Rum Nitty vs. Shotgun Suge [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Shotgun Suge]
I’m like an O.G. to him, I do him gruesome
Like, “Lil’ bro, where’d you get the bars to face me? You must’ve grew some.”
Beasley like, “Show him the ropes Jimmie, noose ’em (Newsome).”
We got the insane Crip vs the big Grape, the big baby
Let’s get one thing straight, I straight jack niggas who think they crazy
You holla for me, you must be punch drunk pass insane he dumb nuts
.40 cocky and it’s buffed up, lean on him, this nigga Rum got me fucked up
I’m on the turf where he bang at, lift the gun
Small shot, his men’ll run, I’m hittin’ one
I’ll put a buck in a Quarter like a nip of Rum
Aye Smack, when this is over we gotta speak
Me and you, got a lotta beef
I asked for top shelf, you give me Rum? The shot was cheap
Headshot, I’ll blick the semi
I’ll pull up in his mini city, where Rum at?
Knife in him, let’s get down to the Nitty gritty
I outweigh him by 250
I throw these they too swiftly
IQ I’m too witty
They said they want Crips to stick together but we ain’t want you Nitty (unity)
Oh you Crip Cornell? They call you “Insane Nelly” they get crazy cause you here?
Guns, I got ‘Air Force 1’s’ and Nelly get two pair
You know how I rock, you can’t hide from me
Search his block, search his spot
Catch him, 2K’s green beam, it’s a perfect shot
I let the Dessy blow, I’ll kill ya whole fuckin’ family, you already know
One word, I’ll drop ya niece off at a R. Kelly show
Had this nigga Nitty ’bout to dumb out, hopin’ that she run out
Have him throwin’ rocks at the studio beggin’ her to come out
I’m disrespectful, you said half of what I say, you the type to get mushed for it
He pussy, the .40 got the douche for her
Battle rap reaction, say somethin’ crazy and get pushed forward
Gun Line King, he think of one of them gun lines he gon’ gain glory
Yeah, ’til one of them gun lines turn into a front page story
I dunked on you vs Twork, I do what I want, I’m big Crippin’
Fifth grippin’, big clip in, lookin’ for a reason to kill him I’m Nit’ pickin’
Out of all ya brothers, you the lowest (Lois) one; Chris Griffin
{Stumbles}
I’ll pull up shootin’, like I catch it off the pass
Beasley, you better pick his box out before I catch it off the glass
Y’all know he heard me
I ain’t got no motherfuckin’ slogan; Jersey

[Round 1: Rum Nitty]
We got Rum Nitty vs this big bitch Suge
That’s a bad look, nah scratch that, this Cuz Webb vs Shaq Suge
Why you try? You jumped out on me first my nigga, here’s where I reply and it’s time to die
So let’s get one thing straight…ya vital signs
I brung out my pistol, it’s supposed to be cool
I don’t wanna have to slug out my nigga, you slammed on me first
With that dunk now you trippin’
Nigga pull Shotgun out in a bar, went out like Blizzard
You said I line and shoot, with one 90 too (192)
The shot Everclear, about to send you off to the highest Proof
I’m goin’ in, they don’t think you gon’ win
Not even a little Shotgun; .410
You ’bout to get all the smoke and take so many punches
The fans yellin’ “Get off the ropes!”
I’m wit’ the shit, of course I’ma talk it
.50 stink, Glizzy grip, I load it and off it
You were standin’ with the ops when me and Twork got it poppin’
Dancin’, all in the videos, Suge was The Source of the problem
Nigga who fake? Before I lose my cool, wait
You gon’ respect my Crippin’, or I go off, beat you ’til you got a Blueface
Make ya mind up wit’ it, ‘fore the shit really Escalade and you see niggas slide up grippin’
Try me, I’ll line the .9 up, lift it
And the barrel two feet over a Grape, that’s how ya wind (wine) up nigga
BAOW!
Matter of fact, you can’t even hear the steel
Silencer, that shit didn’t even whistle; Emmett Till
Bitch stop it, we clique poppin’
Ray Gibson, we ’bout to lose this shit watch it
Big chopper, post up, Ben Wallace
Got ’em! I alley oop Gotti, that’s a rim rocker!

