Tsu Surf vs. Geechi Gotti [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Geechi Gotti]

{Geechi snatches the coin out of the air}

Nigga you’se a bitch!
Aye, y’all know who got the fire rounds
Y’all came to see me light the pound

{Geechi takes his Champion Of The Year belt off his shoulder and lays it on the floor}

And lay a Title down!
Every. Fucking. Bar
I don’t give a fuck
They said, “Surf in his bag.” I know, I’m the one who zipped it up
The pistol tucked, the strap got a bedtime
Caught him while he readin’ the paper, blew his face, on the front page, now that’s a headline (head line)
My nigga Threala, he facin’ Fed time, I hope he come outta that
Last year, Rum killed you
Now they got another Quarter to wash you: oh, this a laundromat
A lot of straps, you poke your chest out, I’ma knock it back
Niggas witchu, I’ma do the same shit to them pussies; copy cat/pocket tap
Roc get slapped, then I lay the Wave down like a stocking cap
You Roger that? Keep talkin’ the heat sparkin’, I’ll knock you down…then I step on the Wave: I’m C (sea) walkin’
Crip shit! Ain’t no fuckin’ wit’ the gang
A headshot will get rid of the Wave like I cut against the grain
I’ll dump it in his brain, he get a flat line, that’s on the gang bitch
Ya mama keep askin’ me, “What the casket size?”
I told her, “Wave length” (wavelength)
Yeah, that’s something you can fit right in
Since you from 60’s, it’s only right that the box be 6 X 10
I catch you in that brand new Benz, leave shells in the ride
Nigga I’ll let it ring on a foreign like a mail order bride
You see the Hell in my eyes?
I’m ahead of my time
I’ll give a nigga top five, let the doctor’s figure out if it’s dead or alive
Stop tellin’ them lies
You think cause you hang wit’ Joe that you famous, nigga?
The five shots damn near killed you like some dangerous liquor
Them niggas got tired of seein’ you wit’ Buddens (buttons) so they gave you a zipper
Befo’ the shot: Surf a G
After the shot: Surgery
He a straight pretender
Befo’ the shot: Madison Square
After the shot: Staple Center
I really hate this nigga, actin’ like you the reason I’m on this N.O.M.E. stage
Boy a bullet, will make sure you die befo’ old age
Chrome thang
It look Silver, Surf’ll (Surfer) swim in his own blood, that’s how you ride ya own wave
Fo’s blaze, stomach shot, I bet he hurl
Face shot, Surf trippin’, I turned the Wave to a jheri curl
Machete twirl, I carve an L in ya shit
Switch blades open Titles; bitch I’m sellin’ the whip
I’m real wit’ this shit
In my city, I’m one of the ones the police hate
You went to jail, so what? The box I put a nigga in don’t come wit’ release dates
But see I can’t be fake though
Because against Hitman, you had some of the best lines
Nigga you said ya mama was in pain, “You want to speak to the inmate?
(Press 9!)
We all know the feelin’, ya mom’s had to press 9 for her son
But that just prepared her for when you got shot, then she had to press 9-1-1
I ain’t gotta find my gun
It’s a Smith & Glock
Shoot ’til the clip has dropped
Hit ya brother, got Tay bouncin’ off the Wave like I’m skippin’ Roc(k)s
Pistol cocked, cause I know Hell waitin’
Surf, I spark in a lot, I’m tailgating
Tell Satan, “Fuck him”
Since you his grandson, without this damn drum
I swear this chopper be lighter than my handgun
But if ya man run, I’ma hit him in the ribs, knock a SLAB off
Look how it’s hangin’ him
Bullets came out, Slow Loud And Bangin’
Aye, tell that nigga Aye Verb I said “Fuck him”
This a motherfuckin’ Crip world
If I holler “Kill Cuz”, them two words will get son bodied; Big Gerald
Yo Surf, I liked ya album nigga, when the next one comin’ out?
But what if I showed up wit’ .725’s, choppers and them thumpers out
Boy it’s gonna be a lot of ambulances ‘At ya Mother House’
Dump him out, yo’ gang bangin’ ain’t like mine
Nigga please, you my Junior MAFIA wit’ them little C’s (Lil’ Cease)
And when it’s real, y’all can tell
(You can see it in they eyes)
Yeah, you can make nigga believe them lies

