Chilla Jones vs. QP

Watch the battle here.

Round One

Chilla Jones

Ten battles in ten months; it’s like I’m in a tour,
but I’m in a door, but wait a second. Give me a minute or
I’m bringing ratchets out, like a Erica Mena tour.
Show your homies a(-)round, like I’m giving your men a tour;
as quick as a minute tour, your men are tore.
Being bull-headed getting your man bodied like a minotaur.

Yeah, this is war. Cross the line, you getting roughed up.
I said I’d never take you, but I’m here, so you done lucked up.
I made Conceited pump his brakes;
now I got his heir against the ropes being stuck up.
But that’s a synonym scheme: I made Conceited pump his(pompous) brakes;
now I got his heir against(arrogance) the ropes being stuck(-)up.
Soon as the gun cock he(cocky) ducking big heads
from the Eagle(ego); trip and you getting fucked up.

But what, now you wanna be humble and try to change the plot?
The stainless Glock, steel cock on his roof, weather vain(weathervane) or not,

but even if I rush more(Rushmore) with the pen, I rap ill.
I don’t ever rest(Everest), and these(Andes) type lines you lack still.
Showing him a layer(Himalaya) of penmanship that’s real,
a Range of wordplay. You ain’t a(-)mounting to this cat’s skills(Catskills).

It’s getting Rocky for you. I’m too clever.
You falling off, and to sum it(summit) up, I’m at my peak;
that’s why my view(‘)s better.

You should’ve knew better Q. Now you got to play scrambler,
or I'ma whip out a knife, and let a blade damage ya,
wait till your cheek get sewed up and they bandage ya,
then y'all seein Stitches getting punched; I'm Game’s manager.
I had Saga looking like a lame amateur;
I could’ve swept through that whole class and played janitor.

They gon have to change cameras; they gon have to hold the time.
Your plasma getting splattered on the lens if I'm unloading nines,
What up Q? Before you respond(respawn),
blood coming down the screen; y’all gon' think we playing GoldenEye.

And Quentin thought the culture lied, like, “the votes on them polls is madness.”
Who's the Kingpen? Well, if I don't hold the status, then Zone should have it,
but Jones established, with loads of classics proving my foes are average.
That's why they dial us(Dallas), ‘cause with the mark Q been(Mark Cuban),
he should own the Mavericks.

I'm loading ‘matics, but back in the day I was way saner,
starting peeling(pilling) and packing pounds with no weight gainer.
Could’ve aimed the can at Brixx(bricks), like a spray painter,
but squeezing on this body gon make for a better body like a waist trainer.

You a straight hater. I'm know you want to be the death of me.
Yeah, but I beat every Son clear. Why would you step to me?
I make quick work of these jerks, and do it impressively,
stopping the Sons like that . Shit feel like half of a sec to me(vasectomy).

You disrespected me, saying you would retire you if you lose a round.
Oh you mean, like a car? That's some tactical stuff,
'cause a car has to re-tire if it loses a round.
Well at least now you know why I'm jacking you up.

Now am I rapping too tough? That's ‘cause I'm hot-headed, fever pitching.
Bury his whole fam, but make sure his wife the lowest(Lois) like Peter Griffin.
I'm heater gripping; he'll be paraplegic, feeling like his feet is kicking,
but looking at his legs, wondering why the femurs(FEMA’s) missing,
like Katrina victims.

You need a system, and assistance, to beat me in this ring. In fact,
here's a tip: bars ain’t enough to kill me. You better bring a strap.
Here's another tip: don't rewind none of your lines and try and bring it back,
you copy? Now you stuck with a couple pointers like a Chinese finger trap.

See the thing is that, besides this battle, you ain't got shit to lose.
What you gon do, say that I'm boring and I make niggas snooze?
Say I stole my whole style from you, but you came with some iller moves,
then use bars from up and comers, and say that's the shit that Chilla do?

