Danny Myers vs. Chef Trez [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Chef Trez]
Yo, how the fuck is this a look for me?
My stock higher, what’s in store?
A youngin’ givin’ an old head a shot, this The Wire
You are not ready, we ain’t teammates no more, do not test me
But if we was, you would’ve got this beatin’ down the block like a boxed Chevy
All them children you got, and you think you can son me to add a blessing?
Well let me add a lesson, ain’t an adolescent
Nigga got ten kids, you want another boy? Well here, MAC-11
Buckle down, the deuce? Compact
But this photo, fuckin’ wild, you’ll get your vehicle flipped
Now you gotta get it fixed
Peep the double clown?
Two, photo, vehicle, fix, let me dumb it down
That’s you in a hospital, having to recoup so Dan (Sedan) gotta recover now
When shit went left, right, I stayed down ’til I came up
I am a cheat code, jackpot, he seen more rounds than a damn casino
Reload the clip, but this batch legendary; Dan DeVito
Try to run in Florida, but I caught a bat (quarterback); Dan Marino
Fuck Danny, catch him in South Central, squeeze and shoot
You point the deuce then I point the deuce, let’s make a sequel too (two)
Keep it cool, send him to Heaven’s gates, make sure he reach it too
I mean I used to look up to Danny, and now I’ve got more reason to
When you mention me, don’t say “rookie” cause my warning shot meaning your top gettin’ grazed bully
Right down the middle, split a bald head, it look like shaved pussy
You rap random shit, and the fans and shit, love what you do
I’m direct and real, I could get sent to rehab for substance abuse
Watch how I do you worse
Mom and daughter box right next to each other, you gotta talk to them through the dirt
Side by side, now try to escape that parallel universe
I say this nigga done, as far as love, he ain’t gettin’ none
We both brothers, but I’m my mother different son
Quick to get a gun
They say he the target, be with the shit or run
Code word “Clifford”, leave dawg covered in red
Copy, blaow mission done
Y’all say Loso is my best showing, am I gonna snap against the Bar God
Well if you seen my Loso work, you would know I had to literally out bar God
Get ya body broke, think it’s gon’ be a classic match
I wish you would spaz for any fightin’ words
If you Loaded with Verbs you need a good cast
Where your hood pass? Nigga been bitchin’ tryin’ to find home
Ya stock low so (Loso), I see why you in all these different type of Rhymezones
You tryin’ to get ya groove back, old school cat
Well I seen it all from drugs to tools clack
Even positive shit was hard to do, playin’ ball had nowhere to shoot at
No full courts, just one hoop, Nino in New Jack
And that parallel universe shit? I been through that
My mans was on the outside puttin’ the tre to nigga’s noodles
I was on the inside raisin’ the tray for a soup pack
Question: if I shoot is you gonna shoot back?
You send TECs (texts), we all send TECs (texts), this shit is a group chat
First two, boom bap
Third round, move back
Extended, take it from a snippet to a loop track
I’m [?] where you can’t kill, ain’t nothin’ you say real
Try to get in my way, chill
Talkin’ Super Fly I’ll push your (pusher) man to the side; Curtis Mayfield
Break in his house, in and out, he thought he seen a demon
Put the .40 to his bitch but the thirty eight (ate) his kids like the queen of England
You’ll get the head shot, red dot, [?] Red Fox
This, comin’ with a clear case; Redbox
This bitch lit, the clip twist like a dreadlock
The clip and grip, together they stick together; wedlock

[Round 1: Danny Myers]
I’m cold now, and I was cold back then
You said MAC-11? I’ll have some Inglewood Bloods pull up on you and hit you wit’ the MAC-10 (Mack 10)
And fuck yo’ people too, I’ll knock you on the ground
You used to look up to me, now you got a reason to!
Bar God!
