When I battled Charron, I already knew I’d end up battlin’ Pat
I said, “Bullets go through Charron, and then they hit Pat on the back”
Aye, I should’ve saved that line for you, it’s aggravatin’
But this’ll drop Pat on his back: congratulations!
To-day, you battle for a Black man, just so we’re clear
The white man must not be treatin’ you right if you over here!
You an in-the-closet racist, the rap version
He faces fears every time he faces a Black person!
Aye, you do know you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me
I told Smack, “Bring this dummy to me”
You said I took you in the wrong place…
This looks like London to me
WHAT’S UP!? WHAT’S UP!?
What’s funny to me is you wanted this battle judged
But you’se a crackhead, my name Roc(k)
You’d even spend yo’ money on me!
I did 3 million views vers’ Hollow
You battled him twice, them numbers still ain’t as greater
Aye, so when this do a couple million views, you should thank me later
I came to slay ya
Come to ya studio, whoever stay in danger
Y’all gon’ hear somethin’ fire, like “This track I just made a banger!”
Aye, I take a razor
Cut through his bone ’til I break his finger
Run his head through a wall
Look like I’m doin’ the Kamehameha!
Pat, you ain’t a gangsta, you a comedian
Whose shirts be chokin’ and squeezin’ him
But yet you still insist on gettin’ a Medium!
I swear y’all got me mistakin’ this battle
Don’t he look like one of them frat boys that be takin’ a paddle? (Yes!)
Don’t he look like he own a farm and be rapin’ the cattle?
Don’t he look like one of them kids that the priest raped in the chapel!?
Smack ain’t slick either
He gon’ put the Grim Reaper vers’ this Magic Mike bodybuildin’ faggot-ass stripteaser!
Lookin’ like a fake personal trainer gym teacher
You’se a dick-eater!
Watch what you say: lip-reader!
He be like…
(*Pat Stay impression*)
“It’s Pat Stay, catch me hoppin’ out a gray BM
750: lookin’ like it’s close to 8 PM”
Talkin’ ’bout you get the ladies? You were wavy when?
Patriots home field only time we seen them bitches in Pat Stay DM (Pats stadium)
Patriots home field? Pats stadium?
Who rap great as him?
If Pat play wit’ him, I bat-swing at him and give him a cracked cranium
The gat BANG at him
Extended clip from the MAC danglin’
Or I’ll hit him wit’ the knife, until the Point Break
I’ll Pat Swayze him!
I roll wit’ a pack and they’ll ride
To wherever the fuck you at, they’ll drive
All you hear is, “PAT!” then pat! pat! pat! when they arrive
People over top of you like, “Pat…STAY ALIVE!”
I’m THAT sick!
FUCK you! Suck a FAT dick!
You on SMACK, and finally got Roc(k)
What, you fiendin’ for a crack hit?
You gon’ get ya ass kicked spittin’ wack shit
In this rap shit, you will never be over me
You supposed to be under Roc(k)
Your name is Pat, trick (Patrick)!
I don’t know if you a pizza man or a cab driver
You a crackhead! I heard you blew (blue) stones like sapphire
Ya bitch get dragged by ya
I kidnap her in a Nissan truck, and I highly doubt if Pat find her (Pathfinder)
Get mad hyper
Let ’em gas you up to a match-striker
I point at his top, and let it flame high like his crack lighter
I’ll do you triflin’
Put the knife in him and start slicin’ him
Bust this White boy’s six-pack open like, “Bro, I grabbed the Heineken”
Nah, that’s just me, though
Look, I gotta give Pat Stay a reminder Tay wit’ the drama
You a big bitch, and ya son!
That’s the type of shit I say to ya mama
I get to wavin’ a choppa, aim it and POP ya
Have niggas in the background duck: that’s a Canadian dollar!
Nigga! Please don’t play
You know I’m ’bout to snap
I coulda pulled up wit’ a toaster on my lap
And took a Canadian from Nova Scotia off the map
My nigga’s hands registered
He’ll start throwin’ ’em at Pat
I yell, “Spatula!”
That means if it’s beef, Pat, he’d (patty) flip you over on ya back!
