Danny Myers vs. Franchise [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Danny Myers]
You’ll get shot, fucker, I’m a full-time Glock-tucker
The Franchise will be erased off of the block, buster (Blockbuster)
Fuck you gonna do? The pistol right in front of you
I can’t miss, you couldn’t curve a bullet if you Wanted to
I’m confrontin’ you, I caught ‘em in the right time frame
Cartridge right on top of his scalp, I’m playin’ mind games
.9 bang out the TEC, It’s a shame I’ma pull it
Beasley ain’t the only nigga with his name on a bullet
I’ll rip his frame on this footage, ya team don’t know me
I’ll be shootin’ right next to Franchise like Cuttino Mobley
Ya lil’ freak gon’ blow me
She did some shit she wouldn’t try for you
I had ya miss in formation (misinformation), my nigga – I wouldn’t lie to you
I’m wild disturbed
I’ll screen shot ya mom’s cut off tongue…a picture’s worth a thousand words
Bitch, I’ll catch you with yo’ parents, watch how fast I palm a Glock
It’s crazy how you’re “Franchise”, but I’m knockin’ off mom and pop
I’ll line the shot, sniper rifle, I tote a Glock with it
Before I (eye) patch it up, you’ll see the Polar opposite
I’ll sock this bitch, then break his arm, then put a Ginsu in it
That means I’ll slam the bone, then add somethin’ extra, I’m pencil whippin’
Different mission, I’ll stab this hoe, I cook bums
Blood drippin’ off of the white meat like “Do this look done?”
Then the hook come, after the 16, I’m true to those crimes
Cops said they was gon’ charge me…for studio time!
Ya homie Mackk Myron in Pontiac?
You saw how I slumped that bastard!
Bitch, I offed the Yak (‘gnac) with the kick: that’s Drunken Master
You a fuckin’ actor! You got bars, huh? Bet it up
All I see is dancin’ and performance in Franchise…Step It Up
Weapon tucked, let’s see this hoe survive a shot
Let him tell it, he a savage from the livest block
This nigga can’t survive off the livest shot
‘Cause Franchise continues whether Myers dies or not
Iron cocked, ’cause y’all said this faggot poppin’
I’ll shoot em, then step away from the Franchise: I’m Magic Johnson
I should chill a bit, y’all been hearing this man’s lies too long
I’m the god of this stage you damn guys lose on
I’m Kawhi Leonard
‘Cause a shot from the side’ll rattle in Toronto then Franchise moves on
You asked for this, this was a battle that he selected
The poles (polls) gone swing in my favor: I’m getting reelected
I beat the best rapper from Canada
You wouldn’t dare rap with him
I survived Pat’s jokes and charisma
What department am I lackin’ in?
But here’s what you lack within, you don’t got none of this
But do you have a pen? I’m ask you I got ya number bitch
You don’t come from this, you talk that struggle shit just to seem hard
Bedaffi deported this Canadian gettin’ on Green card
We beam frauds, and you on the ground with this shit…
…Fuck out my face, nigga

[Round 1: Franchise]
Can I get a “No Lackin’”? (No Lackin’!)
I’m a shit-starter!
Big choppas, I raise Llamas!
I brought the extensions for ya bald head: it’s a wig-rocker!
This is my year, I told him, “It’s my summer”
Bogglin’, I mind suckas
You 39, right?
(*chk-chk*) Well, .38 goin’ right under!
It’s OVER already!
It’s OVER already!