{Gotti jumps into Suge}

…then I tap his pockets!
Burna be in your face, Da Vinci System
Hi-tech machine, have him doin’ surgery on a Grape
You fake, I come out to where y’all reside, clap the shit
Abacus, doin’ numbers every time I slide
You’ll fuck around and die rollin’ wit’ Suge
The nigga not gon’ ride
If BIG and ‘Pac taught me one lesson; never take Shotgun’s side
Fuck nigga, I’m low key with the sub grippin’
TEC-9, Colombian necktie, I come out the cut lickin’
Gun clickin’, one Smith &
If a Crip pull across your face; submission
You ain’t ready yet, Kalashnikov heavy set
And I’m puttin’ bodies on the chopper; medevac
For real a vet’, that’s a bet
‘Cause I done really put that time in Shotgun…more than Bellichek
Smokin’ shit what I be on
Why? To be Frank, Nitty ran wit’ Al Capone (Kapone)
Bitch you can’t keep it real yourself
Nigga suicide or I’ll do the job; kill yourself

[Round 2: Shotgun Suge]
Yo, I be all in the west coast with the Sig’ firin’
Dunkin’ in L.A. like Shaq not retirin’!
What he don’t know I had his baby mama chillin’ on the block today
Gun Line King, sound like some shit Tay Roc would say
Yeah, this a bar fight but I get a man
Trained like I grew up in Pakistan
Rum light, Drunken Master, show him the kick; Jackie Chan
Shit come from ’round my waist like a pot belly
Stock heavy, T-Top say he ready, but not ready
I told him this K will Shine, T (Ashanti) and drop Nelly
I’m in tune wit’ Nelly, gun out, I don’t tuck the slammer
It’s goin’ down down baby, on sight, fuck a camera
Street sweeper cocked, read to let it go; Country Grammar
Rum Nitty better watch what the fuck he talkin’
Better yet, he better watch where the fuck he walkin’
Code word “Squad”
What the fuck that mean?
Put him in a fuckin’ coffin
I’m at your bitch crib, kick the door, pop the levee
“Where Rum Nitty at?”
“He ‘cross the hood.” This is not a Chevy
She don’t wanna talk? Cock the Dessy
‘Put It In Her Mouth’; Akineyle
Watch the clock, ladder got the .40 lookin’ like a quarter after six
Pistol whip, take Rum to the head, he won’t walk a straight line after this
That .40 I had against X, I’m back wit’ the same gun
I air a zone (Arizona) in his area and send him back where he came from
Thought I couldn’t rap wit’ him, these fags doubtin’
I kill for a fee, I be cash countin’
I’ll wet your family up, the Mag’ shoutin’
We in Disney, strap on the kid; Splash Mountain
He ain’t got no choice but to die when I’m liftin’ the strap
Semi’ll clap, this smoke will get his body high like an Indica pack
I got bars, this beyond they hate
I’m in Phoenix, big man, first round pick; Deandre Ayton
He don’t like I’m in his hometown, I don’t follow rules it’s not pleasant
I got my MAC-90, .40 Glock, I brought my arsenal (Arsonal) let’s have a Duel In The Desert
He gon’ die here period
You said it yourself
Suicide I’ll do the job, for thinkin’ you a Don Cornelius
You ain’t no motherfuckin’ Don, you speakin’ Yiddish
This about to take Rum back, this nigga finished
Bull dogs a savage and it’s British
Big cap on his head, splittin’ image
I’ll steal Rum off the bar, this is pillage
You want a gun fight? He want a gun fight with me?
I’ll send hollows, play witcha life
Cross the gun line, the biscuit popped and the MAC follows
Y’all know he heard me
I ain’t got no motherfuckin’ slogan
Jersey!

[Round 2: Rum Nitty]
We brought in a couple MAC’s, niggas won’t live up in here
Since we make this a dunk contest, I got a perfect…10’s everywhere
It’s nothin’ to go in, you touch me I smoke shit, untuckin’ a pole then
Let it buck you provoke them
Now, can we get some silence for Shotgun? No Country For Old Men
The shit in my hand blowin’, blue flag around the Mag’ loccin’
Fire shots, hydro shot come out the can’ smokin’
I’ll pull off the waist clappin’ fast on him
Beam, spot a purple mark in the face, ASAP and Yam on him
You get a bag you try me
Y’all see me spaz on IG
Callin’ out the whole game, Madden 19
I do more than punch, y’all seen that cold ass dunk
Y’all ain’t think I could rebuttal, there’s a couple tricks in the arsenal (Arsonal) you don’t know Shotgun
You not finna clap me, I’ll pistol whip your shit, when the butt lift; Dr. Miami
I run in wit’ the .8, I ain’t leave it in the whip neither
I brung it up on stage, fuck wit’ another nigga state
Guns, in an Obama mask, that’s an arsenal (Arsonal) in another nigga face
Them real Grapes do not respect you
You gon’ tell the people how you went down to Watts, and they really pocket checked you?
Niggas jacked him he too lame
In Jordan Downs, they held you up like Pippen after the Flu Game
Use your brain stupid, ‘fore I point blank range shoot it
Suge’ll (sugar) pour out 20%; Frank Lucas
I’ve been where you niggas chilled
Above The Rim, they reppin’ Watts in Jersey ’til the Birdie shoot out for real
I keep shells ready, give you everything the 12 carry
You asked for this, fuck around and got yourself buried
Now they sayin’ prayers heavy
The arm I got for Shotgun go long; hail mary
And you don’t get killed urgently, you a thief, you steal verses
And you gon’ get the steel versus me
Hold up, hold up, hold up, you took versus from a legend that’s the type of shit that’ll get Suge murdered
I could burn him, got somethin’ for a Grape, in the nose; Good Burger
Get fired on, everything ’bout you fake, especially how you fire chrome
Scary niggas can’t hang wit’ the gang, am I right or wrong?
I would have to at least see a little heart (Hart) in Shotgun for him to Ride Along
Aye, I’ll pull this tre out and pop it
Took the serial numbers on the tool off
The stick scratched like a cue ball
Stay out the pocket!