What’s UP!? What’s UP!?
[Round 1: Pat Stay]
You’re in three different battle rap gangs…
MMM! Bet your mother’s worried sick
Initiation must’ve been shit!
And you’re the leader, too, bro?
(Look at you go!)
Nah, FUCK that shit!
Nah, aye, aye, no-
Fuck it! Look-
Aye, you want that raw shit, then!?
Fuck that jokes! Let’s get to guns!
I’m back in England
Same connect, just a different plug
Get stupid here-
I’M NOT PLAYIN’! I’M NOT PLAYIN’!
Get stupid, be a souvenir
Gonna send him home with a different mug!
He be doin’ this shit after his lines as if we’re dumb
In other words, I’m pointin’ it at his temple if you don’t get the punch!
Now, as far as you being a bodybuilder, you don’t scare me at all, Tay
As long as- (*chuckles*)
You don’t scare me at all, Tay
And whoever told you you could beat me in London steered you the wrong way!
He fuckin’ awful!
I’m Duck and Waffle: delivery all day!
Aw, mayne, I’m ’bout to cook
I’m sizzlin’ up to saw Tay (sauté)!
Now let’s get shakin’, y’all!
On Autumn Madness 8…
Autumn Madness 8
Automatic autograph his Cave
I draw, then paint the walls
You’ll hear a (*chk-chk*) then a whistle like you tryin’ to locate your dog
If it’s empty, I’m findin’ a bat like Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls
What’s up!? You tough, huh!?
I’ll even let you land a shot
Then lay Roc(k) out smooth with the counter like granite top!
I’ll pssh! pssh! pssh! pssh! – sound like when sandals flop
Go ‘head! Yo, go ‘head!
Stonehenge: I’ll leave you right where you standin’, Roc(k)!
“I am NOT PAT STAY!”
Yeah, you GOD DAMN RIGHT!
You said that shit, then he shoved you around ALL DAMN NIGHT!
You all bark, no bite!
Get Roc so hyped
He might get mad, throw his cap, and almost fight!
I know your type…
“Hold me back, hold me back
Yo, you got me? Yo, get OFF!
Hold my hat, hold my shirt, hold my shoes, hold my socks”
The more time he kills, the more unnecessary clothes come off!
Should see the size of the last guy he almost fought
But one battle, he fuckin’ lost it
I thought they were gonna stop it
When God forbid, Rum Nitty barely touched his pockets
I said, “(*gasps*) No, he didn’t just brush his pant!
That’s a BIG no-no on SMACK!
If he shoots him, I understand!”
Hey…nuclear warfare, global warming, pocket-tapping
How you think the war with the Nazis happened?
Someone brushed Hitler’s pants walking past him
Their main lines of defense?
Bombing tactics, fogging gasses, and longer jackets
Yo, that’s shit’s so stupid to me!
Here, you wanna do it to me?
You gonna touch my legs, ya fuckin’ fag?
Go ahead, I won’t lose any sleep!
Creep! Won’t even tap his own pockets if he loses his keys!
Aye, he’ll just start shakin’ his leg and hopes he can hear them move in his jeans!
But that’s the difference ‘tween you and me
I’d rather stay calm and diffuse shit
Than run my mouth 100 times, and never do shit!
Aye, and I’m not concerned about some battle rap shit hurtin’ my street cred
You don’t care either
You just think you have to react to please them
“Oh, he just touched my pockets. I gotta do somethin’
They’ll think I got G-checked”
In cargo pants, walkin’ around, playin’ defense!
(Oh. he’s standin’ behind me hatin’, now I see that…)
Back pockets showin’, he’s walkin’ around with his cheeks clenched
Makes complete sense!
Ducking and dodging’s just in his jeans (genes), then!
You are NOT PAT STAY! Bitch, that’s RIGHT!
Hit me with that disrespect, I’m swingin’ next (necks) like a giraffe fight!
‘Til my hand’ll (handle) have holes in it like a mack jack knife
DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM!?
DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM!?
Yeah, you better get that on camera!
That’s the most stardom you’ll get, sucka!
Yeah, you gettin’ nothin’ now, busta!