[Danny Myers]
You crazy, bitch

Fuck a cleaver-
Back up, bro

[Danny Myers]
Come on now
Ain’t no backin’ up, nigga

Fuck a cleaver! I’m dumpin’ the heater
The Bar God? Bitch, you better hope you have God in this bitch like Mother Teresa
Bigga .9, or I’m wavin’ them tools at you
‘Cause the kickback on the .45 came with a little twerk (Twork): Lu Castro
You are lame, son
Goons? You ain’t none
This where the blades come
(*swoo-swoo*) I wave some…stick by you like your day-ones!
If it’s beef, we live and direct
I bang my tools
Double-barrel shotgun
If I saw it once and it don’t shave off smooth…saw it again like deja vu!
The TEC nice, send you to the next life
I came wit’ a stick, pussy: Fleshlight!
Hit ya head twice
You heard what I said, right?
Complimentary casket: I’m DEAD nice!
I hit up the riders, there won’t be survivors
Pistol-whip! 30-clip!
Dick in your face like Bonnie Godiva!
You wanna know about my life!?
I took the top spot, runnin’ from cops on a hot block
Stashin’ drugs, I would not stop
Crack in the mouth like Pop Rocks
You better chill, brody
You wasn’t doin’ drills, homie!
I remember days, me and my gun, I was real lonely
John John, Jakkboy: thuggin’ wit’ the steel (steal) on me!
The tre might squeeze!
The Sig (cig’) in his face
He couldn’t handle the smoke like Ace Amin!
You next, G!
The TEC squeeze
Rock him once like a fresh T
You’ll be fuckin’ sleepin’ like a wet dream!
I don’t give a fuck what you say!

[Danny Myers]
Your shit wack, man

I don’t give a fuck what you say!
Nigga, you spittin’ that ho stuff
I remember days I was broke, wit’ no funds
Stuck in court, it was no fun
Get yoked up
A bunch of dumb heads like the short bus
Shooters that know some
Wit’ TEC-9s (Tech 9), holdin’ 30 like a GoFund
Get a cold cut, TECs (texts) on the side like an old crush
I load drums
Lux wit’ the grey hoodie, ‘cause one finger can show you what the nose does
Fuckin’ wit’ me? Still I rise
Clips might fly
So many bullet holes in the car, forensics exhibitin’ (Xzibit in) the whip like Pimp My Ride!
The TEC smokin’
Your head open and your neck broken
Docs like, “Breathe, bro! You gotta breathe!”
Shit sound like Steams when Chess chokin’!
Your team get left
I hope you can weave these next
Brand new blade (*swoo*) and the cut got a different shine: VVS!
I’ll slap the nerve out him!
Lock-pick the door (*eeeee!*) around 7:25 (Seven 25) like the Surf album!
You grip it hardly-
Back up, bro

[Danny Myers]
Don’t tell me to back up, man
Don’t tell me to back up, dawg

You grip it hardly
It was B&Es and we was doin’ robberies
Catch me in the club, pocket rocket ‘cause I couldn’t bring the shotty
But I still got the metal on my hip like Grandma at the party!
Fuck respect or modesty!
Honestly, you ain’t stoppin’ me
Get the right (write) of his life: biography
And I don’t even name my guns, but this one is so precious
Some loud shit, and you’ll get hit wit’ the same weapon
‘Cause I’ll let this one off (One-Off) forever: Dre Dennis!
(Talk to his career!)

[Danny Myers]
You done?

I’ll check a hater
Milli’ pop, get him later
Gun under your chin – BOW!
Bullet through your roof: the Willy Wonka elevator!
Or I could start some shit!
Pump up like an instigator
Grip the handle, cloth around the knife like the dinner table
Hit the neighbor, segregate ya!
Dome shot!
If one land, I’ll turn your top property into seven acres!
You know my slogan…fuckin’ No Lackin’, nigga!
This is MY shit! This MY shit!

