T-Rex vs. Reed Dollaz [Lyrics]

[Round 1: T-Rex]
(*T-Rex chooses to go before the coin flip*)
Grown Man Bars is somethin’ y’all gotta deal with!
It don’t matter how many of these punchlines he just said
It ain’t gon’ equal up (to this REAL SHIT!)
Hold on, what y’all thought he was just gon’ come here and beat me?
Wit’ them slow punches, and them weak knees?
Ayo, Floyd, he gon’ die in the ring like Apollo
‘Cause all I can think about is Creed when I see (C) Reed
I came here to fuck him up!
Left, right, uppercut!
‘Nother punch, ‘nother punch, start it off wit’ a sucker-punch
Since Floyd here, he should read where that next punch comin’ from!
But y’all thought he was gon’ beat me, right?
I was gon’ say some recycled shit, and make this look easy, right?
But it’s not gon’ be an easy night!
You’ll think I came with Miranda’s, the way I’mma give Reed (read) these rights!
Reed think I’m fuckin’ playin’!
‘Til he paralyzed from the neck down, and can’t move his fuckin’ hands
The nurses don’t even like him, they don’t want him there
And the doctor asking him shit like…”Blink twice if you understand!”
The nigga wit’ the loudest mouth, he gettin’ shot without a doubt
No referee: when we at him, only God can count you out
Hashtag: when I catch him, I’mma pound ‘em out
Muzzle on the gun!
I can’t, Reed (read): I’m tryna sound ‘em out!
Are y’all serious!?
I can’t find no good in you
With a name like Reed (read), all I can think about is bookin’ you!
Your man ya co-defendant, so he gon’ get a bullet, too
I book marks: I can be right back to get to you
You want raw, partna?
I’m a four-popper
Promise he gon’ hit the wall like a doorstop
I hit him up private like a call blocker
I’m Richie Rich: that mean I’m comin’ for your dog, Dolla (Dollar)!
Y’all serious!?
I’m talkin’ hella choppers
They gon’ need helicopters
That’s whoever thinkin’ Reed (read) live like a teleprompter!
That .50 givin’ the shots, but it ain’t Effen Vodka
So many slugs, when he die, he gon’ need a Heaven doctor!
I’m talkin’ head dot him
Walk up on him, red shot him
Code word was “Louis Vuitton”: that mean they read ‘bout him! (red bottom)
Reed think I’m playin’ – I’m not!
He gon’ be the second rapper to die in Vegas since ’Pac!
Y’all scared to say that, I’m not
I just snuffed a nigga the other day
Blindsided, like a car comin’ up the block the other way
It’s like Lebron chasin’ him on the fast break: you’ll get your block shot
I mean, it’s a difference between gettin’ shot…and gettin’ shot shot!
Echo on that thang, so when I shoot, you’ll hear, “Shot shot…”
Me, I use the Miller in a second like a stopwatch
I’ll get his whole block chalked like hopscotch!
I’m top-notch, I got the guns the niggas guardin’ Barack got!
I shoot the .40 fast like it’s on a stopwatch!
Just know this toaster ain’t warmin’ up Pop-Tarts!
Don’t nobody wanna hear about no plugs that he do not got
When his connect is through another nigga: he like a HOTSPOT!
I’m givin’ Reed (read) straight lines: it’s like my heart stopped
That mean I’m dead nice
If Reed end up dead, nice!
But I did it so smooth that he think I’m Greg Nice!
I’m buggin’ off top like head lice!
I’ll have his bean leakin’ on his red rice!
Since Mayweather is here, lemme mention some different shit
He wanna play on social media like Curtis, so I’mma make sure this .50 sent (50 Cent)!
FUCK is y’all niggas talkin’ ‘bout!?
FUCK is wrong wit’ y’all niggas!?

[Round 1: Reed Dollaz]
I told myself if I came back, I was gon’ make this shit legendary
Mayweather and Ricky Hatton, my nigga: I’m talkin’ extra scary
Whoever jump in front of this chopper gon’ be hit tragic
They gon’ have to find a pic off his ‘Gram, closin’ the casket!
Rex versus Reed: this gon’ be the Battle of the Night
Tre pound, long pipe: make him battle for his life!
Hold up, hold up

