a sauna suit
They serve fiends by the tens, they be servin’ all kind of groups
Fuck a measurin’ cup, we got pictures of the white girl like a Madonna shoot
100 shots, Phil callin’ up, who let the mamba loose
Aye, this ya kin, Tay? (Kinte)
Well, you gon’ lose all kinda Roots
Fuck Timbs! These bullets is freaks: they knockin’ all kinda boots
Head shot, the nigga head leakin’ all kinda fruit
His melon was everywhere, the crime scene look like Jamba Juice
Y’all can try to hate on the God, as long as them checks come
And don’t worry Houston, I’ma rock it (Rocket) on the next one
I got you

[Round 3: Brizz Rawsteen]
It ain’t complicated Clips, by now, you ain’t figured it out?
You had your own room in the crib, Smack talkin’ ’bout kickin’ you out, sittin’ you down
Nigga, all you had to do was finish ya rounds
Long road, but you at the end of it now
No matter how much gas he might get from the crowd
Is this how you want them to remember you clown?
It ain’t all rap, sometimes you gotta talk to a lame
It ain’t all about a loss or gain
It’s about every time we cross this stage, it’s like we walk through flames
Yep, we still do it, that’s called “insane”
First you winnin’, it’s the fancy, flossin’ chains
Then the losses came and ya head down
Then ya headed down the walk of shame
Nigga, one bad shot can cost the game
Hollow killed you, I watched Lux cause you pain
Never thought he’d let the world know ya mom’s real name
Never thought he’d show the world paperwork with ya father’s name
But I’m guessin’, these things just the cost of fame
Cause you had love and lost it, mayne
Now Nick Cannon ya boss, that’s strange
‘Cause he could’ve told you Love Don’t Cost A Thing!
Nigga, cut the lies and shit
You can’t lie to Brizz
You let the world think DNA was ridin’ ya coattail and really you was ridin’ his!
DNA, these niggas not ya friends
He couldn’t wait to let us know it was him who gave you a spot to live
Remember when they used to let you sleep on the couch and beg ya bitch to let you sleep in the house like ‘Pac and BIG?
Nigga, this that arm long as Olajuwon, Houston Rocket shit
But the arm spin wit’ the shot like Dominique
They used to watchin’ Clips
Even a couple bootleg niggas who copied Clips
I’m cut, pastin’ and croppin’ Clips
You know, takin’ him out the pic
Now who will vouch for this?
I wanna know how come this coward just stood and watched the white boy give ya man the beats like The Alchemist
Shout-out Hoffa, bitch!
I should take Math ‘matic and subtract yo’ ass: it ain’t calculus
But if it was I’d probably know where yo’ houses is
‘Cause calculus, well, that’s the study of findin’ property
See, I got that from math
Not Hoffa, the class
You the type of rapper to get shot in the ass
You a Wal-Mart, Paul Blart cop and a half
And you don’t know nothin’ ’bout coppin’ a half
You ’bout a 49 waist tryin’ to squeeze into 39-and-a-halfs
You a fat nigga, usin’ the soap that never wash wit’ a rag
I got a problem wit’ that
It’s the black God, chief of the Tribe of Shabazz
You better make good use of the little time that you have
Or I’ma make you the next famous bitch found drowned in a bath
R.I.P. Whitney, Houston, you done came down a country bro
Long shottys, rusty .4’s
American Dream, drop him: Dusty Rhodes!
This baby will sniff him out, dawg: it got a puppy nose
Tell ya man Goodz he better cool it dude
I put the .9 to ya baby face (Babyface) like this is for the Cool In You
This is a crock of shit
And y’all watchin’ this
He think I came to talk about how his pop a snitch
And how he told more about the game then Gregg Popovich
Nah, it’s more about you fuckin’ up your accomplishments
How you was in my top 10, then you dropped a bit, then just dropped from it
Nigel shot you some good advice, you should’ve followed it
But you died
It’s ironic: they were Hollow tips
Can you see it?
After tonight they won’t care about you
You had heart, I’m here to tear it out you
I pistol-whipped yo’ ass
Yeah, I bring the strap ’round his head like a pair of goggles
They gon’ try to defend dude
Before I go, third round vs Lux, when you said, “Y’all wanna talk about my pops bein’ a snitch? Well, his pops is a snitch, too.”
Right then I said, “This nigga prolly a snitch, too!”
Why you mention dude?
Darkside, nigga