[Round 2: Danny Myers]
I’m ’bout to fuck you up, then kill Dizaster the next night
Grab the next knife
He dark skin, I cut him open, the flesh light
And he out here rappin’ wit’ my energy, the nigga tryin’ to get my vibe
I shoot his whip, put the hood in the trunk: I’ll Pimp his Ride!
Bar God!
You been rappin’ heavy, king
I’ll blow out his chest, surgeons put him on the table and say, “He’s lackin’ everything”
The Dezzi sing, I lift it on him, then I spray shells
Franchise Capone? Well, this Capone is takin’ a L (Al)
I beat Trez, now you
They use me to build their young stars
But these two rappers must acknowledge the (Knowledge Tha) God like Dunbar
Talkin’ ’bout no lackin’, all he got is gun bars
Between you and these PGs, Roc knows where his sons are
You’ve come far, not in ya career, but Toronto to here is quite a flight
But in this element, all I see is Roc(k)’s substance like Diorite
Myers nice, write like him is how you try to rise?
I can alter (altar) your views once I shoot into yo’ idol eyes (idolize)
I despise you stole a style, I should sock his jaw
It’s the same Franchise with Roc (Rock) in it like Hobbs and Shaw
We dodge the law, but still ya man get beamed
I brought the extension, ’cause Toronto’s was an expansion team
You had battles where you spit fire
But we all know the best way to fuck up a Franchise is to switch writers
You a dick-rider
I’ll slap shit out you and Tory Lanez!
All this FTW shit, but when you get here the story change
We look you niggas in the eyes, you and yo’ peoples is scared
Since you’ve been Coming To America, you wanna fake like you sleep on them stares (stairs)
Nigga, you conscious!?
You been a beast in the states
You had to leave Canada to get this feature with Drac’ (Drake)
You got that snitch vibe, that’s the way it’s appearing
I’ll screw on the silencer while he’s on his way to his hearing
Kid, fuck you!
Strap under ya chin, the Sig buck you
Ya head in the sky, it almost hit me – I did duck you!
He doin’ all these dramatic motions
This how he does Llamas?
I’ll strap TNT to his body: We Love Drama!
Nigga’s a weirdo, black Canadian hero
Every line got a gun, he sho’ got over here though
Look how loud we clappin’
These rounds, two .30’s (2:30’s), maybe two .45’s (2:45’s) with crowd reaction!
My nigga gang wanted to show their rivals they held no love for him
The plan was to spot them niggas and make sure shells would smother ‘em
Do you believe in a Parallel Universe?
(I do!)
When shots rang out they bailed, it troubled ‘em
And he was laid under a sheet because they failed to cover him!
You ain’t loud enough!
You make threats? I better hear it right
The gauge have you stiff in the air, it’s like a Spirit flight
Aye, P, why you book this? He gettin’ stoned on cam’
Noreaga didn’t even put Capone on ‘Banned’
Chrome gone land, y’all got a bitch nigga in front of me
He changed diets: he left organic (Organik) just to come to beef
Why you come for me?
My rivals dead, you’ll share the same fate
Now the Canadian just under a buck, that’s the exchange rate
This lame fake, and you on the…
Fuck out my face, nigga!

[Round 2: Franchise]
Against Mackk Myron, you said you was wit’ his bitch, tryna keep it hype
On the Mario ghost bar, then she gave you the secret pipe
Nigga, that is the gayest shit I’ve ever heard in my fucking life
You better tell your mans don’t start
I catch you in traffic, I’ll show you how we handle ours
Banana-clip, spin the whip like Mario Kart
I’m fuckin’ him up, grippin’ a slug
Gotti ya mans? Well, I’m still sendin’ you up
BAH! Let’s see if a Crip nigga will still help you when you throwin’ up Blood!
I clap these dudes!
Grab the tool, or it’s right, left, left, right
Mixed punches: passionfruit!
I am not you
Don’t talk ‘bout me ‘til you in my shoes
Runnin’ from feds, courthouses, trappin’, bandos
You never dropped one in the pot and had to stack two
Danny, the coke whiter than tribal tattoos!
This is suicide, and you not ready!
You not deadly!
This Ninja Turtle-lookin’-ass nigga will get Bebopped and rocked steady (Rocksteady)!
Danny’ll get shot wit’ a shotgun
Shot pellets stuck in his back: his shit lookin’ like a potbelly!
Out the gate, this’ll be no case!
Fuck a slow pace!
Aim it at your face!
Silencer on it…(*chk-chk, chk-chk, chk-chk*)
Shit sound like a horse race!

[Danny Myers]
I can’t make that sound

I’ll let a clip go!
You wanna know ‘bout my life? I could teach you ‘bout the shit, tho’
You ever whip, bro? Big O’s?
In a drought, no Pyrex, so you had to do it in a fishbowl!?
Time to go, .9’ll blow
100-round drum, plus you’ll get everything above 80: Honor Roll!
It’s gon’ be maydays! Change lanes!
Chopper on me, AK!
Call of Duty, I brought the right stick: MELEE!
Get your wig snatched!
Scope on me, lookin’ out for you like a wingman
Get your chin tapped
Sleep him, Z’s in his head like he Riff Raff!
Sigs clap!
Two guns, different kicks: that’s a mismatch!
Who you killed!?
Danny, homi’s, I did that
A couple bodies, and I can count it on my fingers like kids’ math
So fuck that nerd shit! You better miss me
Or I’ll put a bag on a bitch like Missy
Desert Eagle, Bulldog: it’s a mixed breed!
.50, creepin’ with the metal like a Slinky
Blikky, red beam on the nose like Pinky!
Jiggy…in and out like a quickie!
I’m a dope boy, a little tan on the white like a Twinkie
IT’S A 2-0! IT’S A 2-0!

