Watch the battle here.
I put the beam on these self righteous niggas; fuck B Dot.
You'll think this nigga changed his name the way he'll see(C) dots.
Nah, fuck these gun bars; I ain't come here to spark this nigga.
When you in front of a false prophet, you supposed to talk to niggas.
Don't you run with Brother Polite, a ignorant nigga who promotes polygamy?
How you gon’ lead us when you a slave to another man's bigotry?
Peep the imagery: a fake nigga, posing as a damn leader,
versus Black Jesus, that could turn water to Sangria.
You don't want it with these bars. You don't want it with these hands either;
I’ll bet he break up after the first land like Pangea.
You come across as a social political activist,
but you just using rap to tap into niggas’ pockets likes Aktive is.
I ain't gon' lie, that shit you be talking sound good; you be preaching, Dot,
but I brainstormed under my mental umbrella. You be reaching, Dot.
You trying to force feed us your views on right and wrong through writing songs,
but in October, ReeCee went to the Million Man March, and you didn't ride along.
See, this first round, I'll counteract the key to your plan,
but by the third(,) I(eye)’ll put one in your Pineal gland.
You battled Fiji, Stricc, a freestyle Daylyt, now you facing D. Myers.
You finally stepped up to a plus(A+); now we'll see where B mind is(B-).
Your neck, that's just something for me to hack at.
For these Dead Presidents, I'll leave this preacher’s head in a backpack.
You want this crown of the west? Here, nigga, put on both of my shoes.
You ever been to New York, in front of a thousand niggas hoping you lose?
You ever defend this coast to the point you’d let a gat blast?
It’s funny how you talk all this slave shit, but I'm the one taking the backlash.
I got on a Dallas Stars hockey jacket, banana clip tucked. I'm 'bout to jugg his ass.
You'll see the crescent moon come from under the star like the Muslim flag.
I laid the Blueprint for the west, but he is an offender clearly.
This gun is the schematics to leave any nigga injured near(engineer) me.
You can't even trust the niggas that follow you;
that's what Jesus’ apostles proved.
I'm over top of you, Aristotle view;
the Choppa fuse his molecules with fossil fuels.
I'm confused; this not for views. Let's rationalize, B.
Anytime you writing(,) god, you supposed to capitalize(,) G.
Sonic Soundwaveus gave me game; he said, “nigga, fuck a metaphor.”
Now I'm in the hood, riding with a panther like Skeletor.
Charles Burnley, I ain't wanna get these guns involved,
but if I meet you at the Crossroads, your nephew’ll be missing his uncle Charles.
They crazy if they think I ain’t a legend;
they even use my age as reference.
This is facial recognition technology on a ancient weapon;
it'll give his chin a new identity like a Asian wedding.
I won't come at you with a mob of niggas; it'll be me, two or just three.
In case them cells see us(Celsius), you gotta keep a small circle, to a degree.
And even though he already on the ground with this shit,
this wack emcee got another two rounds of this shit.
Black, African power. But I see all skin folk ain’t your kinfolk,
and by the looks of things current, see, it’s all about currency;
these mental slaves want me to pay, but these chains on my brain been broke.
I came in this game for change. Look, Danny, I knew what I was in fo’
giving up this type info; I knew these lames’d want to tear down my frame,
but as long as they saw that picture, that’s really all I was pic(k)ed fo’.
Now these rounds is a breath of fresh air like Mentos;
after me, there’ll be no others to do what I did, though.
I broke bread with sinners, had dinners where men toast,
brag, boast about whose toast shot men most.
I said fuck all that jargon; I’m not here to trade bars and bargain
with politicians just to win votes.
This arc of this new covenant; it been dope from the get-go,
but the BarGod gon’ try to flood us with stories. All mythos.
Well tell him I’m Christlike,
meaning I walk right(write) on water: everything come out that pen floats.
I been dope, before my battle with Fiji or Stricc, bro.
My people see me as a reincarnation of the Pharaoh Ahmose,
running out this hyksos,
and I know you niggas don’t read the glyphs, though,
but I went back, did the research, delved in feet first,
read script slow, then brought y’all the Cliff notes.
Planting seeds in y’all mind, even if you don’t find what I spit dope,
that’s fine; I sense the shit,
so it’s photosynthesis how son(sun) shine and we get growth.
Look what I get, though.
All this hate. But wait(weight); heavy is the crown when you trying to uplift, though.