I said, you are NOT PAT STAY! Yeah, bitch, that’s RIGHT!
You go too far with the disrespect, I’m swingin’ next (necks) like a giraffe fight!
‘Til my hand’ll (handle) have holes in it like a mack jack knife
Pick him up, and fuckin’ chuck his skinny ass like, “That’s light!”
Aye, if I looked like you, I’d probably act all rugged and mean, too
But luckily, since I’m tall, handsome, and funny, I don’t need to
Says I smoke crack? Please, dude
If anyone looked at us and had to guess who smoked crack, it’d definitely be you!
[Round 2: Tay Roc]
You wanna know what rhymes with “Pat Stay”?
This nigga’s so lame
You battled a transgender? You have no shame
Your battle on URL with Roc? This is no game
Smack ain’t give you no no-name
He gave you exactly what you wanted, Patrick: cocaine!
Pat, you used to really smoke crack? Jesus Christ!
Like, like, like, like, you’d hit the crack, then come up with bars?
How do you even write?
I used to sell that shit as a teenager, and I seen what it did to them people life
You probably sucked Hollohan dick when you needed white!
It’s sad! He wanna be like all them rappers he look up to
He like, “So what I smoke crack and rap? DMX did it – fuck you!”
No! Fuck you! A nigga like me run in ya crib
It’ll be like how you used to cop: you’ll get cracked in front of ya kids!
So wait, not only are you battlin’ Roc
But you fightin’ a drug addiction, and you battlin’ rock?
Yeah, we just laugh on the block when this fag come to cop
We make him say, “Pretty pretty please, with the crack on the top”
I’ll split ya head! Leave ya shit cracked on the top
I’ll sell you some crack, send yo’ ass back up the block
You’ll call me and be like, “Yo, this shit trash”
And I’ll be like, “My bad, I grabbed it from Top”
(That work’s bad)
Aye! “Can I borrow your car, Pat? I’ll give you some hard crack”
Then have him waitin’ 20 hours for me to bring his car back
He like, “Roc, I’m calling the police! Where’s my car at?”
I took it to the chop shop, and told him I got car-jacked
You’se a 6-foot crackhead with Vanilla Ice features
That look like he beat his wife in his wife-beater
This dude is Diesel!
It don’t mean that he don’t be doin’ diesel
This ain’t your first time on SMACK: you be usin’ needles!
I said, “Fuck it. This battle for a couple rounds – I’ll put the hammers aside”
If I beat you barely doin’ that, it’ll damage your pride
I think this White boy from Canada high
Came all the way to London to get a can of Coke ‘cause Canada Dry
A crackhead with cotton-mouth
It only happens to some of ‘em
I bet his mouth start waterin’ when the crackers in front of him
Are you a recoverin’ addict, or an addict recoverin’?
I’ll leave you in the hospital, roof split wit’ ya attic recoverin’!
You fuckin’ cokehead! You line up white wit’ a debit card
My shooter accept PayPal: I can line up White wit’ a debit card
You hella fraud, this shit is a joke
That shit that you smoke?
You drink Henny wit’ no chaser, but somehow still mix it wit’ coke
I couldn’t be your supplier, I’d wanna stop
I wouldn’t know if he’d come to cop, or if he was a fuckin’ cop
I heard you quit smokin’ – cool! You should wanna stop
Crackhead! You should know you could die if you fuck wit’ Roc(k)
You look like you come through when the shop’s not open
Nose leakin’, mouth movin’, eyes wide open
When you say you used to, I think you should stop jokin’
I personally never met a crackhead that stopped smokin’!
Pat! You are the biggest junkie I’ve ever seen!
You couldn’t be standin’ on my block: you’d be scarin’ all the other fiends!
You the type of nigga I’d give a rock when I want my oven clean
Like, “Try this. This white hit harder than Butterbean!”
Is this nigga deaf?
Just accept this disrespect
If anybody on King of the Dot ever told you you smoked I.C.E (ice), they were talkin’ crystal meth!
That’s hella sad!
That drug is hella bad!
He was in his mom basement cookin’ that shit up: Dexter’s Lab
Not only do you smoke the shit, but you know how to cook it, too, bro?