[Danny Myers]
You crazy
On me, nigga
On me, 2-0

A goon? No, you isn’t!
The chrome I’m liftin’
Your dome I’m shiftin’
He couldn’t stomach the clip like motion sickness!
Choppa liftin’, clock ya niggas
The first punch’ll lump your face and stop your vision
But the second one? I’m prayin’ this (k)not worse: I’m optimistic
You can try to run…
But trust me, I’ve never seen an opp’ that missed it!
You know my slogan!
I’m ‘bout action, the chrome packin’
It’s two words: (No Lackin’!)
FUCK THAT! I’m grippin’ more!
Hit the floor!
Big machine – the shit look like Megazord!
I’m clappin’ everything!
Tell your man to cover
Or I’ll lift one
You’ll see an Angel in the field: now he Danny Glover
You next, akh!
Turn your shit to a dead block
Kick in the door…had him lookin’ like Red Foxx!
The lead pop, it almost was a headshot…
Made it by the chin like a sweatshop!
Fuck a joke! I don’t ever smile
Two guns, and I raise this different like the second child
You was never wild!
.30 and (in) the .9 like a pedophile!
Act up! I’ll clap slugs!
The MAC bust!
Bodies on the gun, and it ring dirty like the bathtub!

[Danny Myers]
You spit a lot of bullshit, man

And I can switch the flow!
Wet up everything like a cannonball
Hammers drawn, or it’s a box on site like Amazon
‘Cause I’m suicide on the card like Amanda Todd
Pick you: tag-along!
Two sticks: ANALOG!
Grabbin’ chrome!
Fragment chipped, crackin’ bones!
Or I’ll pop through the front door like Daddy’s home, pussy!
No Lackin’!

[Danny Myers]
Yo, 2-0 on me, nigga

[Smack White]
Everybody say, “1-1!” (1-1!)

[Round 3: Danny Myers]
Fuck it, then! It’s the game round
Aye, it’s 1-1, right?
This round won’t even be closest
I fucked yo’ mama and she noticed
She sucked the cream out my Twinkie, she told me she’s a good Hostess
AND when I was about to nut, that’s when she opted to lick it
I said, “Are you gonna spit or swallow?” She said, “Be optimistic.”
Fuck you
I fucked her in front of your baby and yo’ dawg
My nigga came in, she grabbed two sticks, she said “Analog” (and a log)
The only thing that comes with the throne is pain
The rest’ll (wrestle) realize I’ve come here to roam and reign (Roman Reigns)
I’ve known ya name, you was the hungry kid with the fucked up mustache
You battled with Beast Mode league and battled for a bus pass
I know it’s hoods in Toronto, they everywhere, I connect with the soldiers
It’s the same game, just a different side like the second controller
But push my buttons, I promise to send ya soul flyin’
Bitch, I’m in the Charger with the stick, you can’t control dyin’
Blade by him
I’ll carve an inescapable pattern in his chest
Detectives were amazed (a maze’d) by it
Nifty Ruger, the .40 straight, but the .50 cooler
I can’t help it, I look at yo’ face and see Nipsey’s shooter
And you claim to be a HOLDER, I’ma urban legend, South Central in a certain section
I can’t express how I work the weapons
I chose the 4 over the Mac, now I’ll do my thing with it
I don’t know if the 4 good or bad but realize I’ma ring with it
I get the beam lifted…

{Chokes….BUT Danny sent us the rest of his third round he was going to spit to Franchise!}