It’s obvious, I got to go against my opposites
in order to diametrically complement my wit, bro,
so this is god in the flesh versus this demigod with little to no theological info.
I mean, the brother that don’t fuck around versus the well-known nympho.
I’m intellectual; you electrical. Well, let’s not compare the type.
Yeah, we both fire, but Myers,
it’s different degrees, and we don’t seem to fare in height(Fahrenheit).
Let’s be clear tonight. For starts, it’s nothing I’m ruling out.
Nigga, I don’t give a fuck nor care; I’ll line a(North Carolina) nigga up.
It’s March; it’s only right that we Duke it out.
Now, they gon’ hoot and shout as you jump around this stage and move about,
but please don’t talk about guns;
you got too many daughters and sons to pulling out.
We can shoot it out.
You know, take ten steps and draw; I’m illustrating how we can duel it out.
I’m a landlord with the pistol. I’m evicting this bullets; they moving out.
And for the record, I’m well-versed, and got hooks; Kareem Abdul your mouth.
You talking sweet, I’m digging deep to get to the bottom of it, pulling that root canal(ruger now).
I’m what the truth is, pal.
I emerged out of the waters like a evolutionary amphibian,
climbing the ladder of battle rap,
and cognitive dissonance has got the comp dissing him.
All 'cuz I washed Fiji, went strict on Stricc,
then got Lyt(light) out of nowhere: Aunt Vivian.
I’m positioning myself to be amongst the elites with the sentences;
I got knowledge, wordplay, punches, angles..
Like, I’m too deep; you can’t compete with this Kemet shit.
I been peeped you as feminine.
I was just waiting, and Boom, you started Surfing
another nigga wave, trying to speak on his penmanship.
Making allegations, then had to retract your statements when
you couldn’t make it legitimate. How ridiculous.
You in these battle rap groups, sharing private information for validation,
dry snitching, blowing up a mean spot.
All these gun bars, huh? You shooting this and shooting that;
nigga, the only thing you would snap was a screenshot.
We done figured you out, Danny, but we figured you’d figure this out too.
You know you be investigating; I’m sure you know me, nigga.
But you remind me of my favorite gun:
always trying to snub somebody, you nosy nigga.
I bet you wish you could summon O.D., nigga.
So he could stand right here and yell “time” in the middle of my rhymes
so I don’t OD, nigga,
but this ain’t AHAT. These the Battlegroundz, where I play at.
You chase the East, they charge you fees,
and you’ve already shown that you pay that.
Did you really believe you’d get that 12k back?
My nigga, if it was all WWE, you wouldn’t say that.
We know you not Macho. Man,
you wasn’t gon’ run up on Randy like a Savage and spray that.
You can save that, ‘cause on the up and up,
how you expect brothers on the Under to take that?
Like you was gon’ leave him Stone Cold, laid flat.
He’ll need a coffin, a coroner.
You got nothing in your Arse(o)nal. You’re out of your league;
all these theatrics outside of the ring and you’re still not the Ultimate Warrior.
Pardon if I’m boring ya.
What, y’all tired of hearing about how he gave them k’s to Rex?
But he supposed to be from the West and paid them checks.
Look, I know we talk about it religiously;
I just figured he muslim the way he kneel to the East to pay respects.
But it’s on to the next shit on your checklist.
“New York is biased.” Why? ‘Cause NuNu called time?
You wasn’t spitting your best shit.
Don’t front and cover up that fact; I’m getting a Vibe,
magazines for everyone who subscribe to that East vers’ West shit.
I’m like a mad scientist with that tech grip; I’ll murk this cat.
Neil DeGrasse Tyson when I work the strap.
I’ll bomb on his bitch. Tell B.O.B. that’s the only time we’ll see a Earth that’s flat.
It could be you and six of your brethren; I’ll drive through, work the weapon.
You squares could run(Koran), but it’ll be more ish(Moorish) if I have to Circle Seven.
You’ll get Smacked mentioning my name with a P.G. reference.
I’m Proving going over and around them Grounds
is the only time you’ll find me P.G. stepping.
I keep it Western. Went on the War Report, then I was supposed to report for war.
They had all these niggas I never heard before,
local N.Y. P.G.s calling up from the corner store.
“Yo, Son, when you gon’ get on Smack? When you gon’ get on Smack?”
I say, when one of them vets want to collide with the rookie.
I was close to the edge feeling like all these heads was trying to push me,
so I’ll go to New York, not to battle, but to let it rattle
on one of them snakes on that line like, “try me, pussy.”
