Chilla Jones vs. Real Sikh [Lyrics]

[Round 1: Real Sikh]
So y’all vets are mad mad, huh?
I know we been trippin’, but goddamn…y’all scramblin’ now
Can’t even send me your top man
This who I got, fam’?
Y’all ran out of URL vets, so you brought me the former King of the Dot champ
You lost your necklace to Real Deal, then came on this stage
Talkin’ ’bout you on a run – this a walk of shame
We ’bout to repeat your title loss today
‘Cause now you gotta deal wit’ Real when he’s off the chain!
“Rookies and Vets, it’s your turn to go, Sikh
How ’bout KingPen? He on this urge to smoke shit”
I said, “A word from bro, he’d murk”
I told him if the Pen’ll (pin a) comment, I’d be the first onе posted
Rookies puttin’ y’all to rest
Bеtter talk wit’ all respect
This what’s on my head? It’s a wrap, and I’m on your head
Nitewing told all you vets, “The class outside: it’s a bomb threat”
Who the fuck you think is the bomb connect!?
Palm press, on your neck!
Cough then, loss of breath
Your cause of death increase your CPR percent
Killin’ ya!
Really I, .9-milli’ ya!
You could rap ’bout my background, I’ll put a bullet into ya (India)
Listen up!
I’m at the one house you stay
Run down your place, only one route to take
Pump out, bust out the gauge
Mr. Jump to Top Tier better jump the FUCK out the way!
BANG! I got a can’ to load up
Standin’ over ya like, “What’s in your hand? Hand it over”
Your man’ll fold as I hold the hammer closer
When the Sig’ll hit ya, it’ll get triggered quicker than cancel culture
You try to diffuse bars wit’ ya presence
I’ll get this dude chopped in a few parts, dismembered
Chill’ tryna be smooth ’til they find him in sections
Brings another meaning to “cool, calm, and collected”
I be wreckin’ too much
I don’t stop when you get slumped
If you slept wit’ a punch, what you think, I’mma let you get up?
I’ve got anxiety – I don’t know how to, Chill’
I can’t stress it enough!
A hit from me will limit your ability to access
Memories you livin’, but you mentally absent
Swingin’ fists so quickly that the instant when I jab left
I knock out a dream that you didn’t even have yet
Wanna rap!? Let’s rap then!
I show out, my opp’ don’t count
I throw, combos out
Better watch yo’ mouth
Hit your teeth, knock those out
Like the sound of hip-hop, it could all go South
I’d die ‘fore I use costumes or props
Let a shot loose, deuce-deuce, pop through your top
I’d box dudes ‘fore I knew how to shoot my shot
Took baby steps, from my (Ma) dukes to pops!
Roc, I’m in a drop bumpin’ 90s music
I’m a nice guy, don’t make me bring my violent side into it
Just know, if I do a drive-by and shoot him, wit’ the seat back, I was inclined to do it!
I see how dawg act out
You say somethin’ hot, he nods like it ain’t all that wild
Starts wit’ a calm rap style, then bark mad loud
You ain’t diffusin’ my bars
I’ve Lewis-and-Clark’d that route
I got it all mapped out
Your voice crack when you scream
If I get aggressive wit’ you
They gon’ make me do my next battle with a ref’ and whistle
I have yet to hit you
That ain’t beneficial
Unless a pistol jam on me, I don’t have any pressin’ issues!
I recommend you, be real in the field
The feelin’ is real
My skill iller than Chilla and still
You ain’t bodyin’ shit
Tell Chilla to chill
It’s kill or be killed
Y’all watchin’ the killer be killed
Get familiar wit’ Real…