That's too predictable. It's like your obsessed with me, oddly.
I bet, you've played this matchup out in your dreams probably.
I'm just tryna beat my last performance; it seems cocky,
got to make sure the punches heavy, the schemes godly.
But you really think I'm focused on Q.P.? Hardly.
I ain’t even see this bitch on the card; I’m Steve Harvey.

Copy. I know some people say I sound like you,
but I will never be a mutherfucking clown like you.
Bosstown.

QP

Who wore the pants that Chilla wore today? Nobody. Nigga you Keith Sweating.
You in a tight(s) situation. Nigga, these leggings.
Speaking of these leggings, you probably had to to squeeze each leg in.

It’s nothing to chalk and outline these squares; that’s hopscotch.
With that Tommy, he’ll figure(Hilfiger) it out as soon as it crop tops.

Nigga, you won’t beat me. Rain, sleet, hail, snow, nigga, hell no. Under no conditions.
Not Chilla the stealer. What we fitting to talk about? I suppose it’s snitching?
What we talking ‘bout, nigga?
The coke addiction, the hoes, the pimping, the ghosting, tripping, the stolen chicken,
what we talking ‘bout, nigga?
Swave wilding out(Wild’n Out), Con, the other Khan, the Jew, Soul ‘ll visit,
what we talking ‘bout, nigga?

The Maury Show, the story goes how I had my hoe and both my twins,
and, what we talking ‘bout, nigga?
To separate from yellow tape in the second day and roll in bricks,
and how ‘bout we talk about

the cab he came in, the tax he claiming, and how he been so dependent,
and how he call himself Kingpen ‘cause behind bars, nigga, you known for snitching.
See, I(C.I.) know you’ll roll over on your co-defendant for a lower sentence;
he hates to steal bars, but don’t judge him, ‘cause he do it with no conviction.

Nigga, you’re not top tier at Smack anymore; I’m not trying to offend you.
Smack gave you life on Easy Street based on the comp that they give you.
Last guy, you didn’t have to study for. Prep, he had scholar potential.
Then they gave you another no-name; what was his name?
Oh yeah, Th3 Saga continues.

They say this clown got the “It” juice, something I couldn’t ignore.
In my head, dice rolling, like I done seen this woofing before.
No, in my Head ICE role, and, I done seen this Wolfing before.
He think he unruly ‘cause he battle niggas with one foot in the door.

Nigga, I was booking whooping before slaving, long before you ever got a boat ride.
I was Hanz on the way over, out of control; my hands were on the boat tide.
I was Prepping to Smack you new niggas out of your boat ties
way before you prepped to smack NuNu’s nigga out of his bowtie.

Both eyes on my pupil, I had to examine your past.
You were in that loner boat, you know, where every friend(-)ship skips past.
Too shy to raise his arm and lift a hand in a clash;
you got to understand that he bash..ful, a personality that a mannequin has.
Nigga, I’ma show you how to liven it up, nigga. And with the swag,
lookit, lyrically and physically with the punches and with pizzazz.
Get it? Lyrically with the punches and.. with pizzazz,
but physically with the punches and.. whip his ass?
Nigga, you looking for gore, then(Gordon) I’ll be back in a Flash.
I’ll leave this gig, then come right back in a Flash,
like, “remember me?” See, now, timing’s what I happen to have;
I’ma keep it G real with you, cuz.

Round Two

Chilla Jones

When I went to Angryfan’s Facebook group, and I seen niggas in there dissed me,
I hit up Angryfan like, “Get me on air quickly.
I need you to set up the next show and get it clear with me.”
Then I thought about it. These niggas only use scandals to keep your ears busy.
They don't want the truth; they want the ratings. They don't care really,
so I switched up, like fuck it, 'cause Angryfan ain't gon play fair with me.
Maybe I'm bi(-)polar, and don't pan the(Panda) camera.
I'ma answer all the rumors you hear swiftly.
Been on my grizzly, but be coo’; I’ll a(koala)ddress it, just bear with me.

