Jerry Wess vs. Chilla Jones [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Jerry Wess]
He got experience, but so do I
Who say I’m not gon’ beat him?
Miles Morales: hey, if I showed the (shoulder) touch, I could shock the King Pen (Kingpin)
The ambulance doin’ curbside pickup if I drop his ass
He ain’t get a chance to see what I had in store: he forgot his mask
Hop out the Mystery Machine, Glock-19 if he pass me
This shit split up gangs
Infrared (Fred) on this bitch like Daphne
Don’t worry ’bout what I carry, yo
Key (karaoke) is to bring the Hecklers
Two ratchets, they do wet (duet) niggas when they sing togеther
One-two, fuck up your vision, ’til you cannot see
(*kiss*) Twitter, (*kiss*) Facеbook: these’ll connect to yo’ eye, G (IG)!
Troy told me, “Chop him and noose him”
He want part of your body wrapped in another bag
Meanin’ split him after I hang him
Soon as he choke, Smack gon’ take his other half!
I’ll clap him while he dreamin’! Start squeezin’ steel!
Head explodin’, melatonin: I’ll wait ’til he sleep and peel (sleeping pill)!
Oh, y’all thought I forgot about NOME?
I can’t let that B.S. slide
Think it’s a game, now every nigga finna get it: PS5!
The .9 hella accurate, tool to your brain
The mill’ in sync (meal in sink) like there’s food in the drain
KingPen? I’m supposed to be scared of your ink ’cause you world-known?
Nigga, the only Pen (PIN) I ever been concerned about is the one in my girl phone
MAC-11, broad day, that’s a wild risk
Gun-butt, the Pen on the MAC (Mac): it’s a stylus
You not believable
We laugh when you say gun bars – it ain’t a secret
Any threat this bitch make Will look crazy: Jada Pinkett!
Vers’ Magic, I used Flash bars
It’s a Crisis I speed past you
Then I crossover to show where it all started…you seem baffled
I’ll shoot the mother of your princess, definitely, and you get hit wit’ this mean barrel
First, I pop a can’ (*chk*), then I’ll lift a (Oliver) Queen: Green Arrow!
Gun fresh out the box, damn near legal when I’m clappin’ that
Didn’t get to scratch it, I’m spittin’ wit’ the serial (cereal): I’m Surf wit’ the Apple Jacks
I’m better than you
I’ll let the whole world know, you gets NADA!
I’m tellin’ everybody, Chill’, while I’m rappin’: Rich Dolarz!
You coulda been EFB, but as far as your career, my nigga? It’s only condolences
I mean, he gon’ be sad for a while, until he hit a speed bump
He gon’ slowly get over it
Knife in his jaw!
You better pray your health insurance got an extension
He can’t afford the surgery, but the docs still took it out the Pen chin (pension)!
He gon’ get home…very scared!
It’s gon’ be a homi’, body parts everywhere
I’m talkin’ legs in the fridge, dome in the couch
Good-ass phone conversation: Jones all over the house!
The TEC blow, your set know
Fuck am I still rap-
Brooklyn!

[Round 1: Chilla Jones]
Aye, I knew I would floor the (Florida) nigga, soon as Beas’ text sayin’, “He’s next”
I couldn’t get Suge or land O (Orlando)?
He ’bout to be M.I.A. – this a weak threat
Y’all can debate whose pens are colder (Pensacola), but it take a clear war to (Clearwater) prove who can be best
They know I tamper (Tampa) wit’ killers since I fought Myers…and that’s the Key, Wess (West)
Yes, I’m a factor and a force
They keep wonderin’ who I wrote for, they keep askin’ me, of course
Well, ask Smack – even in that Benz, he know (Benzino), a Boston rapper was The Source
Ain’t no passin’ of the torch!
To be Champion of the Year, I’m droppin’ Wess (West) like Kim K….after the divorce!
You a corpse if the gauge is a 12, I’m sprayin’ out him
If it’s sauce, well, the plate came with shells: it ain’t Italian
You got any last words for the fans? Think about it…
Gave him two shots to pour out his soul (sole) like Meg Thee Stallion!
Say I’m wildin’, I have no chill
Ds’ll (Diesel) squeeze in the whip like Shaq O’Neal in the Batmobile!