I’d shoot up that whole P.G. class like I was tired of bullies,
and after that, Smack wouldn’t provide me fully.
It’d be just like this lame’s name. Well, let me explain.
After that homicide, the D.A. in(N) N.Y. ‘d be the only guy trying to book me.
I'm standing over my own dead body, while onlookers have stale faces,
the streetlights above reflecting light off the shell cases.
I don't know what quite happened; the site’s madness,
ambulances, sirens, lights flashing while my life passing.
My spirit outside my body, leaving for the journey,
two police officers hold my wife back while she reaching for the gurney.
A black man had run up on me and popped the nine off.
In the midst of all this chaos, B Dot watches from a sidewalk.
He's wrecked with guilt, his conscience heavy; he's grief-stricken.
He's feeling responsible that I'd become a street victim,
because he knows it was he who said, "follow me I say; this lead I take.”
He got the key, but this combination lets him know even he not safe.
See what I did there? It took the death of me to ascend destiny.
Mindframe of a Dick Gregory in the mid-70's,
so how is it fair a con(Farrakhan) can then step to me?
But his tears resurrected me; it's mysterious, G.
My mind is not from this star system; I'm serious, B(Sirius B).
Bullets are intended for us, or we die when a stray hit us.
That's why I keep my biscuit with me at all times like Dre Vishiss.
I had a homeboy who was red flagging. He banged his hood; he had a bad rep.
I had to witness Blood sacrifice soon as they gave his ass tech(Aztec).
These streets are cold. Look at the brand of pain we at.
How ironic, how they put together Dot and a maniac(Animaniac).
My brain react, ‘cause he trying to put a end to Danny.
I'll hit niggas not even related to you with that extended(,) family.
Your bitch is trampy, but she could ride a dick; homie, ya ho is wild.
She keeps her balance on the wood like Eddie Murphy in Golden Child.
Oh, you gon' label me a drug dealer, 'cause I done served a lil PCP?
Oh, I done put more poison in our community then BBD?
Well, what you didn't see is when I bought that little kid a PS4
‘cause for a dub rock, his mama sold his PS3.
See, I regret some of the shit I done did homie,
like buying food stamps from that smoker, then feeling guilty 'cause her kids hungry.
Yes, I recognize god gave me a talent, respect,
but I was learning about life's checks and balances before I could balance a check.
I already know where I'm headed; that road is just grim.
You can't put fear in a man whose soul is condemned.
See, I sought a job, but I was taught survive against all the odds.
See, the BarGod got these bars from god, but I'm barred from God.
I used to stomp niggas out; that was the best way I punished.
Now I prefer the strap over the kicks like XJ-900’s.
Pay( )less attention. He cold as ice; I’ma unthaw y’all glacier.
I'm the anti-hero to the man y’all call y’all savior.
These bars will leave you crippled;
now I must know, what college you got this knowledge from, Charles, Xavier?
Don't mind me. The shit I be on is beyond whatever B on.
Even if he cold off the top, I’m the wrong nigga to free on(freon).
You gotta be conditioned to stay off the ground with this shit;
this wack emcee got a whole ‘nother round of this shit.
See, this that shit that be igging me.
When these punchline rappers want to get “conscious” ‘cause they dissing me.
I find it interesting.
So in your last battles, you only let your gat rattle
in order to fit in with battle rap’s imagery?
Or you taking the high road? But before, it was the low with no dignity.
That’s like shopping for shoes too small to use:
you just took your soul(sole) out in order to fit in, literally.
So look, this what y’all get to see.
A Black Panther convict versus a backpacking hobbit with illiterate nonsense.
All of a sudden Danny Myers want to kick knowledge.
Nigga, you not even a little bit conscious.
You thirty-six, still talking about blowing up.
False flag: we can’t even consider you a legitimate bomb threat.
That whole scheme you just did was all an interesting concept.
Meanwhile, I got the intellect of Jay Elec’, meshed with an intricate Nas depth.
I’m Illmatic in battle rap fashion, fastened together by that same thread
that attaches badges of honor to the sleeve on a fatigue jacket of a Vietnam vet.
Your knowledge is no contest.
What you know about the Anu’, ahkhee?
I’m talking deep research; don’t state the norm.
I’ll have Madji shoot arrows in a blazing storm.
You’ve been warned. Kemet is who they adored,
but you like to learn from some aryan(Sumerian),
so I give my boys the cue and they ‘ll form (Cuneiform).