I said that to K-Shine

T-Rex and Reed Dollaz: this gon’ be the Battle of the Night
Tre pound, long pipe: make him battle for his life!
Upstream on razor blades, make him paddle through the spikes
Gettin’ robbed in your own hood: niggas grabbin’ on your ice!
And I fuck with Harlem niggas, but you? You ain’t like that
You the type to let niggas press you, then stretch you
You won’t fight back
But if a nigga throw shots on the ‘Gram, you wanna type back
Now we on him, got me slidin’ through Harlem like, “Where this dyke at!?”
If I drop a 50-clip on your block, know I’ll be right back
I’m tryna dot every eye I see, on contact
That four pound nasty, but the gauge will do him dirty, though
Or I could put this TEC (Tacch’) on his chest like Sergio!
That go for you and that shit on your ear
I know you heard me, bro!
I know all the hittas in Harlem, and you ain’t sturdy, though
I’ll have my Bronx shooter spill yo’ shit like hot spaghetti
He’ll pop you on Lennox Ave, dump the body on Donizetti

That ain’t no avenue, that ain’t no avenue

Beasley asked to let this Pit off the leash, like I ain’t ready
Rex wise, they just be gassin’ him up: this guy’s a Getty!
That MAC-10 be under my wing, yeah, that’s my boo thing
Hoodie on, or let it swing from the neck on a shoestring
Move solo, 32 in the clip like it’s Wu-Tang
Niggas better pick a new lane
Bombin’ shit like Hussein
This nigga eatin’ ass on camera?
You makin’ sex tapes?

Why not?

Now every time I look at your face, I know your breath stink
Nigga, you a bitch in my eyes, fuck what the rest think
This ain’t Summer Madness 7 – it’s Heaven!
You signed your death date!
I ain’t Casanova, my nigga: won’t punch your teeth out
I’m layin’ in the trash wit’ a mask, I got that heat out
Soon as you turn the car off, open the door, feet out
.223s get to crackin’ the glass: I’ll knock a seat out!
Hold up, hold up…
I ain’t come to play wit’ you!
The docs said he won’t make it through
Fat sloppy nigga! What bitch wanna lay wit’ you!?
Can’t say it, fuck nigga, I could get you murked in a day or two
But these hittas get the drop in an hour, and on they way in two
Nigga, this is Philly, we really be with the dumb shit
Two shooters worse than 20 bitch niggas
Fuck who you run get!
The 12-gauge shotty, the barrel look like a musket
Twin Glock 23s: that’s a band…with the drum set!
I grab the blam’
Calm him down if that’s your man
Chopper come from Pakistan
Pulled up, then the bastard ran
Tried to hit his back, but God was wit’ him ‘cause the ratchet jammed
Flagged the hand – my youngun got a-
Woo! Hold up, hold up…
Let me work! Let me work!
Listen! Listen, hold up!
Listen, listen…
I said, I grab the blam’
Calm him down if that’s your man
Chopper come from Pakistan
Pulled up, then the bastard ran
Tried to hit his back, but God was wit’ him ‘cause the ratchet jammed
Flagged the hand – my youngun got him fitted for a suit like Dapper Dan!
Nigga, this is Philly, we really be wit’ the shits
In yo’ city the next day: I’m Chief Keef wit’ the trips
Had my shooter get the drop, he gon’ pop you when you slip
Talkin’ ‘bout you be in Philly…you Tekashi wit’ the tricks!
Real niggas will drop that location, from that iPhone
But you just wanna rap, nobody really wanna die, holmes
My killas? Next-level: they watchin’ cribs on spy drones!
FN wit’ the silencer, the muzzle out the high tones!
How many times I gotta prove to these niggas that I’m the God?
So when they spit, it’s not an equal amount like you been robbed
They study me right from the dojo: nigga Mr. Miyag’
Every time they try to kick that shit, it’s a facade
Assault rifle on a tripod, cock it and spin the room
Act like we Uber: when you book that ride, I send a goon
Mini Draco wit’ the wood all on it, the mini-broom
That’s a rage up in Harlem directed by Benny Boom!
Time! Let’s get it!