You ain’t clap no steel! You ain’t never drop a nigga!
Get the message when I snap – Jerry shoulda got the picture
I pop a trigger
Who want a burial first?
If not Wess, a man of Jerry’ll work
Shit, I just look over and off a nigga
Managerial work? Look over an offer nigga?
Look, I don’t got props for niggas who be bringin’ props for niggas
I’ll lay him flat, make ’em have to prop a nigga up proper, nigga!
You dead, beat to the ground, lookin’ up to me like a father figure
It figures, though!
That’s why I had to give J the (Jada) Smith in August
So we can say we all seen a (Alsina) bitch exposed!
Pistol blow! Shoot ’til the gun break and the clip explode!
If these ratchets go back-and-forth on Jerry, the spring’ll (Springer) show!
But lemme flip that, and go off heavy
The real GOAT
Steve Wilkos: you know I gotta show off, Jerry!
You not ready
Shit, I was trendin’ vers’ Nitty, tryin’ to keep it humble
Think NBA quarantine: Chilla got the league to bubble
Get your whole circle clapped: teams when they leave the huddle
For that Coco, I should nail (Chanel) you, have him seein’ (C-in’) double
Hey, Mike! You like angles, right?
Well, I’mma get low, squeeze and bust you
As far as you, Wess? Aye (USA), the can’, it’ll (Canada) be above you
I’m bored of (border) controllin’ niggas
Yeah, Jones the best
Could take the win(d) wit’ a punch: we playin’ open-chest
Kill your whole family, your cousins get smoked to death
Your mother, your father, and your bro get stretched
Ever your uncle gettin’ smoked wit’ TECs
All it take is a finger, prick, and they’ll be lookin’ for your auntie body (antibody) like a COVID test
Yes!
You might have battled dudes who sound like me
But you ain’t never stood in front of three rounds like these

[Round 2: Jerry Wess]
I said, black leather gloves, no…tellin’ where I’mma shoot this time
Close-range, Drac’ (Drake) shot in his man chin (mansion): ‘Toosie Slide’
I seen him when he passed the block, so I spin’t it, ‘matics shootin’
I cam back after I seen ya, yeah (senior year): class reunion!
Sleep on me? I’m vampin’!
This guy? Straight sucka!
Broad daylight (Daylyt), you get Roc(ked) ’til your eyes change color!
I saw him in the crib, he turned down the blinds
I’m untuckin’ mine
Oh, you think ’cause you closed that shit, I won’t let somethin’ fly?
Well, soon as you peek through, I’ll hit that bitch 100 times
Shoot the window up, ’til all he see is one shade: he colorblind!
I tried to cut him last week! He woulda rapped wit’ his face curved
I gave no fucks before the battle: Aye Verb!
Mossberg to your chest, rip through your skin and your bones!
Spell-check – I’ll make sure one in the middle of Jones
This gun ma-
Ain’t “one” in the-?
This gun made in 1970
I see your son, lift it, then bro dyin’
Eight rounds, Jones Jr. facin’ a 50-year-old Iron!
I left his head exposed, from so close
Eyes poked out, nose gone
Teeth messed up, broke bone
Even the ears (air’s) fucked up – (*cough*) – like the ozone!
I’m at his door wit’ the mill’!
But I’d rather stab him, too elite
No evidence, take the pic(k) before I leave: Uber Eats
Precise cuts, it’s enough, hella effective
I’ll leave him dead in the crib, they’ll never suspect it
Nobody knew he was dead, I mean, your boy a demon
Literally left Chill’ in the house for months: quarantinin’!
Your eyes say it all!
Play tough, this could lead into an issue
Fake Jordans: I could look into your soul (sole) and see you ain’t official
He not real, I feel like this nerd impostor
I’m talkin’ Jaz(z) all in this nigga face: word to Saga!
Ever since he stopped schemin’ as much, he been off, right?
Used to be hella cold
I’m not feelin’ this Chill’: frostbite!
Judge in his face, run and the heat blow
KingPen’ll (Kingpin) get caught: he fightin’ a RICO
100 shots, take his thighs out like 100 squats!
You think this battle change my stock? Oh, it’s my career bro decide?
What’s Professor X to Juggernaut? You ain’t controllin’ mine (mind)!