[Round 1: Tsu Surf]
Geechi Gotti versus Tsunami
Couldn’t find you a bigger wake
Casket or classic?
Usually a nigga fate
Smack let’s be 100, name three niggas that get a bigger plate?
Sell a fight, rep the brand and increase the ticket rate
I know I’m battlin’ him, so what? I make that nigga wait
Only thing we got in common, I use a (you’se a) bitch in a nigga face
Shoot him, then scream, “You’se a bitch” in a nigga face
I never seen a gun range, live targets how I test mine
We might be from the same block (Blocc), I get real Nutty when I rep mine
Raise that swammy up, I’ll break the family up like a step mom
Judge said I can’t get Champion Of The Night

[Tay Roc]
Why’s that?

[Tsu Surf]
It’s like 15 bodies on this TEC-9 (Tech-9)
If I catch his kid sleepin’, then I’m wettin’ the bed
That revolver, a solver (silver), we gon’ settle wit’ lead
Gun butt him, rest of the clip fell in his head
Then spit on the baby wit’ the TEC (Tech)
Listen, we all need to stop disrespectin’ the dead
Listen, I only give a fuck about my gang, my family and my catalog
You either die: rest in peace, or die become a battle bar
You ever been shot by a Crip?
I have, nigga too scary
They had me in that county eatin’ muffins, for tryin’ to get that last blue buried (blueberry)
I’ll pull up, gun’ll talk, cartwheel/somersault
Asphalt, some chump, nigga dead, fuck you thought?
.223’s, any contact? Somethin’ off
Arms out backpedalin’, I’m tryna teach my son to walk
This ain’t beef, I’m just givin’ advice
Nigga east or west coast, we ain’t livin’ alike
There’s a difference in stripes
You got shot by mistake, they want my head on a stake, we ain’t Crippin’ alike
I heard it was a homecoming for the homie comin’ home
We gon’ bring mad goons
I’m talkin’ mad mops, mad brooms, extendos, half moons
We walkin’ through that party holdin’ arms like bitches to the bathroom
Switchblade, aye come here, I got somethin’ I wanna run by you
Or Louisville Slugger, I get to wavin’ (Wave and) the bat like Gun Titles
When I took them five shots Geechi, whatchu say?
You said Staple Center, right?
When I got them five shots Geechi, I was mad as shit
Like the flag, the set, the life, they can have this shit
And I sat, I started to laugh and shit
Realized that shit bag was karma for me baggin’ shit
Now I ain’t sayin’ gettin’ shot was cool, but niggas actin’ like they plan in these streets
They want me killed, cause I kill shit
Pescatarian, them shells was for me
I catch him goin’ in the crib wit’ his daughter, let me tell you how I levitate her
Metal claw, lay the law like a legislator
Memory chip missin’, fucked up, he could never save her
I run up, put the arm in the door, “Hold the elevator!”
I was watchin’ battles wit’ my bitch the other day
And then it came across the screen that the homies call you “Bay” (bae)
Now I ain’t sayin’ that you gay Loc, but Bay Loc, Smack, stay woke
We only press pussies
They ain’t slidin’ back and it ain’t addin’ up
He prolly sleep, or don’t got a charger, got me mad as fuck
One TEC (text) should do it, but I swear to God if I had enough
Two TEC’s (texts) to Bay (bae), bitch better respond fast enough
Trunk full of Lou Wills’ (loose wheels), Gallinari’s, Pat, basically it come wit’ Clippers
I put Bay (bae) in a special box like, “You nothin’ like them other bitches.”
Braids lookin’ like Gerber, sweet potato mash they shit
A 4 or 5, my terrible two, they bad as shit
I’ll pull up, Roc pass the fire, grab the shit
Tragic shit, if Bae be (baby) in the crib, we gon’ rattle shit
I got a hitman that I ain’t never seen, and he don’t like to speak
A demon, plus he vegan, I gotta wire him the green cause he don’t like the meat (meet)
I heard ya background dirty like… bummy bitch pictures
I had ya bitch sit on my horse, it’s a country bitch picture
Shoestring got the arm over the torso like… chubby bitch pictures
I pray to God your “Rest in peace” post only get a little Likes like ugly bitch pictures
Yo, y’all motherfuckers respond to anything thats a struggle story, as long as it rhyme
“My cuz 14, wore a suit to trial before a suit to prom”- we don’t give a fuck nigga
“My cuz had to steal, I can tell you what it feel like
He didn’t have Playstation, he was playin’ Grand Theft Auto in real-” we don’t give a fuck
Every time a nigga say a sad bar, don’t mean that’s a wow
My cuz had PS2, he still died, he only playin’ Dreamcast now