Spot Franchise, regroup, mind snap, lean with it
Get no blood on my white T and walk away clean with it
Fuck you mean nigga, you with “Fuck The World?” Them niggas won’t let a clip pop
Get ya mans, you’ll be dead, Prez, this shit ‘Bigger Than Hip Hop”
I keep a stick, man, but we can talk it out, let meet where everyone knows it’s fair
I’ll fire off a stray bullet and see where it goes from there
Nigga go somewhere, Toronto? Shit, since my school days
Bloods would beat us with baseball bats for rockin’ Blue J(ay)s
You with this new wave, talkin’ that shit until the tool raise
I’ll shoot the doo rag you be wearin’ and give the nigga some new waves
Few K’s, hammers gripped, run up on you with a scandalous clique
Shoot you, then force ya bitch to keep the baby, Alabama shit
You don’t understand this shit, y’all come and go, at first you give us the feeling
You get a PG, get in the house and quickly hit a ceiling
It’s nothing new, only gun bars, that shits the wrong melody
All them sniper rifles don’t equal LONGEVITY
My grandpa gave me his old strap, all my niggas laughed about it
Now you can get the big round from the old Cap like Falcon got it
You niggas just rap about it, and you on the ground with this shit
Thank the Lord he ain’t got another round of this shit

[Round 3: Franchise]
Yo, Richmond, in case y’all never heard, I usually throw away a third
But this one gon’ be a different feelin’
Freckle-face, I hope you listen
My mama raised me, so I understand when the fans get at you for not takin’ care of those children
See, my pops walked out, just like you walked out
And I always think if he made a better route for me, would me and my brother be plottin’ on robberies?
But when I look at you, you remind me of him, honestly
Here chasin’ a dream
King of the Dot, Champion, and SMACK
But can’t take care of those kids, and that shit bothers me
You wanna discredit me, ‘cause I’m from Canada?
You from Cali? I wanna know what you done, what set you claim
We ain’t never heard a block you from!
You don’t get it crackin’!
In the streets, you was never actin’
You a culture vulture, and the shit is tragic
A nigga that’ll beg to be on SMACK his whole career, but will hop on any other league as soon as they got the dollars to make it happen
You dumb bitch!
You ducked me the first time on BANNED
You know what I told P? Fuck that!
I don’t play games, I let the TEC clap
And all this “duck, duck-”
Nigga, you could really get a head tap!
Nigga, you stuck in this Parallel Universe, and this is reality
I ain’t hearin’ it!
You a mid-tier
Being 39 is the only thing that makes you a veteran, you idiot!
How you a legend!?
Can’t get on the main stage, or crack a battle over a million
But y’all got him ‘round here talkin’ ‘bout “Legend” this-
Nigga, “Legend” what!?
You got one main-stage, paid Rex 12K
That’s not the shit that a legend does!
I don’t CARE if everyone talked about the shit!
Nigga, I’mma still talk about the shit!

[Danny Myers]
Right, right, talk about it
Talk about it

You paid Rex 12K and couldn’t spend rent on the crib?
Nigga, you paid Rex 12K and couldn’t put food in the fridge?
Nigga, you paid Rex fuckin’ 12K!
Since when is battle rap more important than taking care of the kids?
See, one day, niggas called my phone and said they wanted me dead
Truth is, I woke up with the sweats
You think I give a fuck about a battle?
I’m still as paranoid as it gets
Yo, Smack, if you call my phone and say anything ‘bout 12, all you gon’ hear is a “Click!”
What you done for your home!?
What you done for your league!?
Takin’ a battle every week, at 39
Screamin’, “I’m next up!”, wavin’ all this West stuff
When is the last time you put in work in the West, bruh?
You wanna talk ‘bout my life?
You ain’t built like that!
You don’t do shit like that!
Double up on a pack, whip it up in the trap
And you ain’t gotta tell the fiends where it is, ‘cause they can already smell where it’s at!
Welcome to the trap! You listenin’!?
I remember a time in the drought, I ain’t have no dope
Fiends was callin’ my phone, no coke
But I was crushin’ up Tylenol, and I’m serious
‘Cause a real hustler can make it work with powder appearances
You think you a family man ‘cause you show up to Family Court?
What, you caught a case with 12 for baby and all types of work?
Nigga, I don’t know ‘bout that
You’ll never win, the Dezzi ring
Danny, I’m at your crib, and I’mma Chris Benoit everything!
So tell your niggas it’s done!
I’mma empty the clip ‘til the .9 clickin’
They got your back? Well, they usually do
’Til there’s blood everywhere, and now the pound liftin’
‘Cause they was yellin, “Keep swim-” until it was time to drown in it
You know my slogan
I’m ‘bout action, chrome packin’
Two words: No Lackin’

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