[Round 2: T-Rex]
Grown Man Bars is somethin’ he gotta deal with
It don’t matter how many of them Philly fabricated lines he just said
It ain’t gon’ equal up to this real shit
Ayo, my shooters got all types of apps
So when the body drop, I don’t even gotta wait now
That’s the way you lay a nigga straight down
His family thought he got hit by a car, they yellin’, “Stay down!”
See, Reed remind me of a nigga that always say this, that, and the third
He sound like one of them crackhead niggas that wanna borrow shit
Like, “I ain’t got it now, but I’ll give you this back on the 3rd”
No change on in this battle, I spent that on a bird
112th Street shit: this my gift back to the curb!
If it ever was beef, it’s whatever it be
Just no Instagram beefin’, no evidence, please
I taught lessons – ask Math – this lesson for Reed
This the truth, no lie: I’ll bury (library) you, Reed (read)!
See, that extendo…shit, it really extend, though
Longer than the Duck Hunt wire on the Nintendo!
So go ‘head, make a move
You can go ‘head and choose a move
Long as it ain’t a stupid move
It’s drama, me and my niggas ride together: we like Uber Pool!
Stadium pics, give him a dome shot
Chrome drop, slugs help me see him from fo’ blocks
Now we outta service, sorta like when the phone drop
He on Google Chrome
They gotta Google the chrome I got!
They said, “Reed, man, what happened to him?”
He was talkin’ greasy to Rex, and man, whatever happened, shit just happened to him
Now he don’t even understand shit when you rappin’ to him
You actually gotta put a beat on, and try to rap it to him!
Reed is okay, but it ain’t no passion in him
I’ll have his soul floatin’ away: you’ll think Aladdin took him!
That’s the shit that happened to him
They said, “Is this the same guy that’s running around talkin’ ‘bout his shit explodin’?”
But once that clip explodin’, it’s gon’ be a different person
Word to Franky, right in Reed mouth is where my grippa goin’
It’s just you got Rex on that SMACK stage
Just know that MAC swing, like Beanie’s fighting on backstage
It’s the same dude that was battlin’ wit’ Meek Mill and them
I don’t know what he did to him…
But every time I land (island), he tryna get under Gill’ again (Gilligan)
“Rex, what you gave him?”
Two guns I gave him: the .38 and 9
“How many slugs you gave him?” Eight or nine
Put the hammer in his mouth, they thought he ate the 9!
They said I might not come home ‘til I’m 89!
They told me, “Rex, take your time. Don’t just take some time
It ain’t gon’ be a fast case – you gotta take some time”
I’m a one-man army, I’m on Taken time
When your charges that big, you gotta keep faith alive!
This nigga mad sweet, and he know I pack heat
Wonderin’ who gon’ give his daughter that “murdered-her-dad” speech
I shoot the maggy like I’m an athlete
I was steppin’ on so much work, I got bad feet!
Impact, it’ll flip him through the backseat
“He go to jail, and he’ll sing like Blackstreet
Me? Nah, that’s just bat-sheet
Remind me of Cassie
Take the nigga to the backseat, and she get-”
Hell with that!
Keepin’ it real, ain’t no time for the nonsense
Them Llamas was barkin’, died in a coffin
Doctors can’t save him, promised they lost him
I’m rich off that powder: I’m Johnson & Johnson!
See, I’m leavin’ wit’ this nigga head!
He know what it is already…(This nigga dead!)

[Round 2: Reed Dollaz]
Rex ain’t ‘bout that action, he fraudin’
Like, who he foolin’, yo?
I’ll shoot the K ‘til it overheat on me, like when the coolant low

What’s that mean? What’s that mean?

Or catch me out in Cali wit’ Bloods, real niggas boulin’, though
When I was too raw for the streets, you was a student though!
Head I.C.E killed you!
K-Shine (killed you!)
Murda Mook (killed you), and Murda Mook built you!
And he even stopped fuckin’ wit’chu when he seen the real you
Only fuck niggas that live behind they computers say they feel you
But today I gotta kill you
The carbon got a nice stock
Is it me, or do this nigga look like everybody’s dyke aunt?
I aim, take the right shots, chase him down a tight block
Detectives found 32 cases knocked out his night socks!
Nigga walkin’ to the light, I’ll make the sky open!
The fear of God, he gon’ die wit’ his eyes open
I’m in the trap, I’m by the stove, I got a pie smokin’
I had them smokers lockjaws and they eyes bulgin’!
You on the ‘Gram gettin’ pedicures
Me? I’m having metal wars
Chip up on that shoulder ‘til I shoot you in that head of yours
On sight, I wanted to smack you, so this SMACK stage was better for us
Now your mama ain’t gotta pick out a casket and a better florist
You ain’t really wildin’, you a tourist
Even if it’s home-court advantage, you gon’ forfeit
I can’t take another round of listenin’ to that bullshit
How you let it bang, and on gang, you won’t pull shit?
Nigga, hold up, wait a minute!
Y’all thought I was finished!?
Chopper hit the back, and knock the trunk up out an engine!

(*Crowd starts cheering*)

Hold up! Hold up!
Let me work, let me work! Listen!

Ain’t that Meek!?