First of all young nigga, I’ma bar you to death, but peep this other shit
I got 10 kids and don’t see none of ‘em, and every night I cry because of it
My wife is strugglin’ with addiction, that’s my karma from all the hustle shit
Plus I’m 39 and still battle rappin’, I ain’t the one you wanna talk struggle with
But here’s what you’ll struggle with, Shotgun, then it’s the small mag turn
This shit’ll have you swirl on ya heels like the Jamal Mashburn’s
You just now puttin’ highlights in ya dreads, we don’t do that shit where I’m from
This new generation, always wanna die (dye) young
Look here lil’ nephew, ain’t no punk in this one
See how got that ahnk on ya eye?…BAOW now you got unk on this one
You got the height, and the reach on me, of course we can dance
I’ll just have to spear you, then I’ll have Ryda stand behind you in the Scorpion stance
I stopped in Compton, I saw my gun plug for the hammer
Now I’m here to address (a dress) a Yung Thug from Atlanta
When you was with Writers Bloque, yo’ pen was seemin’ legit
Ever since you got in the Cave I seen The Descent
The Mossberg’ll ventilate this cat
That’s not a hole in ya chest bitch, that’s our generation gap
Four bar set ups, versus line for line, nigga you can’t match this rate
I’m known to historical black, fuck anything Jackson State
Clap the 8, I gotta spaz on fam’
The way he was shot, them Hoop Dreams gone look bad on cam’
Keep losin’ watch ya crew depart ya
They got a west coast nigga with this Chef bitch like Snoop and Martha
Remember we was in Memphis, and you had yo’ gun on the dresser, talkin ’bout yo’ lost ones and how you mourn em?
I was thinkin ”bout grabbin’ it, being a good friend and helping you join ‘em
But this still a shot, this battle is uppin’ ya stock
It hurt me when you joined the Cave and jumped from the Bloque
Now I feel like Nino on the roof
Cause I’m sick that I gotta kill my own lil bro for fuckin’ with Roc(k) Blaw!
Tay Roc, you put your favorite in yo’ shadows
But you out here…see see (CC) I’ll just save it for the battle
That’s light
My nigga Big Money used to steal from his own family, I told buddy he should stop
One day his dad’s rent came up missing and he went running for the Glock
Do you believe in a Parallel Universe?
I do
I cried on his casket and it comes to me as shock
Cause right after his dad killed Money he found the Money in a box
That sickness you livin’ with…no joke, that’s just the realest shit
To cure it, you’ll need a stomach shot…and I’m here to deliver it
Let’s get deliberate, you rep yo’ hood, you and yo’ thugs mobbin’
But it’s funny how none of them Bloods can help you with yo’ Blood problem
You been sick ya whole life, and y’all said this boy can hang?
He was throwin up Blood way before you joined a gang
I point and bang, you can die from the Glock, or from this poignant slang
Cryin’ about Summer Madness, you went from gangsta to annoyin’ lame
This ain’t about comp’, this about jealousy, and I been seen it
So I gotta black on Jackson like Mike before the skin treatment
You pen weak shit, and you on the ground with this shit
This wack MC got another 2 rounds of this this shit

[Round 2: Chef Trez]
Yo, you said a whole bunch of nothin’, same shit as every battle
That’s why you the Bar God in this sport but honestly you don’t even matter
See that gangsta shit you talkin’, you could really see the TEC fly from Chef, split him in half
This MAC-10 (Mack 10), no pieces from the Westside’ll Connect’
Fans tellin’ me he ain’t ready, he says nothin’ wild
A buncha nerd shit, dumb ass word flips, his stupid fuckin’ style
All that duckin’ clown, felt like you was givin’ me the runaround
Said no to the big stage, but accepted the small room like the youngest child
You really want me to target you off the rest? Single you out when squeezin’ a round?
Well it’s you that I’ll test, I’ll put a gun from the right side but then it’ll shoot out his left
That’ 2Pac, came from the east but blew out the west
This man frail
Shots turn him into a bitch, you know how I can tell?
