This crunch time…
And we all know cuz dying
But this a legend standin’ in front of me, so I was focused when I was cookin’ up mine
You killed the freestyles for years, still went unsigned
That shit tragic
We all agree you can spit, damn it
But Reed (read) music? ‘Bout as good as Nick Cannon’s…in Drumline!
You gon’ make me dump mine! Enough’s enough!
‘Cause you done came back to the battle scene…thinkin’ you was one of us
It wasn’t humble much
And motivated me to fuck you up
But you went and killed yourself first, family…and that’s been why (Benoit) you shoulda hung it up!
Fuck you want!?
You ain’t as gangsta as you seem
I’ll spin the block on you, dump a ‘K clip at your team
I ain’t tryna make this out a scene
The only request I got for Reed is die
Just…(Reader’s Digest) take this magazine!
To keep it a bean, fucked around and get yoked on footage!
The pole strapped!
No cap – I tote the fully!
If my money low, you know I’ll book you
Told you, pussy
For that little paper, I’m crackin’ Reed (crack and read)
This shit a fortune cookie!
You not a rookie…but you not a starter no more on this team you steppin’ in
It’s evident – I done took it to a place you never been
This lame irrelevant
Philly stadium: we only linkin’ (Lincoln) up to see me replace a Veteran
I’ll make a move on you, pronto
The Glock clap, make you a op’ pack
I’ll put you on a Fronto
Keep a few filled wit’ hollows, couple guns wit’ me
F one .50 (F-150) – I got two silver autos (Silverados)!
Get popped on!
The .9’ll buck!
Back up, Dollaz!
I’ll leave, come back for Dollaz
Line this up, right (write) on the back of Dollaz (dollars): now it’s “In God We Trust”
Run up, my savages dumb out
This is not a act, I’ll let it clap and then run route
I’m packin’ a gun now
‘Cause every time I try to put my past (pass) behind me, the ladder’ll (lateral) come out
If you get to actin’ nervous, then pop him
Three rounds, you gon’ need a vest under that jersey to stop ’em
You really thought you was gon’ come murder me, partna?
You gon’ get hurt
Put a knife in his liver and turn (intern) – this shit ain’t workin’ for Dollaz (dollars)
Pop him, the tool hit you
Lift the ‘K
I’ll give a nigga from outta Philly eight (affiliate)
Oh, you thought I was cool wit’ you?
Through wit’ you
You can’t keep it real yourself…
[Round 1: Reed Dollaz]
I said…bad bitch on my side, be easy, queen
Niggas can’t duck cloths when the Nina ring
Full clip, trigger finger, release some steam
This ain’t a .30, these 10s, but I keep ’em clean
God MC, same shine that Jesus bring
So these niggas goin’ “BOW!” when they sees a King!
Think ahead – I don’t sleep, I dream
But if yo’ bitch put her face in my lap? She tryna Reed (read) between
Cook niggas every CARD! A seasoned server
Life’s a bitch – indeed, I heard her
Y’all seen me execute Rex
Is Mook next!? Proceeding further
When you dead, the headline gon’ be reading murder! (Reed and Murda)
You got far, but you still ain’t a star – we not equal
Your punches only connect wit’ the camera, not people
Question: what’s a goon to a demon type?
I’m only seen at night
Your lil’ man wanted SMOKE, but it wouldn’t be a even fight
I mean, you can’t just book me
That mean you gotta bring Reed (read) and WRITE!
Half-moon, same goon you saw from Thriller
“Get ‘im, boy!” Come on, dog! I’m all gorilla!
Too cool! Cold-hearted! A frosted killa!
You ain’t built for this type of weather: you lost to Chilla…
This a recipe, I brung the seasoned sauce
Add a couple shells to it, more cheese to toss
Niggas told you that this battle would be easy? False
Oh, you havin’ a debatable with Reed? You lost
Y’all top stars choke…next show, they booked
I give you what you paid for…but it’s overlooked
Might squeeze a drum, I’ll leave this bum
He ain’t sneak up, I seen him come
They gon’ find Nitty hung over, wit’ his eyes wide open
Dummy, you can’t mix Caffeine wit’ Rum!