Yeah, dig me. If it seems like I'm giving off a murder vibe,
it’s 'cause I want to steal on you for the verbal lies that you verbalized.
But why waste a punch?
If he sees me throw a duke, he dropping. My hands certified,
shit. But thats a synonym scheme:
Why (waste) a punch? If (feces) me throw a (dookie dropping). My hands certified,
Truth is, he's deterred(turd) by the shit 'cause I’m a newer(manure) breed,
but he prefer the lies(fertilize).
Every battle I put on a show, from the moment that the curtains rise,
cursing life’s curses and writing verses til it hurts inside.
For what it's worth,
shit I know what it look like to y’all. I admitted that when I first denied,
but it was so ridiculous to me at first, it wasn't worth replies,
as most of y’all dismissed it, and it climbed up in it's hearse to die,
QP used his energy to keep the controvers’ alive.
He analyzed every worded line to see what he could search and find,
and, what a shocker. Over twenty-five battles, some coincidences occurred; it's fine,
but now y’all think I watch battles from smaller leagues and research for lines,
which is absurd, but y'all doubt me on my word, like it's the perfect lie.
This clown should be in the circus. He ain't what he seem on the surface side.
If y'all can’t tell he has a motive or a purpose why, then your circuits fried.

Y'all thought this perp ‘ll(purple) slide,
like I ain't gon' black on him? That would be a blunder.
After you brown-nosed Angryfan, my angry fans began to tweet a brother,
then something I read(red) blew(blue) me away, ‘bout how you steal deposits.
Aren’t(orange) you the one taking green from others?
But I ain't gon yell o(yellow)ver the shit.
Just know if we collide, a scope(kaleidoscope)’ll have you seeing colors.

I know; those bars were basic and inferior for rhymers,
but everything ain't for the cam, y’all.
I brought a color scheme for the room like interior designers.

Here's a reminder: you go hard, but I go harder.
Think you can win? I don't fault ya, but I don't falter.
You just follow my every move like a psycho stalker.
Now you’re career’s on the line like a tightrope walker.

I'm gon chalk ya. This how karma do you.
If your angel here(hair), alarm your boo boo,
And if she prego, then I’m airing near her(marinara) stomach, drawing two tools.
It's shells over sauce when what I pull is on ya(lasagna) noodle.

How come every time you pen a(penne) line,
you act like I'm the best impostor(pasta)?
Well I'll put bucks in the stock, nigga, show you how to invest a dollar.
Did that shock you? Oh well. I'm just trying to send a message proper,
then I'm shocking your dogs’ necks like electric collars.

Holler back. I’ll follow, you and your Miss, Q. I won't miss. <Qwoo, Qwoo>
No miscue. They'll be saying, “we miss Q.”

The pistol I wave move crews(cruise) and leave them sea sick;
the ratchet lick a(liquor) shot off the body like a freak bitch,
not to mention, if I’m at(@) you with a sub, it ain’t a sneak diss.
It’ll sit you down just to pick you up like a ski lift.

This the Kingpen. Y’all think he going vers’ me for the name?
My shit is Magic; he just trying to prove he Worthy in the game.
Play hero(-)in(e) O.D. for trying to murder me in vain(vein),
and get bucks from the pound like currency exchange.

I’m insane. I know some people say I sound like you,
but I will never be a motherfucking clown like you.
Bosstown.

QP

Y’all indecisive on that first round? That’s what you make of Q?
If I lift the cal(cow) on him, is that still debatable(bull)?

I ain’t Mickey, this ain’t Disney, but I came many(Minnie) of miles on him.
Your click ain’t got a father figure for any, then I’ll son them.
I’ll sit your whole circle down while spinning around on him;
you know, duck, duck, goose, you know, Indian style on him.

We clocking these rounds on a old timer or a watch? Nigga, let’s decide.
Against Daylyt I got cut a minute short. That’s sixty seconds; fine.
Go against the agreement here, and I get anything less than time,
and I get stopped, watch and get clocked, soon as I get pressed for time.