Cause hollows had him hollerin’, soon as they hit him we heard Dan yell (Danielle)
The gun got a body and it got a body, so don’t be the one that I gotta body
Ask Loso, I already sent God a body
When I lift up, gotcha name on it, this shit a fan sign
The gun pointed right ya way, blew out his damn mind
I can’t step in ya court
Think that, NBA man dyin’
The bullets headed to ya Wiz’, I can update a Franchise
We can fight, I’ll take a jab at him
I’ll get a knife, slash his lungs, or two grips, I can blast the gun
.40, .30, that 70’s Show I doubt Danny matters, son (Masterson)
I’ll slide on his block in a foreign whip, the dot like a Christmas tree when I shoot it off
And I’ll hop out that bitch and put you next to the sheet rock
Am I losin’ y’all? Well since you like anime, I’ma put that in cartoon for y’all
Jumpin’ out the Phantom with the green beam, I’ll put Danny through the wall
I do numbers with these guns
What I’m tryin’ to say bro, .45 or .50, I can raise or drop one
What’s ya weight goals? I keep one .9, one .40, this shit a safe code
And I’ll put a pound to one like a gate code
I need that Summer Madness plate, this just a warm up
I couldn’t focus before much, my mental was worried about real life and some more stuff
And that’ll have a rap in many different states, like a tour bus
But when you think about the names I faced, it’s like Smack tried to sit me down
But I stood my ground and made every appearance count
I ain’t lost a round yet in these small rooms, clearly clown
I went from Volume 1 to Volume 4, if y’all couldn’t then, I bet they hear me now
Let’s level up, when I reach for the arm he (Army) better move militant or get his grill torched
He seen the latter, now he jumpin’ in-between rounds like a drill course
Look soldier, why you cross my path and step on my foot for?
I’m just speakin’ in general, but any flogging will get ya cap pushed forward
I tried to imitate ya style, but while doin’ the shit, I had to quit legit, dawg I felt stupid as shit
Battle rap is ya life, well let me step in ya world then
Your life revolves around three rounds so I bring a revolver around ya life and three rounds will make ya world bend
I’ll squeeze the shit, you don’t hear a squeak and I don’t speak of it
I present a gun with a silencer, I literally plead the fifth
If I release it quick, he tried to dip but bro too late
Chopper, 100 rounds, the drum stick on a side like a soul food plate
This dude all hyphy, not even nice it had me threw off highly
The Bar God? He doesn’t lose y’all writing?
You should be blessed for me even lettin’ you talk by me
Now I gotta black on God, I’m Morgan Freeman in Bruce Almighty
You gettin’ buried today, you swear you droppin’ knowledge but we don’t care what you say
It’s too far fetched, nigga every Jim carried (Carry’d) away

[Round 2: Danny Myers]
You got on AngryFan and said “Nigga fuck you” on some young shit
I helped “3 Of Them Thangs” get to where it is, now yo’ gun gripped
Plus the hood that you rep, is from my city lil’ nigga
Now that’s two things the West gave for you to run with
Go to yo old battles, look in the comments, who said you was next up? And you snaked me
John John tried to help build you up, and you snaked him
Then you left Writers Bloque, that’s why I don’t fuck with you scary leeches
Once we saw the cross, you were placed behind Roc…(Rock) that’s how they buried Jesus
You gone fall out with yo’ crew, and Tay Roc takin’ the blame
Cause he shoulda known you can always find a snake in a Cave
Called me a old man, that’s true, been rappin’ since at least ten
But at least then to be nice you had to have an elite pen
I’m from the Golden Age, where you had to be rappin’ for progress
I’m trapped in my era, but Atlanta niggas trapped in the closet
Back to the topic, all that gang shit, that’s from the coast nigga
Too much brim, get you socked in the face, ask Dose nigga
You know what y’all “Chef Life” niggas be doin’?