Swinging swords? Nah, it’s more like knowledge in the clips when I shoot at you.
Toasters in a holster; I’ll have these rounds swinging off the hip like a hula hoop.
Pop at your medulla, too. Your whole team better scurry on.
Nigga, my pops was a shooter too. It’s my genes for me to carry(Curry) on.
I come through walking dead like Mr. Wavy
with that shotty on or have that nine probably.
I’ll shoot your arm, leg, leg, arm, head, and get this god bodied,
but nah, he, me immortal. If we Kombat, I’m diminishing dude;
sock him. Knock him out where he stand,
have him swinging his head like he waiting on a finishing move.
Listen, it ain’t all about dissing the dude.
I mean, Danny, you cold, B(Kobe).
You put on for L.A.; I’m glad that a few got to witness it.
Oh, you retiring?
We wish you best, but the truth is the West need new representatives,
‘cause you, Diz, Day, the triple D’s, all keeping a(-)breast in your respective position,
but y’all make the West look suspicious,
and you from Writer’s Bloque? Nigga, I’m from a rider’s block;
maybe that’s why we addressing shit different.
I’m just stressing our difference ‘cause here we have a nigga from the hood
that said he not from no hood,
you know, straight out of South Central, a nerd with an attitude,
another O’Shea Jackson, duke. Nah, this can’t be no battle dude.
You all in your battle raps gripping the snub
or fetching it with your pistol, giving that four-fifth a hug,
but never once have I heard you utter a word on whether you Crip or you Blood;
nigga, what set is you from?
And don’t play me dumb, nigga, you know how this done.
I need the head up or your head up get boxed in if you tell me, “it’s none.”
Nigga, what set is you from?
I’m not glorifying gangbanging for one,
but in South Central, we all know the mental of niggas with shit that got to get done.
They put in work, may go to jail, and well, that’s another brother neglecting his son,
and mother can’t protect for the young,
so he get put on a set; that come with a rep and a gun.
You know he got to be a real nigga, not a replica one. So they hit him with a funds,
a little real work to get off; he can help with the mortgage.
Besides, them guys from the other side might ride
and want to give him more triggers. Funerals get expensive. Mama couldn’t afford it;
she just got and supported
her baby boy dialed into the streets and she can’t even call it.
Now, this is that regular ghetto family portrait.
You understand why this vision is kind of important?
It’s uncanny; we should see all this in Danny,
but the picture you painting is kind of distorted.
But you the “BarGod”, so you figuring niggas’d probably ignore it.
The “top dog” on the West can shuffle the deck; you pull his card, it’s,
“Aw, I was that Good Kid in that MA.A.D City,” trying to Kendrick Lamar it,
well that’s when we run up on your van with them cans
and do you like a Kendrick Lamar skit,
let that damn Llama spray.
Oh, you here for Sherane, Danny? We need to know where your grandmama stay.
Get out the car ‘fore I snatch you out that motherfucker. Andale.
The forty clap, it’ll roll him back like a yoga mat. Namaste. Let’s be honest. Hey.
Uncle Red said, you should leave the streets alone. Go ‘head and battle rap.
Yet every time you battle rap, you tattle-tat
‘bout how you handle packs and blast your past; imagine that.
The only reason we knew your talent is ‘cause you got detached from that.
Now you use your talents to glorify drugs and violence;
well that’s that same exact habitat.
And what do y’all extract from that? Perhaps it’s that
little Daniel was never found where the action at.
You wanted to swim with the sharks, but couldn’t play the part.
You had to Go(,) Fish, you couldn’t match with that.
Now you’s an acrobat trying to flip all these lines and shit
‘bout how you supply the bricks and light up the street like a Gaza Strip
but you never shared blood with the Bloods or C-walked in stride with Crips?
You lying prick. Either you got put off the set ‘cause you wouldn’t die for shit,
or you was never out, always in the house on the couch, eating pie with Clips.
Which side is it? I mean, you designed this shit, so you aught to decide the shit.
You claim we got the same ideologies,
but I could tell by your rhyming schemes which god you with,
‘cause you provide the script, claim it was inspired on divine and shit,
but that’s ambiguous language for your disciples that have to decipher wit.
Well, good thing I’m involved with enlightenment. Ain’t no mental enslaving him?
See, you a personification of religion. You know,
gods always behaving like the people that created them. This explains it then.
This deity of yourself you created is made up in the image which relates to him.