[Round 1: Chilla Jones]
Y’all ready?
I’m ’bout to dog Sikh (sick)
The good news is you earned a vet
They say you confident wit’ drive, and I’mma turn you to a nervous wreck
In the ring, I got a leg up wit’ the pen (pin) like a Perfect-plex
I’m fiendin’ for a 30: no Percocet
You was the only person left, worth a check, who ain’t spit verses yet
The rest of them clowns gon’ watch me catch a body like a circus net
Birth defect: that mean I got the baby wit’ an extra arm
I coulda made a body outta Riggz (rigs) like a Decepticon!
Shotgun not here!
‘Tez is GONE!
Before you butt in (Budden), get a Clue
The vets’ A-Team fabulous (Fabolous) as Desert Storm
To beat me, you gotta get a little lucky, man: leprechaun
Book it, Smack – I’ll take the second Don
Shit, I’m talkin’ spicy, just grindin’ for the season like peppercorn
Who you came wit’? Two or three supporters?
Well, now they gettin’ torn
This one mill’ fuck up your only fans (OnlyFans): I’m Bella Thorne!
And you from iBattle?
Man, that fanbase…is hella strong
Oh, you was thinkin’ I would diss Lexx, Sikh (dyslexic)? You read it wrong!
Speaking of iBattle, you battled Jables, took him for a frail nerd
‘Til that white boy dropped your ass, Sikh (Jurassic), like Spielberg
Steels burst!
I ain’t want to apply pressure, but
I’ll make your pregnant wife play Russian Roulette with the rest of us
I know you upset stomachin’ that, ’cause as soon as she test her luck, BANG!
You mournin’, Sikh (morning sick)
I guess the first try messed her (trimester) up!
But let me flip that, ’cause, dog, I’m pissed
You got Chills wit’ his fatigues on, cold sweats on some Boston shit
Wait – chills, fatigues, cold sweats? I am literally talkin’, Sikh (sick)
They ask if the grave big enough…and I’m just showin’ them a coffin (coughin’) fit!
You was talkin’ shit?
Okay, cool, now what you said it is
Let’s break it down and talk Sikh hating (intoxicating) to get a buzz
He was on Breakfast with the Champ and told DNA these rounds that he got godly
But you forgot I just beat Wess and I stopped Gotti
The KingPen, bring horror (Horroh) to the ring, but it’s not Shotty
Oh, you Sikh (sick)? Well, here’s a shot in your mug: it’s a hot toddy
Cocky-ass Kid Chaos said you would out-rap me
Tsk, big loser
I ain’t even gon’ entertain Kid: Nick Jr.
Fuck what Sikh pack!
Shots to your six-pack’ll rip through ya
Big Ruger, wit’ a 15-shot clip, but it’s about to be a Sikh (six-) shooter!
But let me flip that!
Yeah, Kid told me I’m losin’
A grown man named Kid? Wow, homie confusin’
Son get bodied in blood like Holy Communion
Meanin’ Sikh’ll (sickle) get the hammer like the Soviet Union!
The only conclusion? Give homie contusions under his head wrap
The vet’s back
You must want these rookies dead, Smack
The lead clap
Roll wit’ him and die
If C low (cee-lo) wit’ a fo’-five, Sikh’s (six) gettin’ his head cracked!
Who said that the veterans scared? Quiet from me, though
The shade get intense (in tents) outside like a gazebo
If I hit Shotgun wit’ a brick like he was Deebo
Then even Suge’ll (sugar) pill for Sikh (sick) like a placebo!
It’s me, bro!
You might have battled dudes who sound like me
But you ain’t never stood in front of three rounds like these