Bootleggin’ Pay Per Views
Y’all ain’t cockin’ a pistol
I ain’t gone lie SMACK, I be on there watchin’ it with ‘em
But when you give 12 thousand to the culture all for yo’ penmanship
I’m supposed to get a URL Pay Per View Lifetime Membership
Let’s end this shit, I run up on this switchin’ bitch with the extended clip
I’m in front of the Chef and only see (sea) food, that’s Fish N Chips
Chess got your triple your views, they really don’t mess with Trez
You was supposed to be one of the Young Guns like Emilio Estevez
But you dealin’ with death instead, this ain’t no friendly or no happy shit
We ain’t supposed to have guns, but we still (steel) cop on some Chappie shit
I’ll slap this bitch, I dare you to put yo’ hand out
I was thinkin’ ’bout giving Jackson 5…but the solo one is the standout
You always sayin’ “Nawf” “Nawf”, nigga we know you ’bout that life
Bitch it’s north, and I’ma beat you ’til you pronounce it right
I’m down to fight, watch how quick you catch this counter right
Cause you represent “Mumble Rap” and all you niggas sound alike
It’s goin’ down tonight, I’m here to take back my stage
I got the .30 and the .9…It’s time I act my age
Look at the names you under, Roc, Ave, Brizz, nigga ya role minor
Ya career got lost in the Cave like a coal minor
You in and out of jail, you got a short temper, extreme violence
Beam on top of his head…he needs guidance
I don’t need silence, we breakin’ through ya window seal
Somebody gotta hear this pain…it’s got that demo feel
It don’t get mo’ real, we at his do’, my whole crew shook him
Niggas excited, outside the entrance…like new pussy
Fuck you gone do pussy? You’ll bleed on the blade until it’s real sticky
Y’all won’t believe the tone comin’ out this nigga like Lil Bibby
Deal with me, from the shoulders, catch my punch nigga
Y’all won’t remember “The Chef” after the Deck like ‘Triumph’ nigga
I don’t like young niggas, and you on the ground with this shit
This wack MC got a whole ‘nother round of this shit

[Round 3: Chef Trez]
Yo, you be yellin’ and shit
I just get busy my nigga we spaz different
You got a bald head since you was ten I been shootin’ bald heads outta MAC-10, nigga the pass different
My buzz crazy
Smoke week, but you get the low buzz nigga, you on drugs daily
Matter of fact, let me just switch that and blast Smith &’s
Cause you said somethin’ ’bout “Math” and “brim”
Or the brim and the Dose, well pull my numbers and you will see that the Math different
I go crazy
I beat you the first two rounds now I can freestyle shit
What’s Writer’s Bloque? Shit you get when you hang around him
Aye, but Writer’s Bloque was that squad, huh? We all was killers
But me, Magic, Nitty, Daylyt, shit even my dawg Chilla
All the niggas with a million views in a single battle, you never saw them figures
We brung mils (meals) to the Bloque (block) you was just eatin’ off of niggas
Let’s get it straight, real niggas respect those who earn shit
But you bein’ foul, I’ll have no choice but to compare it (parrot) to some bird shit
You named yourself “Bar God” and that’s one of the reasons we don’t like you
You think you Jay-Z, givin’ yourself your own title (Tidal)?
You said you was 39? I let 40 hit you before your birthday, that nigga age quick
Let’s get more witty tho’
The semi blow, I’m hit DM wit’ a clip like “Share my video”
Fuck whatchu tellin’ me
I got a six shooter, the barrel look dirty and rusty it been through hella beefs
It’s a .38 I let it speak
It look old wit’ a wide nose, that’s the closest to Lux and Mook you will ever be
Look at him! Up here lookin’ nervous, figures
I’ll pistol whip him, he can’t guard the handle, I’m Kyrie Irving mixture
Nah, what I draw legendary, it paint the perfect picture
Nah, this ratchet leave DM red (read) she known for curvin’ niggas
You a fake nigga, ya block lit
You from South Central, I know where you stay nigga
You was wit’ the Boyz N The Hood but always hopped out when shit got real
You be Tre (betray) niggas
I say so fuck if they tough on yo’ block, you pussy witcha scared ass
When you even mention some gang shit, for a set you ain’t never let ya lead blast
But y’all don’t gotta question what I am, or you’ll be dead fast
Just pay attention to the signs, it’ll raise a red flag
You was playin’ fightin’ games, knife games, usin’ Zelda/Blanca
I was wit’ niggas and bitches wit’ mob ties, Al Capone, Griselda Blanco
Nigga fuck all that made up shit, I know dawg a coward
You like books bro? Well I know some that’ll have you [?] for hours
Like you ever read ‘The 48 Laws Of Power’?
Nah, I mean he get out the .40; 8 he at a loss of power
I’m on Satan fire when I’m mad as shit
I go against the Bar God, the Devil’s advocate
This weapon, blastin’ it
I let ’em noun for the tough adjectives for the bad language
I got AR’s, AK’s, come learn about acronyms
You start somethin’ in one round then end with another, that shit dumb
I am a fuckin’ delinquent, so if I start with one round and end with another it’s cause I switched guns
But this kick? Ridiculous when I’m aimin’ wit’ this power I won’t miss shit
It’s a hit, every time, like I’m singin’ in the shower
It’s a lullaby, gun in his face, soon as he stutter- lull a baow!