[Round 2: Geechi Gotti]
Niggas who try to disrespect my gang man, usually get hit in the mouth
But this time, I’ma take the gentleman route
Boy Bay’ll show up to crib wit’ the ratchet like, “Nigga we gotta figure this out.”
This ain’t no motherfuckin’ midwest movement
Such and such ain’t doin’ no numbers
And I don’t see midwest- man fuck that
Tool on me, when the hammers blam
The first thing you hear when you touchdown? The ambulance
Damn it man
I’ve been tryin’ to stop from killin’ shit
I literally had to shoot ’til the gun didn’t bang like a non affiliate
Stop the silly shit
You still runnin’ from Solomon?
Nigga that shit gotta stop
Tell us, how the fuck did you duck the Iron and still end up gettin’ shot?
But look, believe it or not, it ain’t even about bars no mo’
And yo’ situation, showed us how that’s kinda clear
Cause them niggas that shot you don’t even rap, and damn near caught Body Of The Year
I’m just glad you still here
Whatchu lost? ‘Bout 10 pounds?


I bet you was mad as fuck you couldn’t “Jersey” outta them rounds
Silencers, bullets sound how the wind sound
{Psht psht}
Bullets got him spinnin’ and dancin’ on stage
Yeah you was hangin’ wit’ Chris Brown
You know how I get down
I let my nuts hang
We don’t give a fuck that you was shot five times, that’s what happen when you gang bang
Let me tell you one thang
I think you dumb as fuck
Cause you supposed to keep a pistol under the tee, instead you got ya tummy tucked
Nigga enough’s enough
Cause the wrong move’ll get Surf shot
Then I’ll bury your partner right next to you, now he a dirt Roc(k)
I don’t wanna hurt Roc
So you better stay in ya place
Or I’ll show up to B-More, grab ya wifey, she should’ve been sayin’ her grace
Throw that – over a cliff
You better hope the woman you marry lands (Maryland) on her face
Nigga they said, “You facin’ Surf. You gotta spark him.”
I just had a classic Chess (chest); Dolly Parton
But look, you been to my hood, you know I made it good in the hood for you
You really my loc, that’s why I had to heart check Suge for you
It’s just me and two of my dawgs, lookin’ for beef so we can slide in it
Fuck around show up with three .30’s, it ain’t a time limit
The .9 liftin’, shooter get shot, that been a drill (Benadryl), I’m allergic to ops
My trigger finger itchin’, your missus, been a drill
These streets is ill, that’s why in God I trust
The big homie said it’s time to let that nose spray, I said sign us (sinus) up
But when it’s time to bust, them chopper rounds soundin’ like cherry bombs
Loud shots, ear ringin’ in the field like Barry Bonds
But I ain’t talkin’ no baseball cause we fo’ sho’ demons
Seen niggas get shot by a .40 then become an R.I.P. tat in Old English
We don’t show no weakness
In the hood, niggas play on that
It’s fucked up, before the missus I asked God to get away, I gotta pray on that
What I say all facts, no lies detected, we can scrap
You can get the worst beats; Nas selection
He better hope God protects him, cause first it was Suge, then it was Ars’, now Surf
I’m just showin’ y’all who the big Crip, ain’t shit you can tell me
But I keep killin’ my homies: YNW Melly
When he see the blue rag he know I’m goin’ Crippin’
Hop out, wit’ a stolen blicky
Hit his crew up, got his niggas turnin’ on the ground, oh now they Rolling 60’s
The pole is wit’ me, dump Surf in the river, show him the way things get handled
Like why the fuck would I need subtitles when I can throw him in the English Channel?
Closed caption, it’s close range when I blam you
You will get smoked like a J, Prince was not an option, I had to (w)Rap-A-Lot of rags around the handle
Yeah, they seein’ you dyin’ on stage today
We ain’t gotta wonder, you dead and everybody know it like Mike Jones number
And when it’s real, y’all can tell
Go ahead, see if you make niggas believe them lies
Nigga time