[Round 2: Real Sikh]
Damn, you ain’t switch up your shit?
I thought that you’d be different wit’ this
Bunch of name flips…I’m gettin’ Real sick (Sikh) of this shit
“Yo, the Pen is callin’ you out!
Chilla Jones is wi-“
Tell Jerome I’m wit’ it
The vets supposed to kill us? I ain’t threatened
I ain’t even know the limits
They told me him, I wrote this quick, no overthinkin’
They hit my cell, I was mobile wit’ it
Just needed a day to (data) plan, and I set up ‘Rome in (roamin’) minutes
Scheming’s for beginners!
I don’t respect the shit at all
Googlin’ a list of shit to mention in your bars
BossTown? You’d be ineffective as a boss
‘Cause on a mic, Rome manage (micromanage) to pick everything apart
“Wait-wait-wait-wait…micromanage? That’s a cool-ass flip
Lemme flip tha-“
I hate when you do that shit
What you gon’ talk ’bout, huh? Word association? Scheme knowledge?
That’s a Big L – I learned how to scheme from Ebonics
What you teachin’ me, bruh?
How it took you eight years to get this stature as a vet ’cause you ain’t progress where it matters?
Smack, how I’m supposed to compare my it factor against a rapper that don’t have one?
Shit backwards
Don’t you think it’s sad this bitch battled Diz’, Math, Illmac, Clips, Magic
And still fans ask, “When’s Chilla gon’ get a big matchup?”
Status!? He don’t have it!
What status do you have if
Blac and Mickey Factz was just on Champion askin’ if you ready for Summer Madness?
You gotta go to the Volume and argue who the king of the small room ’cause you can’t move where the stars move
The only vet used to this setting
This is your house
‘Cause you ain’t make no venues get loud or tickets sell out
Even before this whole Corona shit went around
It was only safe to book you wit’ limited crowds!
Talkin’ ’bout “winning on cam'” like that’s a reason you ain’t lose
We know that’s easier to do
You seen his interviews
Like, “I kill shit when I leave the building, too.
I 30 people in the room.”
Yeah, if there’s 30 people in the room!
This URL, right? How the fuck are you a vet in this?
When shit got hard, you left this bitch
Came back beggin’ for the same respect I’m wrestlin’ with
The entrance where you exit is
Traitor! You don’t know anyone here
I don’t even know why they let you in
Whose friend is this?
Wasn’t respected wit’ your peers ’til you fought wit’ Rum like a Drunken Master
This URL, Caffeine, not that tournament wit’ them other rappers
Those are all your friends, he wanted to jump in that one
Woulda gave a arm and a leg to Twitch like a muscle spasm!
Bruh! Listen!
When your SMACK options wasn’t that poppin’
You went to the easy league where the crowd don’t boo, and made a brand off it
Wasn’t near a fuckin’ star wit’ these bare-knuckle brawls
So you went across the street and got the belt for slapboxin’
And still left a stain in your battling career
You lost the title in a league where the fans’ll always cheer
JayBlac, come over here!
How is he worthy to be Champion of the Year?
He couldn’t even keep bein’ Champion over there!
Kid Chaos’ Default angle defines this bum
Wit’ your one-dimensional, two-syllable rhy-
You suck!
Gon’ talk ’bout killin’ me for three rounds wit’ the .9s you bust
And I’mma walk off stage alive as FUCK!
It’s the same shit, the same shit
So hypothetically kill me, I’m really murdering dog
I cut deep when I speak, every word leave a scar
Fuck entendres – I’m talkin’ ’bout the person you are
You can’t go line-for-line wit’ me, my whole verse is a bar
You know where I’m from?

[Round 2: Chilla Jones]
He said I do the same thing every battle
Name flips…this lame wild
Literally wore the same shirt vs. King Jables, but said I got the same style
I made the decision to give his scalp heat
Notice I said “made the decision”
‘Cause now that Sikh’s (6) on the King, I took my talents to South Beach
How would you doubt me?
Chilla Jones vers’ one of these “lyrical-miracle” niggas
Spittin’ all this metaphysical shit…’til you went and met a physical nigga
See, Jey was bigger, just bumpin’ you
Pullin’ you with no repsect
It’s like every round he raised the bar and showed the (shoulder) press
You was fo’ sho’ depressed
If you was my son, I’d get up for the belt
Boy, I’da whipped yo’ ass, made you quit rap and sit up on the shelf
Like, “All this workin’ out ain’t workin’ out”
And I ain’t tryin’ to get up on your health
But you from Jersey, right?
You can’t call them niggas for some help?
Got a chopper for everybody you battle, but never had to stick up for yourself?
Man, how you felt, knowin’ he whooped yo’ ass and he took it light?
‘Cause I’mma lean you like italicized text: I’m the crooked type
This coulda been me vers’ Chaos if y’all booked it right
Now you passin’ for somebody else: you a lookalike
I tried to give this rook’ advice, ’cause I see lots of blunders
Y’all put these actors in the jungle like it’s Tropic Thunder
I told Smack, “Pick a target.”
It was you when he stopped to wonder
He know my pen cold (PIN code)
I said, “Shiiit, let’s connect the dots and lock the numbers.”
But here’s a pointer: don’t choke
Believe me, a (bulimia) rookie get a box to slumber
I will cook Wing and/or wreck Sikh (anorexic)
And y’all actin’ like I lost the hunger
Mu’fucka…you was dead before the quarter flip
I’m glad you got a plate
You just not used to eating this sorta (disorder) shit
Boy, I’ll jump out somethin’ foreign, Sikh, wit’ foreign Sikhs
Who let the lead clap at his head wrap – they’ll put four in Sikh’s
Oh, you Blood? They on both sides of five like four and six
They’ll leave a mess for the EMS and .44 Ns…
You must be four and sick
All this complaining make you seem young, fool
Seen all these rookies gettin’ shots and said, “Hey, P, I need one, too!”
I guess URL the Make-a-Wish Foundation
We seein’ all of Sikh (sick) dreams come true
Could let this MM give you a Killshot
I’d rather see what this Machine Gun do
I’m a Rap Devil, clap metal and greasy ratchets
I bar niggas, I don’t need theatrics or cheesy tactics
Smack, I’ll battle three for practice
That mean I’ll take care of Sikh (sick), Kid, and Eazy (easy) like pediatrics
You the last pick chosen
Get yo’ ass kicked posin’
Why Sikh (sick) actin’ on stage for (4) like he Chadwick Boseman!?
All these spokesmen from Jersey, and no one in the state vouchin’ for him?
It’s ’cause you lack relatability – that’s key
I can’t even explain how important
That’s why it feels like you allergic to reaction, and still tryna have that breakout performance
Fair warning: as far as Jersey, Red duckin’
O(h), well, F it
Shit, I had Arsonal (arsenal) in the trunk like I wholesale weapons
I beat Twork, just took a bag for you like hotel check-in
Man, I ain’t lettin’ these bitches shit on me…’cause I ain’t Odell Beckham!
This ain’t gon’ go well – tell him!
You shoulda never tried to jump in it
I beat Gjonaj bad, and I was just havin’ fun wit’ it
He asked the fans who rounds was better, they said me, so he retired and was done wit’ it
And he gon’ do the same if you don’t pick Sikh’s (6)
He’ll get defensive back and run wit’ it!
So come wit’ it!
I’m in Virginia wit’ a big (Bigg) K
Extended clip and the Sig spray
You hot-headed? We checkin’ temperatures
I’ll let a hundred point Sikh’s (100.6) way
You might have battled dudes who sound like me
But you ain’t never stood in front of three rounds like these