Nah, I say I don’t got a blazer, it’s a knife so if you slack I’ll be at your neck
Cuttin’ ties
They like, “What kinda knife you got Trez?” They thought I was lackin’ cause I ain’t clutch the .9
So I had to wing it with somethin’ smooth, it’s a butterfly
I’m takin’ this shit serious man, I can’t let him murk me
You can never hurt me, I was goin’ through crazy shit, I’m talkin’ 730
The laws and real struggles was doin’ me hella dirty
Holdin’ me back, but Danny, I just wanted my freedom in Life I’m Eddie Murphy

[Round 3: Danny Myers]
He said somethin’ about uh, Boyz N The Hood Tre
Mmmh, you betrayed me, I thought you’d be boys with me
But I guess this shirt right, you can’t manufacture real loyalty
You got in this game when you was 16 and hit a point I was certain you would reach
We have a tendency to herald (Harold) Minors (miners) when they workin’ with some Heat
Plus you think you “Baby Jordan”, and when y’all do that, y’all become targets
You’ll be in the shadows if it’s 2 23’s (.223) like his son Marcus
These ain’t bars bitch, these are paragraphs of strife
It’s funny how you wanna give John 3 16’s but won’t have Everlasting life
You beat the Christian, no mercy, it was wild disturbin’
This gone be a negative image of the god like the “Shroud Of Turin”
I stood before a thousand wordsmiths, left ‘em speechless
They think they cold war vets until their placed into the vortex
You’s a whore Chef, jump crew to crew, and you ain’t the lead
You got on Live and said you make the leagues, but you rap cause you couldn’t make the league
You’re all make believe, that’s why I keep somethin’ that’ll lift the kid
I’m tryna put a Springfield inside of a dome like the ‘Simpsons’ did
I watched you write whole battles in 30 minutes, I don’t like this Cave bitch
How the fuck does a “Chef” come with all this microwave shit?
You spit yo’ best bars on Gates Of The Garden, but I’ma nigga you can’t make quit
Tonight San and Dre is (San Andreas) at fault you can’t shake shit
Cave Gang, this y’all New Edition? the nigga ain’t worth a red cent
Y’all shoulda seen the ‘Sensitivity’ every time Trez vent (Tresvant)
But ‘A Man Like Me’ became a legend, because I be consistent
It’s gone be the Cave behind the fall like a secret entrance
Get decommissioned, I live by the street values
If I shoot you with a silencer at this event it’ll speak volumes
Versus Loso you were conflicted on Heaven or Hell, he not sane
In the end you’ll go where the Father wants you to go like He Got Game
Why you speak my name? What’s up with ya credentials?
Get one sent (cent) in Orlando, injury fuck up ya potential
But in my first round I mentioned Memphis, and college, nigga you gettin’ barred today
It’s the same reference to Penny, I just did it the harder way (Hardaway)
And I got on Foams, what you spit out ya mouth sounds dumb boy
With no backing, I got in this game and made dumb noise
In this round I mentioned, Harold Miner, Jordan, Jordan son, He Got Game and Penny, you realize what I done boy?
I did that to remind you how you fucked up with the NBA young boy (NBA YoungBoy)
Speaking of NBA, don’t ever threaten to squeeze on Myers
Get hit with 3 of them thangs in a row…he’s on fire!
Mean ol’ sniper, I had to sell it and I hate the shit
Cause it taught me how to deal with pussy in a long distance relationship
30 round clip, you can’t escape this death
I’m puttin’ substance inside of the mil (meal) let’s get creative Chef
I’ll rake his flesh, serrated blade, then the shit stops
The Chef been cookin’ for the money until he gets ‘Chopped’
They stopped the food stamps, and it changed the way I look at flesh
Cause hunger makes you crazy, a nigga might have to cook the Chef
Ayo Brizz, Volume 5 comin’…you ducked me on Traffic and still runnin’
Smack turnin’ up these Volumes, yet I don’t hear nothin’
You a college boy nigga, you don’t tuck no Llama
I’ll kidnap yo’ daughter, to get her back you gotta fuck yo’ mama
You motherfucker!
The gun’ll buck ya, and he on the ground with this shit
Thank the Lord he don’t got another round of this shit

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