Danny Myers vs. Charlie Clips

Watch the battle here.

Round One

Charlie Clips

Top ten battle rappers of 2015, and the “Bar God” didn’t even make the list.
Every time you say “Bar God”, I want to walk in your kid’s birthday party, take a piss
on the cake and ice cream, stick a candle in it, and tell him make a wish.
They like, “why you disrespecting the Bar God?”
‘Cause what the fuck is a Bar God to a atheist?

Danny, I don’t believe in you.
Spit one bar about my ex-girls, and I’ma show what this heater do.
I’m trying to see if this bullet could tore(Couture)
through the right side of your body before it’s leaving you.
Rap about Ash, then you’ve.. gotta catch ‘em all; a bullet’s seeking you.
What I did to the body’s shocking; the kids don’t even want to peek at you(Pikachu).

This nigga look like two ninja turtles put together.
Fuck is you, Rapha-angelo or Dona-nardo?
You not a god, bro.
You never made Lux lean on the ropes, go toe-to-toe or had to box with Hollow.
You rap with speed, but that don’t make you a Creed. Nigga, you not Apollo.
You sloppy when you rush in(Russian) with the punches: that make you Ivan Drago.
When shit get Rocky, Clips get cocky. I got this big bravado.
Cannon under the Big T; let’s switch the scene, now we in Chicago.
Giving him 300 off one leg: that’s two Dirks. Did you niggas follow?
See they ain’t get it. I black out here and there; I got vitiligo.

Hold up. Y’all know what? I’m so motherfucking mean with it,
let’s bring that skin shit back and do a whole ‘nother scheme with it.

Danny, New York is mine. A nigga throw an event, then I want in.
Tonight if they make eleven racks, then I want ten,
but they paid me to make y’all go through bars. Well I’ma turn y’all into a wino then.
Even when I go light, I’m blacking out. That’s albino skin.

I’m in every league going loco. I don’t just do it for the Smack bread.
When I was younger, I had two twin ratchets on me.
That’s when I first learned how to clap lead.
With them two twin ratchets, I was short. So I was only hitting back leg.
Mary Kate and Ashley: when I got older, I seen them twin ratchets crack head.

Hold up. Y’all know what? I’m so motherfucking mean with it,
since y’all ain’t get the whole crackhead shit,
I’ll bring it back and do a whole ‘nother scheme with it.

Danny, if your House is Full of white, sit calm(sitcom),
‘cause I’m about to take this gun and put it to the bald scalp.
With a knife, I’ll get to cutting like a DJ, or give him a shell inside the boy mouth.
Mary Kate and Ashley: with them drugs, them twin ratchets is getting pulled out.
How ironic, for Danny’s tan, or(Tanner).. I’ll be running inside that Full House.

I told y’all I ain’t come to play with the “Bar God”. I’ma catch him with a mean gun.
Put a hole in his head, but not just any hole, the Rasheed one.
Tell my niggas to light it up, and then smoke him before the weed done.
I was trying to think of a slogan,
but when you kill a nigga this bad, you don’t need one.

Danny Myers

Let’s get straight into these rhymes, homie.
I’m ‘bout to… I was just waiting on NuNu to call time on me.

This is Clips versus a nigga with clips. They know the fifth ‘ll blam.
His brain will spread for a couple of meters. That’s an attention span.

Listen, man. Play it cool, or else your man is buried.
He thought he was the g.o.a.t., ’til he ran into a man who was born in January.
I’ll cap a corn(capricorn).

This nigga don’t want to bang with Myers.
I’ll nail you in the street, leave you flat, then change attire(a tire).

Remember our phone battle, when I first killed you? Well now the gun is calling.
I’m Matrix through the phone: any second now, you should see the numbers falling.

Beef can last from day to night. Pay attention when you fucking with me, Clips.
A round ‘ll cover your son if my pockets on E, Clips(eclipse).

You peep this? Round, cover the sun, day to night I’m frying challengers.
I’ll catch your crew and mill any ‘em(millennium). That’s the Mayan calendar.

This the highest caliber. Bitch nigga, your whole set brittle.
My dick wrap around your girl throat like a neck pillow.

That tech peeling. One headshot ‘ll floor this nigga.
The kick won’t show mercy for Chuck Norris, nigga.

First, I’ll put the strap in your face, then lace his shit.
Then blow a hole through your bitch; she needed space in the relationship.

Face it, Clips. I don’t care if your damn marriage good.
I’m planning to pop one in her; that’s planned parenthood.

In beef, we ain’t always got to pull a gun.
We mail fingers to mothers; that’s a rule of thumb.