Nigga, your techs and nines?
I don’t want to hear your about your fucking bars with a gun; it’s a fable.
I know you gon ignore the shit and rap about the shit one minute later.
I’m the DJ: every time, I’m in the club with a banger.
I got a revolver so big, when it’s slugs in the changer,
I need a court recess for me just judging its chambers.

Aim at y’all necks, Friday, done. I’m already on the move with
my cousin, for the record, shopping: I’m Craig on his new trip.
J.J., Dede, remember the chocolate Payday story he told Roach after only two hits?
That just go to show you, like Craig, since a kid, I been on that pool shit.

Brew wits; potions, elixirs, shots. Potions, remedy;
shit that’ll play with your mind, and invoke you mentally.
I’ll unfriend you on Facebook, my nigga, then come poke you physically,
then hold a spoon to your open wound to add insult(salt) to injury.

He say, “See, like my GPS, I ain’t never lost.”
See, it’s lines like that, and robbing like a bitch, I should Set It Off.
For wilding, I should hire a hitman and pay the extra cost,
‘cause you’d be more beneficial dead. What’s that? Better offed.

I had to head east to find a bird this soft; faster foes peep.
He didn’t want to take me. He’s piano lessons: ask him low key.
Nigga, but I text him all caps with a mad emoji,
trying to back out. I made him do it. Chilla, now that’s a cold feat(feet).

This nigga came in the game fronting the Kingpen;
see old Jerome here the same as Ross.
How you get here with the RICO, nigga, when you never paid the cost?
I don’t buy bull(bible); that’s ungodly. Pray; I just can’t exhault.
They call me GodPen, ‘cause this is how Jesus would’ve came across.

I pray to god: I say, “it’s through you I do everything.” Yep, that’s what I told the lord.
They say me and him in the same boat, when we ain’t even close for sure(shore).
I’m the captain; skip a nigga who ain’t never been on a boat before.
No, I’m the captain, skipper, nigga. Who ain’t never been on a boat before?
Is C(sea) sick? ‘Cause now I see a nigga going overboard.

Lock you up, close the doors, nigga, you taking the charge.
C.O. Jerome here probably think he’s safe with the guards.
Nigga, you catching wreck in the bathroom, or it’s straight to the yard.
You KingPen, but you ain’t Chapo, you not escaping this bars.

Now that was fire; I was gonna chill, but shit, I’m just getting warmed up,
I mean I swear. It’s gon be the first time somebody in jail got smoked;
you KingPen in this joint? Good. Take this L(el), Chapo.

Nigga, you always come with the toy lit(toilet); by now you’d think it was seeking.
You like Dot with the punches how you always reach at the peak end.
You always doing a stretch. I guess it’s ‘cause you think you a KingPen,
but this nigga probably wake up from sleep and he’s scheming.

This nigga wake up, fold your blanket before you go and get a coffee,
put on your white Iversons, say some shit like, “Yo, this shit is saucy.”
Nigga you walk around reaching all day. I know it get exhausting.
You walk through a plethora of butterflies like, “Yo, get ‘em off me, get ‘em off me.”

You what Chilla told me? Beat him, become a winner. My climate would then feel
like my fans be through the roof; oo. Nice, it’s a win(d) mill.
You crack me up. What’re(water) you thinking? That’s ice on the windshield.
I don’t know how cold your goal is, but mine is win(d), Chill.

You got lost and found yourself in somebody else’s jacket
when you got out the freeze.
You taking raps off-hand; cut the crap. This is how you thief,
running with that jester, you’re a clown to me.
Go ahead and steal(steel) all around to the point they got to crown you king.

I’ll use commercial transportation to try to help explain his fault.
Him and his crews(cruise) in the same boat, washed up, never taking off.
That carry-on line you stole from Big T? Nigga, plain(plane) was cough.
When you bus(t) a flow, it’s with somebody else’s train of thought.

Round Three

Chilla Jones

Until now, every league that tried to set this up, I refused it.
I only took you, 'cause I said in my head, “Fuck it, it's time to do it.”
Y'all say my luck’s(Lux) up like he gon show up with a coffin and put me right into it.
I tuned it out. For the record, I juke boxes like diner music.