I did this on my own – what is it that you can’t see?
From the bars to the moments…I created, KingPen (Kingpin): I’m Stan Lee!
I been doin’ what you did, just off cam’
My demeanor? Show we similar, ’cause low-key. a scammer is a schemer
Talk money, I don’t care what ya makin’ (Jamaican)
That’s the kinda shit I been ’bout
Put this guy in a (Guyana) casket, I hate he (Haiti) runnin’ his big mouth!
Grip tight, this .8 Luc’ll (St. Lucia) go behind my back, at least ten out
Think it’s a joke? Soon as he grin, eight’ll (Grenada) take the Pen (pin) out
I’mma kill you in due time, nigga
Don’t you ever. Fuck wit’. God!
No, I’mma kill you and do time, nigga
Behind every. Fuckin’! Bar!

[Round 2: Chilla Jones]
…That was cool, but this round is gettin’ worse
You said, “Put ‘one’ in the middle of ‘Jones'”…to be honest, Prep said it first
Every round, this battle gettin’ closer to tragic
I’m goin’ crazy…this next scheme is Ultimate Madness
I’m sick (Sikh) in the head
I’ll hit your lieutenant (Lu), cause Chaos when the Glock clappin’
When the news (Newz) about your Ace hits you, it’ll dawn (Don) on you – we not rappin’
My crew gorillas (Krooger), we got it down pat (Patt)
We’ll ruin J (Ru n’ Jey) – stop cappin’
Soon as I finds (Fonz) my range, you on the ground…
These two hands (Hanz/Hann) ain’t easy to (Eazy Da) Block, Captain
Heh…dickhead…pipsqueak
Man, I can see your mans is nervous
Every punch that lands stretch out Wess (West) like the Louisiana Purchase
But on the surface…you deliver like Clips
I mean, your raps is a bit faster
But Charlie can kill a (killer) clown, and you lackin’ that It factor
A slick rapper, wit’ mannerisms, tryna be Goodz
Nigga, Shotgun choked, and you barely beat Suge!
But y’all expect to see Wess turn (Western) star before a nigga from the East would (Eastwood)?
I mean, he could…but he sound like Nitty now
Shit, it’s all in his flow patterns
Oh, you tryna be Cornell, Wess (West)? Well, now you in front of a pro Blackin’
It’s no matchin’
And you right, there’s a difference between a schemer and a scammer, exclusive facts
You even use the app to boost your stats, but what do that prove to Smack?
I did a NOME, Summer Impact, and a Volume
Where you was at?
Always someone else’s name on a card…but by now, you should be used to that!
The truth is back, and how the King reign (rain) make umbrellas useless
Let him try to credit card fraud me, I’ll pretend I’m clueless
Then headshot, Beretta shootin’
His brains leakin’, extra fluids
Thought it was an easy (Eazy) scam!? Huh – now Jerry hella roofless! (Heller, Ruthless)
Who let him do this!?
They ain’t tell you the King is home!?
Man to man, you can’t beat me, Jerry – I’m in a different zone, grippin’ chrome
AT&T Stadium: tell Jerry Jones’ll split his dome!
Listen, homes, you always complainin’ to Smack like your mind stressed
We seen your expressions in all those battles
I can tell your pay less than mine, Wess
You know, Expressions, Aldo’s, Payless?
I’m just sayin’, he put in time, yes
But five years?
Roc, I’m at my journey’s (Journeys) Finish Line!
Shit, I’ve been here for nine, Wess (9 West)
And still ain’t in my prime yet!
So the point of this whole Chilla round?
You can’t play me when I been farther (Ben father), so Jerry still a (Stiller) clown
All those filler ’bout King of the Dot is gettin’ me disgusted
Revolver, point at Wess (West), like the spinner on a compass
I brought the Big Pun Ewings out…heh, prob’ly too expensive for his budget
But if you ever found Wess in these (West Indies), you must be Christopher Columbus!
ALL YOU GIVIN’ US is punches!
Nigga, I’m loadin’ blazers
Tell your bud, “Zig-zag out the joint” like rolling papers
Drive-by, catch a bullet from a Car(r): he’s an Oakland Raider!
Nigga, Jerry dead!