This fool is dumb. I’m a god, but you still got a brave heart.
But if we are(R) in a circle, it should Register we got to trade(,)mark.

I’m trying to save art. You cheat the fans. I let the thang spark.
It can’t be two g.o.a.t.s, and both of our careers not on the same arc.

I have flashbacks of shootouts, bullets dividing flesh.
Now I draw, off recollection; that’s a composite sketch.

You can put your fists up, but I’m holding some shit that’ll change the landscape.
What I grip ‘ll cover his knuckle like the Mason handshake.

I have a need to kill bitch ass niggas. It’s like a primal pressure.
My need ‘ll(needle) get shit sended; it’s like a final record.

Charlie, I checked backgrounds on your crew; ain’t no felons.
What’s your daddy really locked up for? Ain’t no telling.

But I could tell you this: you spit gun bars like you’re the baddest walking,
when all you’ll really do is Fire In the Sky like Travis Walton.

You’ll leave this planet. You can clown ’til someone abducts you.
You a foe(UFO), but you won’t get the picture ’til a round hovers above you.

We take the drama quite serious.
We drive through his hood ’til we spot his pad, like a light period.

It ain’t sweet. I got a bunch of homies from grape street.
If I sock you and don’t knock you out, you better fake sleep.

We eight deep. We’ll bring that eighty to your camp.
I’ll watch my dogs split your noodle like Lady and the Tramp.

Don’t be a diva, mister. Otherwise the whole team ‘ll split ya.
We’ll have it popping on the side your mouth like a fever blister.

I ether niggas, and he on the ground with this shit;
this wack emcee got another two rounds of this shit. Yikes.

Round Two

Charlie Clips

Let’s get straight to the jokes.
Don’t front for these people like you some type of nice dude.
You gon cut me up a million times, weigh me on a conveyor belt,
say a joke - I look like Ah Di Boom mixed with Ice Cube.

Well, I’m from Harlem and I love to snap,
so if that’s the game you want to play, then I’ll play along,
and I’m so real with this shit, I won’t even change from Ice Cube.
In fact, I’ma perform one of my favorite songs.

Straight outta twelve racks, a stupid motherfucker named Danny,
gave his whole life savings up to Randy,
came home with no dinner for his family,
eight dollars left and he spent it on brandy.

Nigga, you pussy. Danny, you soft; that’s what my hood say.
Let a nigga take twelve racks from me, my whole hood spray.
This nigga gon be dead; Ice Cube won’t be able to perform “It Was a Good Day”.

My Boyz n the Hood ‘ll ride up, tell you, “hop in.”
Take the silencer, put the nozzle on,
he jump out the car. Funny ass nigga,
knew he ain’t have the heart(Hart) to Ride Along.

Them Ice Cube jokes won’t work, ‘cause you remind me of Eazy E.
Not ‘cause you fucking bitches raw, or what you do to females is trifling;
you remind me of Eazy E for a different reason.
Oh, pay attention, ‘cause the details is frightening.
See, Rex lied about getting locked up, and you knew it.
And I got a question: why D ain’t strike him?
He took your money and left you sick, blood,
you should’ve been in T cell fighting.

That last scheme was sick, by the way, but listen,
we can find a cure with all the money that Rex holding,
and since you got your money tooken from that nigga,
how ‘bout I hit him with Rex slogan?

I’ma pop Danny in the neck, and walk of with this nigga head.
Y’all know Rex slogan, right? (Crowd: This nigga dead.)

Yeah, this nigga dead once this nigga said,
“If I don’t get my money I’ma kill—“ and Rex still got this nigga bread.
He threw his hands up. I’m like, who still(steal) boxes? This nigga Craig.
Fuck a Friday, I get D bowed(Debo) and leave this nigga Red.

Why would y’all put the fastest internet connection up
against a nigga that’s just dial-up?
No lie, ’02 draft: I got a Rocket that could pick Yao up.
I started out with the Hawks, but my gun connect told me to switch my style up.
’01 draft: I got on my grizzly and picked the pow(Pau) up.

For my basketball niggas,
if you know the ’01 and ’02 draft, y’all gon say, “man, that shit crack.”
For the Danny Myers fans.. “Oh he spit his battle rap bars and basketball,”
y’all gon say that shit wack.
I’ll respect you if you get your twelve from Rex.
Well, you did battle him, so you might not get that,
but at least be a man, Danny. Ask K-Shine to get you six back.
(Oh, you not Dot Mob no more?)

Danny Myers

You brought up that Rex $12k shit. What, y’all niggas trying to rob me?
Well tell your niggas come find me.
Bitch, I keep paper around me like the nigga behind me.