Just like the authors of the bible, you went around writing about
your surroundings and different cultures you was engaging in.
“Well, B Dot always mentioning the bible. What you saying then?”
I’m saying, keep your eyes open. All trey of them.
We can’t just believe in a god because he hides behind an amazing pen.
What the fuck could you say to win?
You want to know what's killing black men?
It's not the system, racism, gang violence, and all this black on black.
Take a look closer, it's this very culture we call Battle Rap.
This the one place we entertain talking 'bout clapping gats.
I can disrespect your black mother, and black women, and they all gon' laugh at that.
I could ask them for twenty dollars apiece, to build a business within our habitat,
and they all gon' scoff at me, like "nigga, I could get a sack with that.”
Your whole angle is elevating the black concience, yet you participate in this nonsense.
Is this your way of infiltrating our ignorant minds so we can make progress?
Stop it. I don't feel your skill is threat.
I'll give Creflo Dollar 65 from the mill’, then jet.
How the fuck did you think you could outflow me?
My verbal ninjutsu is not a game; this is something you shou’ know, B(Shinobi).
Low key, since '03, I moved weight a couple of ways.
It's like the scale is embedded in me; I call it "stuck in my ways(weighs).
My fellow African, before Smack came to L.A. I was trafficking,
but at the same time, I can tell you what's buried under the Vatican.
I beat niggas to a pulp(pope), no fiction(Pulp Fiction) within my diction.
I'll send you to the merciful
with a pair of scopes(periscope) like a submersible.
God level. Don't let that be a deterrent.
Even though that was a submarine bar, my flow is above the current.
Nigga, I still keep my hammer raised,
‘cause I ain't seen Justice since that nigga got his head blown on Janet braids.
How Poetic, B Dot got all these bars and he still suck.
You can't break down a man that deconstruct your build ups.
I talk real stuff with five percenters, Muslims, Christians.. this is what the game be.
Religion is just a bunch of different branches that lead to the same tree.
But it pains me you scrutinize niggas who bang they lamas.
You talk all this political shit like your last name Obama.
Well remember that kid I sent to the store?
That's symbolic of you, ‘cause niggas never bring us the change they promised.
Nigga, how could I not be mean?
I'm from a different Creed; that's why I should beat your ass to the Rocky theme.
We need to be getting ready for Marshall Law, for the revolution. They gon' fuck with us,
but soon as we try to rise, well(Roswell), get ready for the military(;) cover up.
I left bodies in that debris field, nigga. I'm past nice.
You dealing with a man who possess unseen rounds that can crash sites.
But fuck the grey area; sometimes we got to direct the shots.
In order for my strap to complete the entire picture, it must connect to Dot.
I promise, the type of beef we in gon’ get the morgue’s attention.
What happens after I get his length, width, and height is only for the four to mention(4th dimension).
You bring those brothers to gas you, and to help the crowd decide;
they're instrumental to your lyrics, that's why they're on B side.
For the record, you ain't met no niggas ill as me.
You ain't gotta be associated with the Wu Tang Clan to see a Killa(,) B.
The steel'll be tucked, wrong nigga to go to war with.
I'll expose his chest behind the magazine, like Halle Berry in Swordfish.
The four spit and split him. He on the ground with this shit;
Thank the lord he don't got another round of this shit.
Peace to my sisters that be watching my battles. They figure me consciously gifted,
plus I’m handsome, so you know they showing the man some interest.
I love all my queens, but I wear this ring every battle;
please don’t act like you missed it.
See, I won’t do like this dipshit. You know, pursue you for sex, so persistent?
Make you a jump off or a mistress,
create a little life, now make you my wife,
and when you ask about marriage, dismiss it?
Nah. I inherit these merits from the ancestors; I’m different.
I’m bringing back the black family structure
of when it was apparent that parents uplifted.
I ain’t preaching no scriptures.
Look, Danny, I’m far from perfect; I can’t even speak to the distance.
I’m just a work in progress, trying to reach my pinnacle,
and for battle rap, I got minimal interest,
but this is a topic at hand that needs to have the top twist off of the can.
I’m reaching in, exposing your flaws; you my dog and all,
but boy, I’m ‘bout to make you a man. It’s some shit I don’t think you understand.
Maybe I’m the brother that can bring it to life.
I mean, I expose the darkness in niggas.
I did it with Fiji, Stricc, and we all say how I brought it to Lyt(light).