I said, hold up, wait a minute!
Y’all thought I was finished!?
Chopper hit the back, and knock the trunk up out an engine!
Pussies not allowed, so get the fuck up off the premise!
Can’t identify the body: only records by the dentist!
He the type of nigga talk heavy shit, but don’t really want this smoke
I’m the type of nigga be at your door wit’ a sawed-off and a Colt
Let ‘em all off, blow your balls off, then I hauls off in the boat!
Hit the highway, get the ratchet off me, shake the law off, I’m the GOAT, nigga!
A nightmare! When you look, I’ll be right there!

I said that

Soon as you peep, mask off, I’mma tweak
.50-cal hit his mug, see the gums through his cheek!
All my life, they tried to say I’m the underdog
I’m done wit’ y’all
Since 2002, influenced damn near every one of y’all!
Hawk you, put the blade in ya neck, then hit the lung & all
Then finish him, my bitch keep the snub up in her Wonderbra!
Swing past daycares, get daughters and sons involved
Nieces and nephews and the dog, man, I want ‘em all
Pussy keep callin’ a foul, he ain’t come to ball
It’s 4th down, with 20 to go: I’ll make him punt it off!
Then run it back
My two linebackers? You don’t want none of that
Push ya line back, fuck up the quarterback, we run the sack
The drum on that
You the wide receive, you won’t miss none of that
The thunder clap
Hollow heads hit him, remove stomach fat!
Your life thin
Pussy, we done ran down the-
We Super Bowl Champions of the World! They know we might win!
Smooth killer, bitch, I’m Jean-Claude Van Damme
Shoot the AK on a handstand
Hit the Grand Champ wit’ a Grand Slam!
This a V-12 vers’ a Grand Am!
I’ve been live since American Bandstand!
Dawg, you my son, you a damn Stan!
I’ll pistol-whip ya face until it break and my hand cramp!
Home invasions, better hide yo’ family
Kill ya daughter – they’ll never find that lil’ bitch like JonBenet Ramsey!
High off the Xannies, a demon when I’m thrivin’ off the war
He’ll be dead before his body hit the floor
Fuckin’ goofy!
The type to wear a cross with a kufi!
Pull up on him, all you seen was the arm and a Uzi!
I’m a real one, you a rapper: don’t ever fuckin’ confuse me!
I’m the type play your bodega, break 100 on a loosie
If this real versus fake, your bar don’t amuse me
Niggas put hands and feet on you, dawg!
And I ain’t actin’ invincible like it can’t happen to me
But on the real, it’s the principal, dawg!
They touch me? Kim Jong, missiles go off, hittin’ ‘em all
Call of Duty, shootin’ from the hip wit’ the saw!
Pickin’ ‘em off, FMJs could shoot a brick at a wall!
Rex, this is your call!
It’s Death: embrace that shit!
It’s in the air, you can smell it and taste that shit!
I’m in your face, but on the real, why you make that fist?
You wanna box? A Hollow class will make your weight class shift!
Time, let’s get it, man

[Round 3: T-Rex]
Ayo, I’m a different breed than these other niggas
He was made from a cloth that’s called “sucka denim”
He only front on niggas that’s more of a sucka than him!
Look at his crew: he got a bunch of other suckas wit’ him!
Body shot, I got fancy wit’ it
Surgery, made it look like Dr. Miami did it!
Nah, them niggas from the family did it
Either Ronny, Robert, Shawn, or Randy did it – my brothers
Shotty made it look like I was walkin’ on crutches
Drumsticks, automatic KFC duckage
Play wit’ a Sullivan, get ya mother split
Little niggas send him to Heaven just for the hell of it
He was watchin’ his back, shooters was ahead of him
Look like the coroner tryna sew a new head on him
Crazy thing is, Reed thought his vest was protectin’ him
Now surgery doin’ research on what’s left of him
He just died, his girl fuckin’ already
She just DM’d me somethin’ already
I’mma fuck her: she ready
All I gave her was some nut n’ spaghetti
Head’s noodles, had me nuttin’ spaghetti!
I’mma fuck her, she petty
These men of mines? They don’t minimize
These men of mines, they loyal, they never pick a side
They got guns like rentals: welcome to Enterprise
Get me shot, and I’ll get you sent to God
Heart-to-heart, my nigga, soul-to-soul
Tookie gave his life, and never told a soul
You know your role, you get murdered, nigga don’t know your role
Exit so big, the doctors couldn’t close the hole
They gave Mikko natural life with no parole…free Mikko
Now I’mma get the witness: yeah, we know who told
Y’all know a couple Bloods that need big homies?
Fuck wit’ them, homie, but they know I’m Crip, homie
See, that chopper like I’m walkin’ with a stick on me
I’mma go and shoot, let Nemo set the pick for me
It’s the Mobb, I never change codes
Shoot his block up, and I come back after I change clothes
Army guns, we can’t even name those
We just start shootin’ niggas ‘til the pain goes!
Ask about me, I’m nice, nigga
Wearin’ them jewels, welcome home to ice, nigga
Walkin’ through Philly with shooters goin’ to price niggas!
Have bullets all in your head like lice, nigga
This for rap, not for your hook or your bounce
That swag’ll get you dragged and hooked in the mouth
We got beef like a tenement house
I got weed like loose change: all the time, quarters slip in the couch
You nice, though, but I ice-roll, it’ll make your ice go
I hope yo’ jeweler’s insured ya where I go
I’ll get his block cleared out, like lipo
.40 shootin’ fast like the shells on Nitro!
I’m leavin’ with this nigga head!
Y’all already know my slogan…(This nigga dead!)