When we in the barber shop, you never get mentioned. Nigga, fuck favors.
You not a rider. We don’t Converse about anything that Chuck tailors(Taylors).

You better duck blazers. You’ll see the beam. We wild niggas.
When these arms crossed, you’ll get a boom. I beguile(Guile) niggas.

Oh, you and your niggas slipping? Cool. I’m holding them up.
You’ll say hi to this bitch like when Odom woke up.

Oh, guess which room you in? Ain’t no nigga cold as I.
I’ll start off shooting in the bathroom like GoldenEye.

Don’t stall on me. I’ll leave you in the dirt stinking.
You’ll be Stomped ’til your soul is God’s Property like Kirk Franklin.

I’m sir painting. I don’t talk this shit to generate likes.
Run in his house with the Mac-11 and renovate twice.
I’ll leave a painting on your wall of me shooting you in the head
just to show you how art imitates life.

I screw the silencer on the front of the barrel before the gat is burned.
All you’re hear is (psh, psh), like getting at a nigga bitch when his back is turned.

When will these rappers learn? Doubt that I’m heat and I’ma crucify him.
Then I remain silent, ‘cause everything you say, they trying to scrutinize it.

But who am I to say who’s top tier or how to do it proper?
I ain’t Mook or Hoffa, or dudes that’s got to got on stage in a suit and tie, but,
when you get this work, and ain’t satisfied with it, you get the supervisor.
Now we could go on and scrap, but my nigga would sneak behind you.

You get a hook that you ain’t even know was there, like a bonus track;
what’s wrong with cats?

You escaped death from Lux, barely.
You must be on rock, and roll if you want to be the one that Chuck bury(Berry).

What’s up, scary? Ain’t no way your team cook mine.
All my niggas rolling strapped like Bokeem Woodbine.

The young homies trying to earn their stripes; they know their role’s minor.
That’s why they’ll light on the top of your head like a coal miner.

Go ahead and act like you Apollo. You’ll feel the impact of a land mine.
Walk up on me while I’m holding the sawed-off, you out your damn mind.
Kneel(Niel). This arm’s strong(Armstrong).
You’ll be sent to the moon when I blam mine,
so take one small step, and you’ll take a giant leap for mankind.
(Just trying to put space between us.)

They want to know the physics of how I did it.
Lift the trey pound; calisthenics, blow you to the outer limits of our existence.
You’ll never catch me slipping; I even take a shower with it.
It ain’t gon make a minor difference;
I’ll spray the can and air out the room like it’s flower-scented.
Your hourglass ain’t got a hour in it.

Nigga, it’s nothing like me.
This is a nigga talking ‘bout “syke”, versus a nigga in his psyche.

Nike jacket cover my waist to hide the heater;
I’m getting paid to break down Clips like Roger Ebert.

If I text my nigga and tell him to shoot you, he putting one in your head, G.
Soon as he grab his phone and scroll, you’ll be dead, see?

If you thought I was gon bring up Couture or old angles, man, you missing the script.
This a empty gun: I don’t need ammunition for Clips.
I’m from where you stood in front of the man you get and you spit.
And this wack emcee got a whole ‘nother round of this shit. Yikes.

Round Three

Charlie Clips

The plan was to kill Danny in December. But this nigga got a hundred kids,
so I figured ah, fuck it, let him enjoy his Christmas first,
‘cause December twenty-fifth is when you get the gift, but,
January tenth is when you get the curse.
Head shot; get a nurse.
Captain Planet: that mean clean him up. Lift his Earth.
All them bars niggas had about my pops;
well let’s talk about how you was trying to snitch on Surf.

You was on Angryfan yelling more than a angry fan.
You was showing niggas that you could scream well.
“Ah Di Boom wrote Surf bars, Ah Di Boom wrote Surf bars,”
you was on the phone sounding like a diesel female.
You know Ah Di Boom is doing time,
so he wouldn’t be able to call him and get the details,
but ironically, we ain’t have to give a Boom a ring(boomerang)
‘cause the shit came back around in the form of a email.

Ah Di wrote, and I quote, “I did not write for Surf.”
So you took a nigga fake situation, even tried to lie about it and hype it too.
“I got screenshots of Surf text messaging Ah Di.”
I wouldn’t be surprised if you was the one that typed them, too.
You not a Bar God, you a bar fraud; stealing some of my work is what you like to do.
Now I feel like Ah Di, ‘cause behind these bars, I got a right to sue(write to Tsu).

But I don’t like to sue, bitch nigga. Fuck court.
The streets is where I’m holding my trial.
I walk in while you playing with your son.
“Oh, you gon shoot the Bar God while he holding his child?”
Nah, I’ll walk off, hit him with that syke-I-lied, then start unloading the pound;
I don’t give a fuck. Your whole family is getting treys(trays): we at Golden Corral.