If he lose it, he'll say New York is biased, so why should Brooklyn choose him?
He said his battles, I look and viewed them
for techniques, then I took and used them.
Y’all seen Q lend e’rry(culinary) art to me, right?
Now watch me cook and(cooking) school him.

This crook foolin y'all. For that, I’ll make his life span shorter.
I don’t like you. You a dishonest, pill-popping gram snorter.
You say a lot of shit about the boy up on them camcorders,
but now that we adjacent, state them(Jason Statham) like the Transporter.

Lemme state mines. I don't like how every year his crew switch.
You came in repping SONS, now you found other dudes to move with,
then you got all buddy buddy with Born, on some new(Nu) shit;
nowadays it's Qleen in(cleaning) his ear givin Q tips.

Truth is, shit never ends in your crew’s favor.
Where was the bail money when Bonnie got Booked?
When Born was couch hopping, where was Nu’s(news) paper?
Remy owed money out in St. Louis.
He was ducking Magazines from them tool sprayers,
but Bro sure(brochure) act like getting money is in they true nature,

Fronting like your groups major. Innuendo.
Where if you ain’t with it then we… in ya window,
but if you with it when it’s finished, in the end you win dough.
The kid’s getting spanked by the ruler; I ain’t a N-U-N though.
I made it though to see a scenario where in the end you win though.
I mean your second round was fire, but no I’m bout to smoke QP.
Shit, I guess in the end you endo.

A pin code: I’m money on these battle rap stages.
Your baby moms already expose your battle rap wages.
I bet you brought every punch in your notebook, back to back pages.
But you make twelve hundred a year off battle rap.
You should go back to Backpages,

Outrageous. Every year you out here snitching and saying names,
creating scandals for your peers for a quick few days of fame,
and meanwhile, you rely on being an escort for making change.
Your Backpage ads say, "If you're male, it's extra.” What’s “extra”?
And I ain't playing games.
He gave his old bitch an STD, left her burning, and she hate the pain.
That's why his ex-ting wish a(extinguisher) big can would spray the flame.

It's lame. So what you gon say? I should hit you up for ghostwriting,
'cause there's a lot of things you can help me with?
Nigga you suck dick for money. As far as I'm concerned, you can't tell me shit.

You unhealthy bitch. I’ma show y'all this fiend is stupid.
I’ll take him(Kim) to my connect out in Brooklyn,
figure out which door he in(Dorian) and lead them through it,
and I'll be Frank like, "Q came Miles, and L(Andell)’s ain't working;
the weed is useless.
He took an X pill on the way here, so, shit, I figure a little mo’ E sh’(Moesha) do it.”

I told you, my man a modern day Escobar.
Then I left, and he got swarmed by the set so hard,
they took his sneaks, took his phone, even his metro card,
so you could say I played Q better than Fredro Starr.

Bars. But I ain't tryna call cops to arrest Q,
I told y'all I came for the kill. I'ma rest Q.
Let's go. Fresco better come to your rescue.

It's true. I'm a big dog, ready to crash barriers;
ironic how your name is Qleen but you back terriers(bacterias).

He scarier than most, but you could lie some more,
acting like you a gangsta that bring rivals war.
Who put batteries your back? Check his spinal cord,
you’ll look and(N) see(C) double A’s like the Final Four.

Lord. It’s a new day fam,
so when you think who got the juice,
put my face in the picture(pitcher) like the Kool-Aid Man.

Damn. You thought you would win, and that's why you losing now,
but what did you expect Q? You always been a loser clown.
It's time you should retire, 'cause we all seen you lose a round
against Mr. Jump-to-Top-Tier-from-the-Proving-Grounds.
Bosstown.

QP

Go ‘head, Chilla. I only do coke, and you keep trying to say it’s crack.
Keep bringing up the male escorting shit; well bitch, you fitting to pay for that.