Damn, Smack! This a new look!
I’m not sure what life this is
Check my ‘Gram – I’m home wit’ my wife and kid
And niggas braggin’ what they get for a pay
And I’m the reason most of these niggas make a living today
‘Cause a lot of y’all only here for the money
Okay, it’s Summer Madness 10, but nigga, I been here for 20
Before the Caffeine staff would even listen to y’all
Before your NBA bars I invented to ball
Was on the curb battle-rappin’ back-and-forth wit’ hoods
Before Verb got into his back-and-forth wit’ Goodz
Before Chef Trez learned what it mean to cook
Before Jaz ever seen how a penis look
Before Mook got the confidence to crown himself
Before Lux put on a suit and found himself!
C’mon, Nitty, you gotta think all the way back
Before you could choke and Smack still called you back
Before Twitter, we was all on the block
Before a nerd from the suburbs could judge if you lost or not
You rap about all these guns and who you kill in your bars
I know you wonder how you win and you still ain’t a star
All them fuckin’ punchlines don’t amount to no fame
I’m a small-room legend AND a household name!
You prob’ly want a more current name, and that’s fine
You can win in this moment, you flame when you rhyme
I ain’t a legend ’cause I be blazin’ my .9
I’m a legend ’cause what I say gon’ age over time
Keep your votes, nigga – I’m worldwide in rap
And on the real, y’all ain’t known outside of SMACK
[Round 2: Rum Nitty]
Aye, we be at ya house if it’s full of bricks
Leave you tied up, took his grip
Ran his pockets…nice chain! Look at this!
I’ll really rob cuz, pull a lick!
Hit the cut…jump out on Reed (read)
We pop up, book and shit!
Pull a clip!
If I let it off, then get low
I’m not the one!
I’ll shoot before I run: “On your marks, get set, go”
ARs and TECs blow, and this Drac’ (Drake)
Shit gon’ sound like a party next do’ (PARTYNEXTDOOR)!
You ’bout to get all the smoke!
And take so many punches, the fans screamin’ “Get off the ropes!”
I’ll clap a bitch
Packin’, bodysuit and a mask like it’s hazardous
This when disaster hits
I’ll squeeze the pound!
Say “Forget rap” and give Reed (read) a round: I’m Canibus!
This .30 injure you
I’m purgin’, tryna catch a murder in the first, that’s minimal
This is a warning before the smoke you get into
Somebody tell Reed (read) to pack a Sig (cig’) or you gon’ need a Surgeon, General
It’s the end for you, your days comin’
I’m still spazzin’, for real, family
I don’t play, cousin
If that’s your kin, I’ll fillet somethin’
Buck-fifty when the blade cut him
Press my buttons, and on Reed, I’ll (redial) do the same numbers
You ain’t gon’ aim nothin’!
You could attempt to, and get your shit blew
Send a family member to clip you
You don’t want your dome split? Then get down low (download) then, Reed (read)
This all my kin do (Kindle)
Whole clip shoot! I ain’t gotta squeeze on a Glock
I can make you point one in your own mouth…believe me or (bulimia) not!
Get stomped, get to jumpin’ on you
I swell his head, put a pumpkin on you
Split your shit, wit’ the good Timberlands
The docs gon’ have to double-sew (sole) you
Get to cuttin’ on you, the blade go through
Jig your shit, give him a buck-fifty, leave his cheek raw…and ate yo’ food!
Make a move, I dare you to try it
I’ll let this go a round on your roof…and then Sterilize(d) it
I’m for real a tyrant, I feed off the energy
Let a piece off and finish him
Chip his shit in his middle of his round – that’ll be Reed only (read-only) memory
Is you kiddin’ me!?
My whole side we thuggin’!