[Round 3: Shotgun Suge]
I said the difference between me and you? You a lil’ homie you ain’t got no pups
Gun Line King, you ain’t got no pumps
No ain’t never slide on nobody, you ain’t never pop no trunks
Man all you do is write raps and cuff sluts
The difference between me and you?
You had a job but have all these gun lines in your rap
I had Escobar dreams, I turn my grandmother house into a trap
I wrote my raps there and that’s a fact
Three rounds? I was really cookin’ crack while cookin’ crack
You talk that Crip shit, I really live that Crip shit
I’m from the side of the world where you gotta worry about the cops, the Bloods, Crips and the niggas that switch cliques
Wait a minute, ain’t you one of them niggas that switch cliques?
You was 4th Quarter, Writer’s Bloque, Team Homi, now you Team Crip?
Gotti I don’t know how you fuck wit’ him, he set flippin’
Who locced you in? How you turn cuz? You set trippin’
Where I’m from, loyalty is a must
He another 6ix9ine, we call him “Danny”
Aye Geechi, I don’t know how you do it, but the real Gotti would’ve killed him for switchin’ families
I knew you was pussy since we met, you playin’ a dangerous game; Russian Roulette
Don’t ever question my loyalty for the rag
All the pain and the sufferin’ for the flag
All the dead folks, respect his Crippin’? Baow, he get a Blueface and that’s on the dead Locs
What his life like?
While he was beatin’ on his girl? I was beatin’ on his girl
She even asked me for a fight
I could’ve spent the weekend witcha girl
Mossberg 500 the top pump
If we was in jail together, I’d make you sleep on the top bunk
Glock dump, ladder, got a couple bodies on it, the stock jump
Big ass ratchet, it’s cookin’ him
Head shot, his top what it’s cookin’ in
Entry wound got me lookin’ from a different point of view, outside lookin’ in
{chokes}
Jersey

[Round 3: Rum Nitty]
Aye, y’all remember in ah, ah, Bad Boys 1 when Martin bugged out?
“Man if you don’t sit yo’ lanky ass down. Bottom line. I will knock you the fuck out
This shit more than rap
The pistol, German issue
I’ll put a body on the Luger; torture rack
Of course I’m strapped
If Shotgun play, stand back, seven yards, before I snap
Or take a long hike, I don’t wanna see y’all die
So tell Red man (Redman) “head out” or I’ll show him there Iz A Darkside
Blaow!
I’ll lay you down
Toss somethin’ the size of a medicine ball for tryin’ to throw your weight around
The aim pro’ good, I can’t miss the man
I’m finna hit Newsome (noose ’em) up like it’s Rosewood
I’m finna yolk Suge
Go upside his head, whippin’ Shotgun at will (wheel); driver’s ed
Bitch made nigga, tryin’ to suppress this big K spittin’
Silencer, so now it’s just a little loud, slim Dre Dennis
I get to wiggin’, but niggas hatin’
So if not the 30 I’ll take the 2-1 (21); immigration
You won’t be back for good, don’t think I’ll squeeze that? I would
.45, the coat on Shotgun, jean jacket Suge
BAOW! The heat get popped, I raise one and shake a Grape up with the .5
Give him three up top
BAOW! We get pistols in by the dozen
Just got a little mo’ Hawks (mohawks) in; Indian In The Cupboard
Don’t even start him, Nina sparker
BAOW, get a giant bald head; Tiki Barber
Whatchu got? Packs for cheap?
Well let’s play a game, when’s the last time you saw (Saw) Shotgun trap a ki (key)?
I lift the Mag’
This shit? Violent, get close to purple
Blaow, magenta splash
Where Majenta at? Who you had winnin’?
Well you gon’ be in need of clothes you’re (closure) goin’ for Jimmie, Jaz (Jimmy Jazz)
I wish he would go to the jakes
If Jim’ (gym) rat, we liftin’ iron, doin’ pull ups everyday
Catch him at the red light, hit his head twice
They lookin’ at his autopsy report thinkin’, “What his death like?”
Bitch, you can’t keep it real yourself
Suicide or I’ll do the job, kill yourself

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