Look at you go!
And after this, I got some crack for you, and a hooker, too, bro
Fuck outta here! Gang shit!
[Round 2: Pat Stay]
Call me “Channing Tatum”? Roc is gay
Said I battled a tranny? That tranny had more balls than you
Listen, Roc, shut the fuck up
You as fake as your jewelry
You’re the nicest guy, regular job
That “gang-gang” shit ain’t foolin’ me
You from Howard County!
Hazzard – not very much, buddy!
The nicest gated community, carried beauti-
Am I right!?
Halloween? King-size chocolate bars, gluten-free Cherries Jubilee!
Aye, and Tay was raised with both parents!
And Tay’s parents had a real good marriage!
The average house where he’s from is half a mil’!
The only guy within 40 miles who has a grill!
Yo, I’m in the Cave wit’ the lantern, walk ‘round like this
You get the picture? Roc(k) house was lit!
Aye, his friends from the ‘hood used to pop by his crib…
Go back home feelin’ like a hot pile of shit!
GRRRR! His Rottweiler’s pissed!
GRRRR! It’s the ice machine on his fridge!
I had a good life, too!
But they couldn’t use that angle on me ‘cause I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not!
You’re a sucka!
‘Cause Goodz had this guy timid
He said, “Well, he said his daughter’s off-limits? Well, then the REST of his family get it!”
Pussy! Shame on you, bro!
He said don’t mention his mother, right?
Tuh! Oh yeah? Well, maybe I WON’T!
You came here to get lyrical, I came here to belittle you
Get ya tool: I got the hammer for Roc(k), and a chisel, too
And I’mma just slowly chip at you
Show the world the bitch in you
This here? All me!
This here? Isn’t you!
Want me to give you an example? I’ll put it like this to you
See how you’re tryin’ to joke this battle to switch your style, to fit the mood?
Well, guess what? I don’t! Ever!
You’re like a totally different dude!
‘Cause this guy? All ya boy!
This guy? Isn’t you!
He’s stretchin’ ‘cause he knows th-
That’s right! Aye! Oh, I’m goin’! Look!
He knows it! That really ain’t you!
Fuck rap! I came to fuckin’ humiliate you!
That shit you said to Charron was pretty hateful
Young Jennifer Aniston: it got a little racial
Black facemask on, and I ain’t get a facial
But when this shit peels off, it is a little painful
You called my son a BITCH!? Well, let’s switch the tables
It’ll be funny when he’s gettin’ his dick sucked by Daddy’s Little Angels!
Yeah, you did!
It’s all good! Ain’t nothin’ happenin’, we good
I ain’t runnin’ shit back!
Talkin’ that racist shit, right?
Me and Charron were the only White guys there, that’s why I didn’t like it
Coward! Quiet as a mouse ‘til he’s ‘round the right clique (right-click)!
You sounded pretty upset with all that “cracker fuckin’ White” shit
Bitch, I don’t give a fuck!
I’ll beat you down with a fuckin’ nightstick!
That’s right, BITCH!
Ain’t got nothin’ to do with White shit!
I’ll beat you him wit’ a fuckin’ nightstick!
Like, “That’s right, BITCH!
Yeah, your registration and ya license!”
Kevin Nash front-right kick, you’ll do a tight flip
Seen ya post about ya dead homie, and I liked it! Nice pic!
And I liked it! Nice pic!
It looked great alongside with…my dick!
I’ll swing on Roc(k) like Miley Cyrus!
Get capped in (Captain) both eyes (Aye’s) like a pirate!
Or knife him, slice him
Between the ear-to-ear, or I might just
Mid-face! Leave it torn between the two: I’m indecisive!
Knife Bar King!
(Aye, I thought you dissed my son
Alright? You’re my guy, you’re my guy)
Knife Bar King!
I’ll hit him with throwin’ knives
I’m pickin’ Jaws like I’m cocky playin’ GoldenEye!
Or do him greasier
Stab him in the abdomen, it’ll be easier
I’m tryin’ to put holes in Roc(k), so I gotta plant it (planet) somewhere meatier (meteor)!