Keep that bitch wit’ me! If he try, I’ll bust it
Where the bread at? I’mma finna rob me somethin’
DOME SHOT! Leave Reed (read) on his grill like, “I need money”
[Round 2: Reed Dollaz]
Reed Dollaz vs. Rum Nitty, I brung Philly
The gun wit’ me, y’all pack .30s, I brung .50
No Santa Claus when I rain there (reindeer) on son chimney
Body drop, then I’mma spit on the corpse, get done grimly!
Shotty make the room shake, it’s gon’ be a avalanche
Clip half-a-moon-shaped, got it outta Pakistan
Mexican family: man, I can show you how to pack a van
Slide on the opps, and make it home and get back in bed
Chopper wit’ the stand on it
Drop you, then I stand on ya
Layin’ under cars, nigga, we gon’ set up camp for ya
Hidin’ in the trash, when you pop up, then it’s “Peek-a-boo”
Yo’ bitch know the safe, so she gon’ take me where I need her to
We right out the trenches, right out the back block
This nigga think he SMACK top shooter – he just a mascot
Plunder, nigga – watch for the smoke, we takin’ cash drops
I had to throw away that burner, Surf on my last Glock
How he rap in the URL with a style of his own?
Where er’rybody sound the same, kinda remind him of clones
Macaulay Culkin when I’m stalkin’, don’t let me find him at home
He’ll meet that .40 named Medusa: turn his eyes into stone!
Niggas think they hard, but won’t survive in my habitat
A URL nigga takin’ my spot? I can’t imagine that
Niggas try to run up? That gun up, and I’mma blast ’em back
And if they try to run, bullets’ll hit him in his ass and back
All my niggas strapped on the one-way
If the beef was on Friday, you’d be murdered by Sunday
Niggas always gassed up ’til they get on this runway
And when it’s time for takeoff, they wings always break off!
My man Bucka whip a brick, about a 8-ball
Bagged everything from the rock, even the shakeoff
We really went to war for that block, we let a clip off
Made the smokers jump for the rock like it’s a tip-off!
Out the trenches, ain’t nobody where I’m from safe
Rum, what the fuck is a gun bar to a real gun case?
You too small, I’m a big nigga
No wonder he always rappin’ ’bout clips – you a stick figure
Bullets go in his back and make his ribs lock
I told niggas, “I’m doin’ this for hip-hop!”
When Tay bet on Surf, I made him drip-drop
The way I walked on the Wave, I had to skip Roc(k)!
Are you confused or blind?
Are you confused or blind?
And why you duckin’ Daylyt? I mean, the nigga did lose to Shine
You went from King of the Dot to URL
Team Homi to EFB
This nigga known for branchin’ off: a group of leaves
But Ms. Hustle like this tall: he used to trees!
I’m at your door – knock-knock!
You said come
Soon as you opened up to Reed (read), you red (read), Rum
Big spender, but I’m pushin’ a small cart
Got the mask on, and I’m walkin’ through WalMart
Snakes can’t see through my tent, so let me spell it out for you
These Gs are nonsense
Cut a check, ain’t seen ya mom since
We had small words over paper, they callin’ me “Reed the Fine Prince”
You know, small words over paper, read the fine prints?
Climbin’ the high fence, runnin’ wild from cops
Old niggas don’t talk too much, silent pops
Cals and Glocks, I prob’ly got a thousand opps
But I’mma single you out, Rum…dollar shots!
[Round 3: Rum Nitty]
You used to be one of the best, nigga
A vet spittin’
But in this Culture today, them past accolades won’t get you no respect in it
I mean, yo’ squad, y’all was wreckin’ shit, recklessness
But the top class we all know got a Brizz and a Chess in it
Even got a Brixx from the West spittin’
That nigga dumb
A whole Boom from outta New Jer-?
…We’ll keep the Philly one
What I’m sayin’ is…y’all helped blueprint, but we built it up
You ain’t put work on nothin’
We put this together without Reed in (readin’) it: wasn’t no instructions!
The Loc’ll up it!