[Round 3: Charlie Clips]
Y’all liked the way he talked to me?
Aight, now it’s time to talk to him
NOME 8, this my closin’ verse
Like fuck a casket, throw this bastard in the back and just close the hearse
Every time Brizz mother open and close her shirt, it make a nigga wanna go berserk
And just put it in
If you wasn’t stuck in T-Top’s shadow for so long, just imagine what ya coulda been
My nigga, you have been on more teams than Robert Horry
Brizz, becomin’ ya own man is not hard
It’s like you was leading Darkside to the light, then you reversed the whip and joined Dot Mobb
Then when Dot Mobb was losin’ control, it’s like you, jumped out the whip to join another group
You was tryin’ so hard to swerve outta that Rex lane that you crashing and still ended up under Murda Mook
Then you figured, “Nah, let me change lanes
‘Cause the insurance is looking better over there with Cave Gang.”
I don’t know if leavin’ Dot Mobb is that Progressive
But joinin’ Tay Roc squad is the same thing
My nigga, stop talkin’, before I paralyze you and you stop walkin’
Let me ask you this: what is your profession?
You a team-hoppin’ nigga that don’t bust guns but claim he hold the weapon
Now I know why you put Raw in ya name
‘Cause you ridin’ these niggas dick with no protection
Oh, it’s time to go night-night
I could bar ya life away, but me and Suge wanna know what ya life like
‘Cause nigga, your soul more fucked up than Lil’ Bow Wow’s in Like Mike
Oh this is the part where we bow our heads as brother Brandon Brizz Rawsteen soul is prepared to leave us
And I heard you don’t believe in God
Cool, ’cause we can still play “Swear to Jesus”
My nigga, swear to Jesus, you love Dot Mobb, and you respect that group whether they dead or not
Nigga, swear to Jesus you love Tay Roc more than T-Top cause Cave Gang put ya career in a better spot
My nigga, swear to Jesus-
Look at T-Top like, “Okay, king, ya better stop.”
My nigga, swear to Jesus if they was fallin’ off the roof right now, you would hold Tay Roc hand instead of Top
Look at him, he tryin’ to think about it
“I ain’t gon’ lie y’all, that was a close call
But you know me, I’m Brizz Rawsteen: I’ll let ’em both fall.”
See, the problem is, ya Lifestyle revolves around grabbin’ a Magnum
And that’s why I be sayin’ you be doin’ the most Raw
See you can have the Power but by the time he (Tommy) realize it the stupid nigga done let Ghost fall
And that’s why this nigga here is Tariq
Oh here is some information I wanna provide for you
Y’all remember when Hitman and Verb was gon’ fuck him up?
T-Top was ready to slide for you
But what you didn’t notice was Rain jumpin’ in the middle, my nigga Rain was ready to ride for you
And that’s why I call you Tariq ’cause ya stupid ass ain’t even know Rain’ll (Raina) die for you!
Ayo, Houston! We got a problem!
I should let the chrome rise
Head shot, if he survive, he gon’ wake up thinkin’ we at NOME 5
Talkin’ ’bout you puttin’ bodies in the bag like hash browns and you startin’ to believe ya own lies
Head shot, I give your dome five
And nobody in the crowd heard it, ’cause I’m seasoned wit’ the potato like home fries
Now it’s a wrap, if Nina kiss you, you won’t get a chance to kiss her back
All these Gs in ya Unit, and I still bet 50 that you won’t Get The Strap!
Listen SMACK, is this nigga from Delaware
He can lose his Apple if I grip the MAC
Survive? How can he (Kenny) when this Smith ain’t never sit with Shaq
Stop talkin’ through my rounds about this and that
You battled O, but couldn’t put ya hands on Red like a Twister mat
They said I fell off, always wanna question my legacy
I figured that
When I beat legends like Serius Jones and Iron Solomon
I don’t know which one was the bigger match
But I gave Jones and that Jew L’s (Juelz) on Cam’ like a Diplomat
Aye, Calicoe!
Don’t worry, I’mma get you soon
But before I end this verse
R.I.P. to my nigga Boom
You thought it was over!? This nigga gotta be the biggest fool!
‘Cause I brought the biggest tool
Revolver: six spin through eight like it’s middle school
Go ‘head and brush ya waves
I let the cannon ball in them shits like a swimmin’ pool
They said I fell off…
Well, I guess NOME 8 got me in a different mood
For real now

[Brizz Rawsteen]
It’s my turn! Yo!

[Charlie Clips]
Oh, alright
Now that’s a 2-1!

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