My whole family bust (Buss): we should own the Lakers
You KNOW I’m greater and that’s why you losin’ now
Against Mr. Jump to Top-Tier from the Proving Grounds…

[Round 3: Jerry Wess]
Oh, y’all think ’cause I’m battlin’ Jerome, I’mma play?
Why would I slack, fam’?
Niggas been tellin’ me, “Go at ’em, Wess (Adam West)”: original Batman
You won’t kill a Knight
This Joker’ll end up with a Clayface if he mention me
Get dead shot (Deadshot) when this fire fly (Firefly)
You’ll have to face (Two-Face) a different breed
My bitch Harley Quinn, kill for the thrill, lift and squeeze
Cryostasis, I even got my wife bodyin’ Chill’: Victor Fries!
I could keep it goin’, I got a couple mo’ shit to match that
Nah, that whole scheme felt like eczema – I’mma scratch that
Approach him wit’ the machete
You can’t hold me back – heard, Beasley!?
Choppin’ his body, I keep hackin’ it like the password easy!
Nigga buggin’! You’ll get shot instantly! No type of warnin’!
Prison fundin’, put bucks into the Pen: Michael Jordan!
No snitchin’! Tell me where he at, no waitin’
Soon as Pen point (pinpoint), I’ll need his exact location
I’ll put you under the rug, rat (Rugrats), especially if the deuce fire
Tool’ll open up the Pen: I’m Tommy wit’ the screwdriver
Jeromey-Rome in the building!
If he brought his squad wit’ you, that wasn’t smart, guy!
At first sight of ‘Rome mans (romance) in this bitch, I’m lettin’ sparks fly
Niggas act straight gangsta all the time, ’til they see a threat
Knife, straight from your center, Chill’, down your spine – you scared yet?
Oh, y’all see he battled some killers
Y’all think this nerd’s improvin’…
‘Til this Bulldog chew Pen top up like a nervous student
Oh, his lyricism better? I’m too basic for us to be the same?
‘Til Wess (West) say some crazy shit…like “Harriet Tubman ain’t really free the slaves”
Your temperature don’t be the same, ’til you battle a nigga that been kill
I mean, you cold to a certain degree, but you gon’ feel it more after this win(d), Chill’
Scrap yard, fuck a car, his head straight into the thing
Artificial intelligence: I put a brain in the machine
I will knock your coffin down, at the funeral, fuckin’ dummy!
They rush the casket, everybody over it: 2020!
King of the Dot cheated you out the chain TWICE!
You should be confessin’ still
Gully and Ganik? More like Vee and Dutchess – they was finessin’ (Finesse n’) Chill’!
For my closing scheme, this piece a (pizza) revolver, it’s a barrel (Sbarro)
My Target is just that dumb
You jump ship, goin’ In n’ Out, Burger, regardless if you felt like one
The last Five Guys you faced? Well, with the right promo, your wealth might co-
Moral of the story, lil’ nigga: if you a boss, then (Boston), Market yourself like one!
It’s Mr. It’s Not Fair, I Was Top-Tier Before I Got Here
And I know you battled dudes that sound like me
But you never stood in front of a nigga from Brooklyn wit’ rounds like these
You lost, clown

[Round 3: Chilla Jones]
Michael Jordan…Magic Johnson, some of the very best
Kobe Bryant, LeBron James…but you named yourself…
Lemme guess
So you battled Rum and Geechi for the comp’, right?
But ain’t y’all on the same team?
Ain’t that how Writer’s Bloque used to…
Never mind – anyway, Gs
They ain’t battle you for the comp’ (heh)
I mean, they battled you just to make cream
Them niggas cost, like, a arm and a leg – you made the gang green (gangrene)
But listen to the main theme
I know the stat gon’ seem fake
But Jerry West is #4 in all-time scoring average, which seems great
But first place is Michael Jordan…can you guess the 2 and 3 space?
Elgin Baylor and Wilt Chamberlain, Jerry…those were his teammates
My whole point is…he’s great…
Just always outshined by who he played wit’
And the fact you rap wit’ Geechi and Nitty…is kinda sorta the same shit
You ain’t slick, and he always lost to Boston ’cause he wasn’t ready yet
So you gon’ die…and be a (NBA) symbol when I outline Jerry Wess (West)!
See, Jerry West became a logo for the game to admire!

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