You gon’ run off watchin’
You all talk, you don’t dump no choppas!
You don’t want no problems!
You’ll get Roc(ked) wit’ the .50
They done put the wrong one on Dollaz (dollars)!
Your bitch, I’ll pop her
Through the weave when the tool release
Then put a whole ‘nother one inside a baby: it’s Scuba Steve
You gon’ SQUEEZE!? This nigga a fraud
Try and play it cool, don’t get Nitty to start
Milli’ll spark, aim it, leave you wasted, like GTA
‘Cause yo’ shit still in (stealin’) the car
Nigga, you lost
You know the vibes
The Loc’ll slide…and knock the boul (Bull) from his White socks (Sox) wit’ this .45
Bury him in Nebraska, you know he died
Peyton Manning: if Reed (read) play, they gon’ find you out in OMAHA!
YOU WON’T SURVIVE!
Glock up to his roof
If it’s any Jaz(z), Reed’ll (Reda) be on the can’
And you thought (thot) you had the juice
Make a move, you know I’ll stretch you
Blow the Wesson
What I tote is Epic, and this shit’ll lay Reed (L.A. Reid) out, for the record
AK-47, pole lift, clap mine!
The cap size (capsize) big enough to make a boat flip!
Whole clip, pull this piece
Let it blow like a instrument – I wish you would win (woodwind), Reed
On Crip Street, I’m just tryna catch a bag
I’ll put Dollaz (dollars) down first, pull up right back and…take care of your second half
Let it blast…air that
Now the blade carve a V-A
And either way, this shit ain’t fair – facts (Fairfax)
It’s a wrap
You can’t keep it real yourself
Suicide or I’ll do the job
[Round 3: Reed Dollaz]
I used to be scared of the chopper
I used to flinched when she kicked back
I remember our first date, I took her out for some getback
I said, “There go the opps right there. Lay low – sit back”
You know I keep that Steel Reserve just like a six-pack
Action! Follow him home, we call it homework
And I don’t need a group or a team – I do my own work
I don’t do that gang-gang shit, niggas be tellin’
Battle rappers spittin’ lies, I ain’t buyin’ what you sellin’
Picture me, tryna fit in a league that I invented
They love me in the BX, God – no Pun intended
And when I’m out in Phoenix, I’m a legend like I’m Stoudamire
I can get you touched on your block to show I’m not a liar
I just dropped a point in the pot, it’s jumpin’ out the fryer
.40 hit your top, knock the seeds outta your papaya
Fruity niggas, runnin’ in packs because they scared
You don’t need a gang if you put in work
Niggas is weird!
I’ll catch his niggas lackin’ on they video set
Roll 100 out this clip ’til ain’t no video left
I don’t care what you bangin’ or what set that you from!
I can down ten Crips wit’ this weapon I brung
Dawg, I’m from Philly, we do that murder at a high rate
What number is Phoenix on the map, nigga? I’ll wait
Niggas bang Bs and Cs, we out for dolo
Come to Philly, we gon’ throw him a party without the promo
I’ll make a point, then get across
4th down, kick it off
Became a businessman, they think I’m gettin’ soft
Do your research
Dollaz (dollars) ain’t made outta paper – it’s a different cloth!
I can silence the metal, or I can make it a ringer
I don’t need a punch, it only take me a finger
Matter fact – what kinda car you got? Oh, that’s a different model?
Bullets spiral through Rum’s glass: let’s play Spin the Bottle!
Rambo! I was thirsty for war
I ain’t reach for the stars, I made a living puttin’ dirt on the floor
I’m a family man now, I’m workin’ mature
I feel like Brizz – I don’t wanna murder (Murda) no more
Smack sent the bread and I agreed to take this crumb
If he make it past these bars, the cases come!
Taste of his own medicine, he drankin’ some!
The snub pop, his blood clot (bloodclaat): Jamaican Rum!
Keep your votes, nigga – I’m worldwide in rap
And on the real, y’all ain’t known outside of SMACK
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