You’re only cross-eyed in pictures, and it frustrates me
‘Cause I can’t diss you for it – they’ll think I’m just crazy
He tried to snipe me, but it just grazed me
So either luck saved me, or now we know which one’s lazy
You and Brizz actually look like bats
Like if y’all were upside-down right now, I’d just look right past
Like what’s there to see?
Brizz didn’t have to do nothin’ to get in the gang
He’s like, “You’re good like that”
Alright, time, man
That shit fucked my mood up
[Round 3: Tay Roc]
(It’s love, it’s love, bro)
I couldn’t picture you being one of my closest of friends…
Look at the clothes that he’s in!
I’m like, “What the fuck you got on, Pat?”
He like, “You like it, bro? Fashion Nova for Men!”
Enough of the jokes, ‘cause I did enough of that wit’ my pen
Y’all wanted that gun bar shit
OK, so now I’m goin’ right in…
I shoulda wore a suit
I planned on catchin’ me a case
Kick him with the dress shoe
All Stay see (Stacy) is Adams in his face
Leavin’ wit’ his left eye
All he gon’ have is his right eye
Like whips in London, your staring will (steering wheel) only work on the right side
Aye, I seen your movie, your name was Racist in Bodied
Y’all ain’t gotta go to AMC to see a racist get bodied
Is that straight?
I’ll give you grams off a crack plate
Keep smokin’ (K)nicks, Patrick: you in (Ewing) some bad shape
This nigga Pat is a fraud
Your face? I’ll sock it (socket)
I’m 100 percent I’mma get a battery charge
(*chk-chk*) This’ll shatter his skull
The morticians will have to make up a body like Madam Tussauds
The Glock drawn
Your whole Army get popped on
The Lieutenant, General, and Colonel (kernel) in a bag: that’s popcorn
The inf’ red locked on!
What’s the last thing you type after you enter a website?
Right! I hold that dot calm (.com)!
Get bombed on
I palm metal and, let God settle him
Three rounds, if all them don’t kill him, they all edgin’ him
You fuckin’ wit’ the wrong veteran!
Walk in my house, see two guns on the table: that’s arm-wrestlin’!
Ayo! This nigga lame!
Getcha face smacked thinkin’ shit a game
I brought the SK in (en), G: this shit a skeng!
If you get outta line, I’ll get insane
Grip the thang, the trigger bang
Hit his brain, leave his body in River Thames!
AYE! He can’t move me!
Right hook’ll leave this man woozy!
Treat his head like a football to Wayne Rooney!
IT’S ME, NIGGA!
FUCK IS YOU TALKIN’ ‘BOUT!?
I’M NOT PAT STAY!
Bang Uzis…like a La-Z-Boy, stretchin’ ya…
(*Roc loses his place after getting himself hyped*)
Forgive me, y’all, forgive me
I’m thrown off right now, y’all, forgive me
Aye! Bang Uzis! Recline him on some La-Z-Boy shit!
This British Bulldog’ll send you to Davey Boy Smith!
Rest in peace!
Testin’ me, I start sprayin’ a round
Police brutality: you’ll hear a BANG! then Stay on the ground
Think I’m playin’ around?
(*Roc loses his place AGAIN*)
Hold on! I’m not- YO!
AYE! You think I’m playin’ around? Get ya house hit!
Get thrown off a roof
Like, Stay fly: he got on a fresh outfit
I’m ’bout this!
I’ll beat you silly and snatch you out ya attire
That’s the only way to get the truth out of Pat the Logical (pathological) Liar!
I’m talkin’ ‘bout-
NO! NO! Fuck outta here! NO!
NO! Fuck outta here! I’m thrown off!
I’m talkin’ ‘bout his whole jaw cracked, and mouth get a wire
Send the goons through
Your bitch call like, “Pat! The house is on FIRE!”
Run up on me, and my heat might clap
Y’all gon’ see me give Stay steel (still) like, “Hold on, I’ll be right back…”
Play and you losin’
I could use an AK when I’m shootin’
Or I can fuck Stay up like vacation is ruined
What I hold in my coat will leave a hole in your throat
You memorized your rhymes?