[Round 2: Tsu Surf]
When it’s real you can see it in his eyes
I hate that slogan
When it’s real- you seen it in his eyes
When you real its’- you seen it in his- everybody knows that
You ever shot a nigga in his head and the real leave his eyes and watch ’em roll back?
This this nigga first NOME ever, nobody fuckin’ care
How you do on UFF? Oh you wasn’t there
What about the BET Awards? Smack this isn’t fuckin’ fair
Gladiator School/Snoop, nigga you was where?
When you was sellin’ hair I was sellin’ here
And you put Tsu aside (suicide), nigga you kick away the chair
It’s been since I was what? 19?
They always learn the hard way
If you was really his investment he wouldn’t put you in harms way
$10,000 the Champion Of The Night
Man, I just spent $10,000 on bids
GIvin’ JayBlac interviews before JayBlac had $10,000 to give
I tried to put my TEC down in peace, change of plans
I heard you change those who idolize in the rival eyes you shake they hand
I don’t wanna be Champion Of The Year, nigga you do
Was Champion Of The Year before Red, Champion Of The Year before you too
Before Smack beard, chi-chi-Chia, before NuNu
Eloquently pen me these bodies, dummy, voodoo
Y’all wanna know the difference between me and him?
If ya homies had problems you went out, you wouldn’t lose at all
I was booked for Summer Madness reekin’ madness all summer, really willing to lose it all
I’m just really wit’ the stupid shit, I don’t be exposin’ niggas
Like imagine gettin’ ready for Hollow while loadin’ hollows cause you don’t know how low you gotta go for niggas
That same phone Beasley used to hit when he needed me for some Smack shit
My big homies used to tap when they needed me to smack shit
I ain’t crazy, this my life, y’all ain’t seein’ the point
No set, no homies, just me in Detroit
If it was beef, boy wouldn’t even be in Detroit
Big .9 under that tee in Detroit, tryin’ to battle Big T in Detroit
Sellin’ drugs wasn’t fun
Never excited when I flip grams
I just told the old heads Holla if they need a hit man
That was ’round the time I was battlin’ Hitman
He almost made it off the block, why would he want to go out?
Since Yung Ill I was sick it was just in my blood to Showout
I couldn’t focus on Rum and Top, I’m sippin’ top rum chasin’ demons, my mind sick
‘Round the time I battled X-Factor my dawg got- boy I turned into John Wick
Before you ever wrote a battle bar I was makin’ the butter
X’in’ niggas for W’s when NWX hated each other
So I don’t wanna hear shit from you or these fuckin’ chumps
I took two to the ribs, Double Impact ain’t for a couple months
Four arms, double date, hash browns, I muzzle 8
Slidin’ through Compton, swear to God I couldn’t fuckin’ wait
Onlookers lookin’ confused, the puzzled face
Bitch jump in, I’ll spill Coffee on his shirt like he runnin’ late
Let me find out, Coffee couldn’t handle gettin’ mugged by the cops
She was on the scene
No lie Tay (latte) she catch her, cream her (creamer), or at least spill Coffee bean
I heard they call y’all the “Nutty Blocc Crips” or “Nuts”
Could’ve came wit’ somethin’ better but
These bitches always wanna Set It Off until I say, “Set it up”
I had my neighbors in ya neighborhood, I’m lyin’ nigga, “yes” or what?
With Magnums in arms reach, in case I gotta catch a Nut
Aye Coffee, I was bullshittin’, everything I heard, nothin’ but great
I wouldn’t fuck ya homegirl wit’ a pool stick, I just wanna bust a Nut in her face
Y’all disrespect, Crips from the east coast, but call ya hood “Yankee stadium”
We wit’ it cuz, we made proof
I slide in Yankee Stadium airin’ a judge at Bay (Babe) Ruth
You seen Menace II Society you from Compton, shit real
If it’s about that Cane or he O-Dog, we gon’ hit you or that baby on that Big Wheel
If it ain’t $20,000 or better then it’s fuck haters
Iron Solomon, Math, John John, a bunch of nut chasers
Smack don’t call my phone for nothin’ but paper
I don’t know origami, I don’t fold or duck paper