[Round 3: Real Sikh]
Yo…when you battled Geechi, you gave us one of your most famous quotes from him
You said, “What you know about watchin’ a URL classic knowin’ you ghost-wrote for both of ’em?”
You braggin’ ’bout that?
Top-tiers callin’ your line and you offerin’ rhymes for them to shine wit’?
That’s what happens when the nerd wanna be poppin’
Like, “Yeah, he got a A in the class, but…he made me do all his assignments.”
Yo, listen, this where you break him down
This for the Culture, so y’all should listen
Ghostin’ is off the limits
Don’t condone givin’ bars to no one
It starts a trend and gives hope, to those who just want attention
They don’t know the art
This the warriors, dawg
You promotin’ the frauds in this shit!
Least writers in the industry told us it’s all a business
They’d get paid for life if they wrote somethin’ called a big hit
You get paid once, then it’s over – the offer’s finished!
How the FUCK you a KING PEN and you don’t make royalties off your writtens!?
HUH!? (x3)
You don’t know you a contradiction?
He in interviews like, “Mainstream rappers ain’t built for these rooms. We gotta stick to the roots.”
You can’t say you don’t want battle rap to move how the industry move if you do what the industry do!
You make classics for fake rappers
If you ain’t give away your pen to big names, you coulda been paid like them
Ain’t it said that most the times you wrote for a big stage was when
You helped another rapper wit’ his main event!?
You a ghost, but lack energy
Haunted by the big stage
Talkin’ ’bout a presence, but can’t show us that physically
Got a battlin’ spirit, but couldn’t move shit in a room
So you made writin’ in a pair a normal (Paranormal) Activity
You rap like a Ouija board
Talkin’ to the dead is how you sound
Spellin’ out words letter by letter wit’ your rounds
Couldn’t move in peace (movin’ piece) ’til you contacted the other side
But we still see your shadow a couple times
You been dead, and only exist through the bars that you wrote
A tortured soul that appears when they call you to show
Lingerin’ ’round in URL house, now they want you to go
And gave you Sikh since (Sixth Sense) they knew I could talk to a ghost!
You a ghost, bruh…you a GHOST!
Yo, see, I was born-

Listen, listen, lemme talk to the ghost
Hey, hey! I’m tryna communicate wit’ the dead
Hold it down

See, I was born in ’94, I ain’t even a old-timer
Inspired by ‘Pac, B.I.G., they made my flow tighter
Big L, Big Pun – you know, dope rhymers
Dead rappers move my pen and I still don’t have ghostwriters!
My WORK is my WORTH!
I downright bleed this battle shit
Ghostin’ ain’t allowed by me
So you never gon’ battle a dude that sound like me
‘Cause I ain’t cheap enough to sell three rounds like these!
I’m on that Jersey shit, that goin’ all out shit
Real Sikh, and I’m the problem that you want rounds wit’?
You supposed to put in work, but that’s wrong now, bitch
‘Cause you can’t show up to work when you call out Sikh (sick)