I bet a buck-fifty I know where you’ll choke
You’ll get drowned in a lake
The homies, they’ll find the homie afloat
Pat’ll (paddle) be underwater: rowin’ a boat
I come to check ya, this gun a Heckler
Switch from semi to rapid-fire
The bust (bus) got two levels: that’s a double-decker!
London! I’m on my shit
Soon as I heard he touched down, I had to come after Pat (P.A.T.) like an onside kick
Bitch! You finna beat me? Still niggas lyin’
(Tell him like I told the others: I don’t feel niggas’ rhymes
Who he foolin’ with them steel-grippin’ lines?
Fuckin’ with me, you’ll get SMACKED: we on real nigga time)
[Round 3: Pat Stay]
Aye, yo, listen!
That Wayne Rooney line was dope
You structured it beautifully
But like all of his other shit, it don’t have nothin’ to do with me
So if that line was his greatest shit
How is it so creative if
You could literally say the shit to a 10-year-old Asian chick?
And why do you aim like this?
That’s how you hold your weapon?
What a close connection
Explains why your rounds have no direction!
I got the most selection
The vocal presence, the endless roasting sessions, that controlled aggression
I’m about to put Roc(k) in my stone collection-
No, I’m an adult – I don’t have a fucking stone collection
But I’ll punch a hole through his chest, grip his solar plexus
And lift him up and shoulder-press him!
The most dynamic, every verse paints a picture
I’ll even slide in and add a lesson (an adolescent) like Verb’s babysitter!
You do what she made him do!
Don’t say shit: just filler (fill her)!
Bro, I look like I’m just on a hammock, relaxed
You look like you ‘bout to have a panic attack!
(*Mmph!*) Always puttin’ his hand up like that
Oh, he sick ‘cause I’m White, and I’m swaggin’ like that
Oh, you mad right now, sweatin’ bad right now
Ugh! Ugh!…He chokin’ so BAD right now!
Ready to GAG right now!
Get him a BAG right now!
Ope!…He wanna burp so BAD right now!
And bro, I don’t smoke the Rock: I’m just built like him
So yeah, you better have you a gun!
Shit, I still might win!
Bitch, you better have a bazooka fuckin’ shootin’ boulders
But you’ll think I did, too, when Roc(k) get (rocket) launched over my shoulder!
I told ya all my deepest secrets and hardly even know ya
But they say, “You can trust someone as far as you could throw them”
In that case, you’re the best man at my wedding and the godfather to my son
‘Cause I could fuckin’ catapult ya!
And I know you thought gettin’ in my personal life would get to me
Bro, I’m an open book: it’s not hard to read into me
But there is one thing you said where you lost my respect instantly
In an interview, I watched you pronounce “specifically” “pacifically”
I said to myself, “No…it can’t be! I must be losin’ it!
And if yes, why, and what does the ocean have to do with this?”
Maybe me being an open book doesn’t gain him a profit!
And his novelties wearin’ off ‘cause he has no table of contents!
Gun Bars, GunTitles – The End!
People used to fuck with you serious!
But nowadays, in the URL, you don’t get no Ws, period (www.)!
The fans LOVED you!
Now they’re like, “Man, FUCK you!”
Dragged on them tool bars, now it’s somethin’ you can’t undo
Mad at Hitman ‘cause you don’t get half of what he’s paid
And you’re supposed to be the face of SMACK?
What a SMACK in the FACE!
I thought y’all Respect the SHOOTER!
Ain’t this ya TOP GUN!?
Must be that aim shit!
So they called a Hitman to get the JOB done!
Aye! Don’t be mad at him ‘cause- yo!
Aye…what’s that noise!?
Why’s it sound like we’re ‘bout to get hit by a truck for?
I’ll rock Roc in the face, then put Roc’s face in a rock if he rush more! (Rushmore)
Pick him up, sling Roc(k) across the country like a drug lord!
I’ll get back on track, I said, I’ll finish it off
Aye, ‘cause at the end of the day, you don’t get paid like that ‘cause Roc can’t deliver
So Smack had to cut his money down: Roc(k), Paper, Scissors!
Follow us on Twitter @BattleLyrics