Hold up. You know what? I’m so motherfucking mean with it,
a fat nigga rapping about a restaurant? I got to do a whole ‘nother scheme with it.

I was on the phone with my nigga Buddens; he said, “eat him.”
I said, “Why, Joe?” He said, “‘cause that sucka food.”
I said, “the head shot gon be Sloppy, Joe, but man, which(Manwich) gun to use?”

What you got is salad bars.
You’ll probably let us(lettuce) put the banana clip on your Adam’s apple.
Man, if he don’t chill, he’s(Chili’s) getting hit with the gun
’til I crack a(Cracker) Barrel.

Niggas complaining about that recycling shit against Big Kannon.
Look what happened to Suge. I been on my grind since.
Sometimes when you freestyle you bug out.
Truth be told, I don’t know where my mind went.
What you with, four niggas on stage? Well, I’ma recycle again.
I keep that nine gripped,
act like I’m walking off, bring the can back and get five sent(cents).

Y’all saw State Property, right?
Hey Swave, in Harlem, we gon throw Danny a mean party.
Bunch of choppers in the shit like a mean homi, machines prob’ly.
But I don’t need a gun;
I’ll walk in swinging on everybody, like, “it wasn’t me, Charlie,”
I don’t give a fuck. Even the wrong niggas getting crowned; I feel like Steve Harvey.

I told this nigga, I’ma run on Danny with a mean gun;
put a whole in his head, but not just any hole. The Rasheed one.
Tell my niggas to light it up and then smoke him before the weed done.
I was trying to think of a slogan,
but when you kill a nigga this bad, you don’t need one.

Danny Myers

…club just to bring the star.
I set it up, so I could tell you in your face, I’m the king of Harlem.

But my stories deeper; you’ll be left with gory features
when these kicks fly, and I ain’t talking ‘bout Mauri sneakers.
My Mexican plug said he could sell me forty cheaper,
so I got that Alien transporting with the white bitch like Sigourney Weaver.

You don’t got to understand the intricacies of my flowing and scheming
or notice the meaning, just know it’s demeaning.
I’m controlling a demon. I’m holding the secret.

You’re like D, how did I come up with this?
Long nose leading to a ruptured disk: snuffaluffagus’ trunk is sick.
Spare a nigga for real: stuff him up the trunk to fit.
His subsequent thoughts, tied up, is, “what the fuck is this?”

But this ain’t even about you. Even though I had to do this in person,
it was the disservice of your Diz verses that deserves this.
Bar God. I’m from a world where my pen’s perfect,
but in the underworld, it appears plain when I invert it.

I no longer have to punch these niggas.
A baldheaded man premeditating murder when I’m amongst(monk) these niggas.

Y’all can boo this(Buddhist), but it won’t cause my mind to worry.
Y’all must be off Buddha
if you can’t see between my temples lies a mind that’s scary(monastery).
Just you even being here in honorary.
My lines are worth money; you could put my bars on Ah Di Boom’s commissary.

I gave my young homie a pound of weed to get his first cake up.
That means I had the green on the corner with my pupil, like when you first wake up.

No joke, I should’ve walked in this bitch wearing a cloak.
The form of a droid was my apparent approach.

If there is a g.o.a.t., it’s always Lux, Hollow, Mook, and Clips,
but they fail to mention the West like we ain’t got shit to do with this.
This bias has to stop. Even the South got a few that spit.
Ha, I’m Official with double M, you stupid little bitch.

The hood loves Myers, ‘cause they can feel when he’s spitting.
I’m popping you point blank; you ain’t getting killed from a distance.
I’ll shoot you on this rainy day;
your coat fall in a puddle in front of your girl. You dead, but chivalry isn’t.

Fore real, I can feel the resistance. I’m spitting ’til he sleep in coffins.
This is Jesus talking with the mindframes of Stephen Hawking
when he was walking. Proceed with caution.

Ask his family, they know.
Who winning this battle? You can tell by they fucked up faces. Danny trey-oh(Trejo).

But the comments gon say “Clips 3-0”. They try to cheat Danny.
Let me introduce to the man that can beat Danny. Meet Danny.
For bitch niggas like you is why I keep the heat handy.
Get a Clue how I’m Fabolous with the king like the Street Family.

I’ma shoot your bulldog looking ass at all costs, and throw the weapon.
But don’t worry, Charlie. All dogs go to the heaven.

I’m a flowing legend, and you on the ground with this shit.
Thank the lord he ain’t got another round of this shit. Yikes.

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

Did we miss anything? Let us know in the comment section below.