So you a writer and Uber driver. Kick your shit into gear.
You battled me ‘cause you said your daughter had a wishlist this year.
So you hook her(hooker) up with Jon Dough; now you the pimp it appears.
My gift happens to be why your daughter gets Christmas this year.

This shit just gets weird,
I mean, battle rapping it, taxi cabbing it, I don’t know many that would.
But if the pay is what you say, then I guess really he should.
I mean, you’re jobless; it’s a fair opportunity, there’s ain’t plenty of joobs.
I’ll spell it out for Chill, a J-O, any(N-E) is(S) good.

And when he in hoods, you got to understand it looks
a little weird you in your rear-view as each demand getting took.
I ain’t talking Smack, but I got a ‘ac, nigga, where you can get booked.
You make an arm and a leg just walking on people hand and foot.

This man chin, look. Before I even start rapping in here,
I got to address Chilla’s unsuitable razor bumps; they been slacking for years.
All’s well that ends swell; that’s what’s happening here.
Did the keloids crawl down from the back of your ear?
Got to your jaw like, “All right, start unpacking, we’re here.”
Did that get under your skin? Good, nigga, it matches your beard.

As it appears, you’ve been faced with a bunch of hard bumps.
Are you abreast that under your neck maybe you got a couple large lumps?
I’ma box you then re-box you and let you attach a large pump
to connect the dots on the neck you got to that Lettie Debbie Star Crunch.

Nigga them shits is juice pack fruit snacks; every one he cut gushes.
The goat’s girl got, it’s got a little bumpy, but fuck her,
I mean, she like, you know how it be. I know your honey must suffer
when morning sex expose your neck.
What’s she see when your honey nut? Clusters.

I’ll bump the goat right here. I’m just waiting for this shit to pop.
I make the swipe, pussy, break out. Just know that this pimp ‘ll(pimple) knot
the side of your head. Slow it down. Oo. Those are temple shots.
Get it? Slow it down, the side of your head: those are both temples. Hot.

Simple thought. You Uber-smart. Not only cabbing, but you hype hype.
Lot hype like your favorite song is rapping.
Nigga, Qleen popping with me;
two-choppa ‘sembly. When these chrome is clapping,
both them bitches singing. That’s Tamar and Toni Braxton.
We’ll turn the inside of your whip into a Queenzflip song reaction.

He known for snatching. Nothing original about none of your raps.
Umbilical cord: boy, you could see sons(SONS) is attached.
Then you copy like a bitch, and got the stomach to match.
Nigga them razor bumps the only time you’ve made something from scratch.

Nigga you fucked with a cat who ain’t fucked with; it's cap.
Nigga, he beat his self, it’s the same.
You call yourself Chilla still(steal), nigga, that in itself it explains.
You KingPen? That’s got to be the most selfish of claims.
Don’t shy(Chi) away from these two L’s, ey(A), I’m spelling your name.

Nigga, you fell in a grave, stealing shit. Kid that you morbidly would do.
The flows you’re taking’s your motivation and forcibly the muse.
It’s hard to digest; I just, upchuck orally when you
come up on up-and-comers like fifty-eight names who don’t normally get views.
But it’s the Patriot Act; see, his game tape’s getting formally reviewed.
Catching up to you, I guess you bit off more than you could chew.

If you beat me a round, I’ll retire. No flipping word-spin.
I’ll retire, as in, nigga, no longer working.
I got to win every round; my career’s going on thirty.
No; I’ma win every round. My career’s going on. Thirty.
Qleen Paper on Traphouse: nigga, I ain’t showing no mercy.

First thing’s first thing. W on my porch, don’t be stupefied,
especially taking my steps to blow up; nigga, you using mine.
You coke reaching; I start teaching the moment I toot a line.
They call me GodPen, ‘cause cross me, and Jesus, you’ll get crucified.

All photos by Smart Alix.

Lyrics transcribed in full, including slurs and offensive rhetoric in interest of accuracy. Language used and views expressed are those of the performers cited.

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