[Round 3: Geechi Gotti]
He had a whole bunch of Coffee bars
A nigga hearin’ all the jokes and shit
But they be like, “Keep a lid on Coffee” she fuck around and smoke shit
Y’all heard how cuz did a whole round talkin’ ’bout his battle rap life
You see it seem like he really wrote wit’ heart
He told y’all everythang…but he left out the chokin’ part
Everybody know how many times you got shot
Why you don’t tell niggas how many times you prayed?
How many times yo’ mama was at that hospital, how many nights she stayed?
See you wanna rap ’bout gettin’ shot and how you got popular
That’s only cause you rappin’
In the streets, niggas get shot, be lucky if they can get a casket
See nigga this shit get tragic
How you gon’ glorify a lifestyle niggas live and die by?
Knowin’ that the moment you try to walk away, fuck around get caught in a drive-by
Now why lie?
You said you been to my set, you know nigga’s peel caps
I had you standin’ in the same spot, couple real niggas got killed at
Now these is real facts
I been Crippin’ since a kid
A lot of y’all started when y’all was well grown
I went to jail for a shootin’ at 16
When you a juvenile you can’t bail home
I’m just sayin’ that to say
I literally had to call my mama from a cell before I had a cell phone
Now what the hell wrong wit’ niggas like cuz?
You younger than me, so I really don’t know what you ’bout
These new generation niggas…grew up chasin’ clout
I grew up chasin’ my enemies, they grew up chasin’ clout
But he better try a different route
Cause see social media, that ain’t the real you
Where I come from, if a nigga followed you he was actually tryin’ to kill you
The shit I rap about, I actually still do
Robberies, kick doors, can’t stop ’til all my niggas don’t straight
Walk in the house, money fallin’ out the safe
My bitch soundin’ like the Tootsie Pop owl
She steady askin’ “How many licks do it take?”
Now can you relate?
That prolly never crossed yo’ mind
You talk about basketball, I wanted to be a receiver
The only thing I ever caught was time
I damn near lost my mind
You know how I felt when I first had a kid?
Was scared to read a book to my youngest shorty
Cause in this lifestyle you labeled a “snitch” if you ever told a story
My P.O. don’t even know I’m out here
Aye cuz don’t report me
I’ve been on paper since a kid, for really shootin’ shit and doin’ niggas bad
It’s fucked up, my P.O. got me pissin’ in a cup, docs had you pissin’ in a bag
This shit is sad
I’m talkin’ death after death, we really live that shit
Closed caskets, we don’t even know if he in that bitch, nigga
This some real ass shit
You got shot, I got shot, I still got a shell in me
I just learned to live wit’ it comfortably
It’s crazy, all this shit I learned in the streets, but a bullet is the only thing that stuck wit’ me
Nigga this shit fuck wit’ me
I gotta tell you the truth
I never played ball but I’m sure one day I gotta teach my son how to shoot
I’ve been thuggin’ since a youth, but back then I was just mo’ foolish
But I was smart enough to know to keep it off camera wit’ whatever I was doin’
You niggas happy to be battle rappers
That’s why I know, you never had a gun to pull it
Cause in my era, when you caught a body you ain’t want no footage
I’ve been on bullshit since I was a kid
Really out here wildin’
Aye you know my patna told his mama, “Bury me a G”
She did, that nigga casket cost a thousand
Nigga thousands of young niggas, just out here ’til they time is up
In these streets, when niggas pass quicker than Lebron in the clutch
I be linin’ niggas up
Cause everything in the streets don’t go well
My nigga died ten years ago, his mama still payin’ the phone bill
Just so she can call and hear him talk on the voicemail
See when I do these third rounds they get mad, but this is my life, I don’t gotta be sharin’ it
We live two different ways, it ain’t no comparin’ it
I just been tryin’ to figure out how my niggas end up underground like they still followin’ Harriet
Scary shit
He talkin’ ’bout shootings, niggas done know I done murked a few
Nah, y’all know that’s somethin’ Surf’ll do!
And when it’s real, y’all can tell, y’all can see it in they eyes
Go ‘head see if you make niggas believe them lies
Nigga time!