[Round 3: Chilla Jones]
I got a question for this company…
What more do y’all want from me?
I go crazy on three weeks’ prep…just imagine three months for me
I get Sikh, they get offered Mook and Lux, it’s a luxury
They fuck up and y’all pay ’em enough to live comfortably
Y’all pay niggas more money not to battle on other leagues
And that’s cool, but shit…pay some of these niggas not to run from me
Tell Roc stand in front of me
Tell Verb what the fuck’s up
And tell Loaded if he don’t elevate in this room, his luck’s (Lux) up
What’s up? Yeah, I’mma spaz today
Y’all see my work is essential and got me Sikh (sick)
I should be charged hazard pay
What ave you stay?
Boy, I’ll run through your whole shit
I’m tryna let it peel, I’m with drawin’ (withdrawn), my aim dope, Sikh (sick)
Oh, you doin’ coke flips?
Bill, we load clips, so when it pop, Sikh’ll (popsicle) stick to the wall
Now that’s a cold lick!
No shit, I’m finna hollow him soon
He’d get a 12 in broad day – fuck tomorrow at noon!
The ratchet sing, let’s see if she could follow a tune
Oh, you Sikh (sick)? Well, you only hurtin’ yourself ’cause the auto immune
Nigga, you look like…a sultan
(*Suddenly, the lights shut off, leaving the whole room in pitch-black darkness. A brief pause in the action*)
Nigga, you look like a sultan
I guarantee he is a virgin
If the kid nap, it won’t be any classic
I see he’s emergin’
But I charge a rack a tier (racketeer) and check frauds when I see ’em in person
Disturbin’ the peace…I’d rather put a piece to his turban!
But let me flip that
Assaultin’, B&E, racketeer – it’s a crime wave
I’m fly in the V like birds when they migrate
I pull up wit’ all different choppers in your driveway
Oh, you Sikh, right? Then you should know about them five Ks
But aye…see how all this played out?
The looks on they face, how they all displayed doubt?
You was sleep on the war, now your teeth on the floor, all this splayed out
I missed seven shots, but gave Sikh’s tee nine (69) when both ratchets got eight (ate) out!
Real Sikhs can’t even cut their hair!
So it’s ironic that you want this fade now!
But how we get into religion?
I don’t care who praise who, bitch
See, when you get praised, it be laid on way too thick
We’re only battlin’ ’cause Mike said he would take you quick
Then lost the tournament and backed out – he played you, Sikh
But I taught you how to negotiate, I gave you tips
Great new flips, different ways to punch, gave you tips
So if you win this battle tonight…I mean, I ain’t have to take you, Sikh
Just know if greatness is contagious, then I’m the one that made you, Sikh (sick)!
Answer me this! Why would y’all scare us?
A bunch of small terrors
Let’s reflect: we the battle rappers that y’all mirror
This a 30 – nigga, y’all era is all errors
Keep it movin’! Sikh’s (six) holdin’ up a body like pallbearers!
But let me flip that
Yeah…I’ll show up to your funeral, see what your family like
Talk to your relatives, peep if your granny nice
Lift the shirt, let the .80 show: Miami Vice
Knife wit’ me, that mean a jigger (Jigga) wit’ the blazer like Grammy night
I’m ’bout to pull somethin’…my hammy tight
BaldHeads ringin’ on ’em like Danny’s wife
But can he write?
He got y’all talkin’ like, “Damn, he nice.”
Well, my pen game? Triple Sikh’s (6)
I might be the Antichrist!
You gettin’ sani-wiped down, dusted off, mopped down
I’m talkin’ mad cleanin’ shit
So don’t be surprised if a vac’ seen (vaccine) for Sikh (sick)
App Gang, there should be a SMACK stream for this
Headshot – you woulda went from Caffeine to Twitch!
And that bitch B. Dot said my name…
Well, I’m dumpin’ the strap
A laser on the front is attached
So B. Dot can be dotted when it Elevate to the front of his cap!
Who fuckin’ wit’ that!?
I got a rare sickness
I’m a leader in the ring, but I don’t spare bitches
No offense to Top, but bar-for-bar, it’s a clear difference
Y’all had Dot over Top?
Okay, cool, I’ll put a dot over the top of Dot in front of Top and make him Bear witness
It’s too much for him, and that’s why you losin’ now
Against Mr. Jump to Top Tier from the Proving Grounds

Follow us on Twitter @BattleLyrics

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s