[Round 3: Reed Dollaz]
I need quiet, though
Real talk, I wanna talk to him

I said…allow me to re-introduce myself: my name is Reed
For all the niggas who be actin’ like they don’t know
Realadel’, I’m from that city where they don’t go
A SMACK battle out in Philly? That’s a no-show
So they booked me for that market to help they promo
I mean, it’s only right we get a slice of the pie, right?
Nah – Smack took millions, and gave us crumbs
Mufasa-ass nigga deserve a slice on the eye!
And I know you never fuck wit’ me, but luckily
You always kept it cordial, ‘cause Philly get ugly
Since ‘9-8, ‘9-9, been buzzin’ like a bumblebee
It’s time we pushed the card from the back, so the front can see
They say the URL started from the dust, nigga…
That was us back and forth on that bus, nigga
We got you to Hollywood, Smack! Now you actin’ weird…
We was Sunni’d up, you ain’t even have the beard!
Being great made him treat me worse
But it’s a reason I ain’t have to do a PG first…
Reed Dollaz, I’m still alive, no Murda discussion
T-Rex only alive ‘cause Murda his cousin…
I got a long and outrageous clip
That’ll have you seein’ stars everywhere: that’s a Vegas strip!
I’m built, strapped wit’ TECs
Don’t play when the Lion roar
‘Cause you built like a T. Rex don’t make you a dinosaur!
I’m the Gingerbread Man, you a small muffin
Catch him at the red light, now we all bustin’
You goin’ out like ‘Pac, fuck if the law rushin’ (Why!?)
You know these Las Vegas cops don’t solve nothin’!
I’ll put the Beam on your chest (Chess), then skate
So either get that Cake Up, or wake up in SM8!
They gon’ have me on TMZ for killin’ a star…
Don’t get shot for thinkin’ that it’s still in the car!
No cap, though
All my Vegas hittas in the back, though
And this they city, so you know that they got them straps, though
Now act, ho
I’ll leave the venue, and come back, though
The General, Leader of Nations: Fidel Castro!
The Don Dada
Who want rock? No man hotter
Fly nigga, ride around wit’ the stick: that’s Harry Potter
Grand Champ? Got me up in the ring with a Chihuahua!
A red nose, you can tell that’s my breed by the saliva
Ten years for this face-off, nigga! But I was patient…
So fuck a rap battle! You owe me a conversation!
Grown Man Bars: that’s somethin’ he gotta deal wit’
No matter how many times he scream “Dot Mob”, they the same people he don’t keep it real wit’!
I shine, a brick on the wrist: that’s what I chill wit’
Your Shine? A nigga you dissed, and went to chill wit’
They tried to trap me, I trailed niggas
I’m back in the league
You just happy to tell niggas that you battlin’ Reed!
When I rap, I speak facts, do this shit wit’ a passion
You gotta…throw down your hat just to get a reaction!
I’m at your fuckin’ front door, like I’m handlin’ mail
Big stick in the yard, like the land for sale
Well, your wife played you, that’s what the game taught her
Now you stuck waitin’ on your baby like Dwayne Carter
Play it smarter, or them choppers will spark
The car creep up, like I was tryin’ to find where to park
Throw the hoodie on, waitin’ for the drama to start
Charlamagne: you’ll see my face comin’ out of the DARK!
I be lettin’ that K rock from top to south
You still waitin’ on Tay Roc to shout you out!
Fuck around, and have ten niggas inside your house
You the one that put yo’ hand in the Lion’s mouth
General, nigga

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