[Round 3: Tsu Surf]
When it’s real you can see it in his eyes
Stop right there
You said I was standin’ where the homie got shot, you lucky another homie ain’t get shot right there
If I would’ve knew that ya homie got shot right there
On neighborhood I would’ve took a selfie shot right there
That shit you said about ya son wit’ the shot, now that was real
I’d rather teach my son how to chase down the block and grab the steel
I don’t wanna hear ’bout the homie that put in work, I wanna know what you did
We on a time limit, speed datin’, I wanna know who you is
Not about the cuz that got life, not another nigga’s wars
You can console everybody mother, but you can’t console yours
Use your pupils pupil
Pay attention while the teacher teachin’
YG on the collab, boy I’ll have ya features bleedin’
Choir singin’, mama cryin’, baby screamin’, preacher preachin’
4, 5’s, 8’s and 9’s, parent/teacher meetings
A tragedy I show up in his hood; Trayvon
There is a (RZA) Method to why I see these Ghostfaces; Raekwon
Enough ammunition to light Africa; Akon
You ain’t a shooter, you just run wit’ the Warriors, you-you Draymond
I was thinkin’ “Bury cuz. Dig him up”
A fair raid, that nigga fucked
Pump 12, fill him up
His middle ten; get a buck
Fibula, tibia, split him up
Switch blade, worst at the tryouts, that nigga cut
Abortion: Bay be (baby) dead, he ain’t gettin’ up
Wet the baby a lil’ bit; sippy cup
Shooter arm off, pick it up
Break a leg, wish him luck
They done woke up Satan grandson, the devil heated
What I pull up these jeans (Jean) Grey, the metal Phoenix
Last witness, I made him forget it, like he never seen it
You said, “Geechi been wildin’ out (Wild ‘N Out), the boy ain’t never even met Conceited
But you make it happen, set the dinner table, show me to the plate
And I ain’t gotta wear my flag, my ops know me by my face
You say a lotta shit that make me think you did play the block
Like you was on the court, you just didn’t take the shot
I could give a fuck what gang a nigga is
He wit’ it then I give him respect
Boy I done ran through red lights wit’ Bloods like period sex
And I could give a fuck what a nigga think, they dead shottas
You know them Bloods that fuck wit’ the Locs, we call ’em “Red Lobsters”
Everybody that’s Crippin’ that battle, don’t wear a bandanna, why he jock so hard?
American flag, he wanna be in that blue box wit’ the stars
How I ask God to spare me cause I ain’t live enough?
But I don’t gave enough shots to fuck a liver up
How I ask God to spare me and all these niggas we been wrappin’ up?
That boy mother left his room alone can’t bring herself to pack it up
Gina Waters, a big head, different weapon
That Tommy cold (Cole), I clear that room like, “Get to steppin'”
Big Shirley, buncha poles in the house
I put a hole in his scalp, if it goes in his mouth like Jerome in the house
No Martin I seen some niggas play they self, on the set and got the lead for it
Since the Roscoe, no snitchin’, you keep this key low (kilo) low or you dead for it
I owe this (Otis) to y’all, he just the nigga that bled for it
Hot iron around his dome like Gina wit’ the headboard
I mean, I ain’t really a schemy nigga, but some time it fit it
It really cause my mama pain when they hit me wit’ that biscuit
So if it ain’t $20,000 or better, it’s fuck haters
Math/John John, a bunch of nut chasers
Smack, don’t call my phone for nothin’ but paper
I don’t know origami, I don’t fold or duck paper

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