It’s not about who’s wrong or who’s right. I mean, we sort of alike,
both glued to the tube, watching that Family Feud,
but you amused; I’m more confused, like, “who ordered this fight?”
Mommy submissive, Daddy dismissive, staying out on that corner all night.
Daddy the head of the household, but Mommy got to keep her mouth closed;
she give an opinion, it might result in a right.
But tonight, I’m restoring your plight,
‘cause that European religion got you niggas caught in the hype.
They gave you book of stories about men of glory, and you bought the shit, right?
Well why is there no female deity supporting your Christ?
You know, “the father, son, holy spirit”?
You may not hear, but your daughters just might.
Aw, nigga, we gon go there tonight.
I’m not one to judge, but where was the gloves? Nowhere in sight?
Ten kids, all these baby mommas? Come on, Danny Myers, you know that ain’t right.
But I noticed your type. You’s a fiend. You paid to get on Smack,
so it all makes sense how you can’t keep control of your pipes,
but these are the days of our lives. It all ties into religion and the way it’s contrived.
You treat the black woman like a side bitch,
well, ’cause, you was taught she came from your side,
and my nigga, that’s all right. That’s why we got to debate the contention.
I’m certain I’m the right surgeon to make this incision;
I’m splitting the part of your brain that has that Eurocentric dimension.
They Willie Lynched him, really convinced him that the black woman is bitch and
see, that white man is historically wicked,
but if you’re morally gifted, that’s when the story gets shifted.
They got you plugged into the Matrix; it’s basic, but you’re ignoring your glitches.
Like, in the beginning, was the word, and the word was God.
That’s how it go in the scriptures,
but when them agents roll in to get you,
you got to do like Neo and go see your Oracle, and oh, now you know she a sister.
See how the white man just did ya?
He hid god in plain sight, ‘cause he knew you would ignore the enigma.
He can steal frames from your brain, ‘cause he know
you ain’t gon’ pause and analyze the still frames as he motions the picture.
My nigga, I been chosen to get ya.
The black woman is god, Danny. I’m hear to breathe life into that dead message,
‘cause you’s a fuckboy that just likes to fuck, boy;
you went around making bed messes.
Find women you like, you rock, then roll them out: Led Zeppelin.
You damage the box, knock it up, and don’t care about the deliveries;
no wonder why you got fed ex(FedEx)es.
I got to stress this, ‘cause you missed the lessons taught by ancestors.
We put our women on the throne.
That’s the definition for the name; it explains who our set is.
I hope y’all catch this. They created a Adam and Eve to make y’all believe
that a woman was to blame for why we’re deceived. The fuck y’all feeling that for?
I can’t fathom an Adam when every picture I’ve seen, he’s depicted to be
with a belly button, so did he have an um-biblical cord?
Did he come from the womb or not? Don’t ask what I’m getting biblical for.
It’s all suitable; it ties into the root of you
and explains why you treat women like whores.
See, Danny, you exactly the nigga I figured you for.
Just another battle rap nigga that want to get in this ring and spit about war.
But won’t teach your children about stacking and building,
group economics, or how to be an entrepreneur.
As far as battle rap, aw, nigga, you got it for sure,
but here’s the question. Are you selling a product, or are you just a product in store?
See, these are topics that we got to explore.
You say you love this culture; that type of shit don’t even matter no more.
You got all these battles galore.
You thirty-six, still not running your own league; these the things I’m mad at you for.
Perhaps we should travel some more,
back to the past when blacks was treated like cattle; absorb
how the slavemaster wanted us to fuck and breed
so he could push our seeds through that revolving door.
You a 2016 version of that. (Clapping) Encore.
Keeping up with the dumb shit. I ain’t even trying to uplift.
I’m just trying to differentiate,
so these queens know who to gate and who not to fuck with,
before they get stuck with a nigga like you that’ll load their boat, then jump ship.
Never heard you once spit ‘bout your kids, how you hold them close,
but you’ll brag and boast about that pump grip; nigga, that’s punk shit.
How we gon’ raise up these daughters if we not praising their mommas?
Nigga, the black family going through genocide,
and Danny, all bullshit aside, you engaged in that slaughter.
You just a big fucking kid; the way you behave, I’m amazed you’re a father,
but the universe creates and it authors,
and that last page gon’ have your daughters
introducing Danny to a brand new daddy, and you can’t escape from that karma.
We won’t debate any longer. As far as battle rap, I’m done with that,
unless I have a Revelation.
Tell Th3 Saga that’d be the only situation where god is coming back.
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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