Madflex vs. E. Farrell

Watch the battle here.

Round One

E. Farrell

Apologies to all my fans who been expecting a hit.
I had some real life issues come up to be dealt with a bit,
then i dropped twenty pounds, to pretend I was sick,
asked for Mook, and hoped no one would remember this shit.

This gon’ be different, Flex. I hope you warned your team.
A sad look, and I put that on everything; that’s the Jordan meme.
I came out west to say some shit that's sort of mean,
so you gon’ get killed at home by a dickhead, like that Clockwork Orange scene.

See, I already love this city. More than facts.
My bro Daylyt showed me all the best spots to get restraining orders at.

I said, “It's cool, you ain't gon’ do me no harm.
A ‘roid rage the only time you'll see a mad flex shooting them arms.

But fuck the jokes. Just keep a distance when we rapping,
‘cause I paid some cholos off that'll split you into fractions.

Think ticket sales, ‘cause if you fuck wit me, it's a killing;
give me limited space, and you gon’ get a buck fifty in the building.

They like, “E, that's how you punchin’? It's too soon.”
True. This shit I bottles up's a trip, like huffing on poop fumes,
plus a bar from MadFlex that's more than nice is sort of like an orange slice:
you getting it once in a Blue Moon.

I give a fuck what this douche bag fool packages.
Your crew's faggots, a fruit salad; it's too saddening,
and if your dudes acting true savages,
I'll Facebook spam you a few battles and
have you scared to remove tags like new mattresses.

Look, it don’t matter if y’all with the shit Flex brought.
As far as a Fresh Coast fit, you're equivalent to wet socks.
You probably spent this week sitting at your desktop,
trying to get hype while giving yourself pep talks and listening to Plex Rock .
Meanwhile, I been whipping up a fresh pot.
The way I'll son you’s different; I ain't kidding, I'm your step-pops.
Like midgets serving top shelf liquor how you'll get stopped,
‘cause the bar's been set so high that you can’t even hit me with your best shot.

So, I don't want to hear no shit that end with “Eas(z)y, E”.
You got to go crazy; thinking out your right mind's your only chance of seeing me.

And yo, that shit was fucking nice.
I'm breaking down your thought process,
‘cause the right side of your brain's what makes a vision come to life.

And you could Ask Jeeves if you ain't ever known,
the shit I bring smarter. King Arthur: if you got a point to set in stone,

get taken out. I’m nicer wit the quotes.
It ain't an issue to get Mad shelved when everything he’s writing is a joke.

I could’ve said “magazines”, like clips that jam,
since I'm known to pop punks but got a Simple Plan
to have you looking stupid over nothing(nutting) quicker than a minute man.
You just gon’ stand there and give me the win, ‘cause you my biggest fan.

Yo, round one, we ain't gotta discuss it.
I swear that was my lightest shit. Well, actually, it probably wasn’t.

MadFlex

Shouts to the vets ducking that battle with Flex.
Real Deal said financially it has to make sense,
but he might shut that shit down in your class if you're ten.
I know, you making big moves, Trevor; we won't ask you again.
Hey, fuck him. I picked a writer that I had to respect
and brought him out to the West. That's not true. I have to confess:
I came to see if a virgin could have a dad bod, and the answer is yes.
The man ain't a threat.

Like I'd have a hot battle
with a dude who'd eat a condom full of heroin, and then not travel.

Look at you. You still booking through false bravado,
and I wasn't askin Avo to talk to Hollow,
but every time I hit up G's it was  followed by silence; it was not staccato.
They don't get it. Weak today, hot tomorrow.
Most of what I spit go over heads: I'm Triple H with that water bottle,

so try to follow. But we building a classic,
like.. Nah, fuck that, you sound better when you absent.
Get cracked and do the math, then flush it down the toilet,
it's no portable TheSaurus girl: I came to put this whole card on the canvas.
Boy, you ‘bout to get your ass kicked. Get ravaged; one jab clip
turn him around quicker than walkin by a bad chick.

You don't have shit. Nah, Fuck You; you see low green(Cee-Lo Green).
He’ll catch the first 48 from my last three 16's.
Add it up. You wack as fuck.
You need to give me more space than some JNCO jeans.

You ain't been killing shit like I've been.
Women's bathroom: go ahead and freshen up, fuck how hot the line is.
Tread light, and get a grip though; you been out of alignment.
I follow E.F with that G check, I ain't alphabetizing.

This is second nature.
You always got some mark down watch like a jealous neighbor,
but the cliche suits you: that's the yellow ranger.
Don't get in danger. Keep pitching these bitches that less is greater
and watch him hit the floor so many times, now you an asshole on an elevator.
…And I wrote that before Money Bagz; he no showed. To hell with haters.
I still miss Caddy. Show up like Will Smith cabbie:
Eyeball that Fresh plate, everyone in yo' home smell you later.

I'm nice.
Thank you. I need that rack, ‘cause, that's your cue to break out,
’cause you ain't solid enough for stripes.

Fuck your life. I struck the light under the butane for him.
Veruca Salt round: dude can fall down with these goose eggs on him.
You ain't near my level; pipe down, but you ain't warpin.
No arrogant talk back, from the best Eric in Talkback..
Ah, Farrell(feral). That's a starved cat. Man, you ain't Foreman!
If these words hit a nerve, it ain't a toothache forming.
This is not a drill. Lets get back to the root. Wait for it.
Dolla dolla bill: I'm back building with my face forward,
‘cause a dollar bill got a building on the back and a face forward.
You like that?
The lesson of the day going, don't show up to the game if you ain't scoring.
Man, I keep hearing E pushing keys. I mean, maybe, do you play organ?
Like, what, you got “haymakers for neighsayers”? If you train horses,
you pay for it, I corpse him with a Liu Kang horsekick.
Fuck around and it won't matter if the shoe game horrid.
I boot his lip, the 12 wings turn to the Flu Game Jordans.

What up, Spice Rack? Nah, me and you, the pay grade ain't the same rate.
Book club: I just got to make sure we on the same page,
‘cause all your punches hit, but they whip before they nae nae.
Start buttin’ in, I could start button him, and save this played game.
Believe me, uh(bulimia), I put a lot of time into this straight waste.
I didn't want to work this out in my house,
but I’d look so fucked up if I skipped you; this is Leg Day.
Good luck man, don't get your shit kicked off of the main page.

Round Two

E. Farrell

I took this matchup ‘cause you got a fire pen.
I mean, to me your writing’s number one, on a scale of fucking five to ten.
They say you like a white Passwurdz with the style, when
you more like an incorrect password; check your caps lock and try again.

It's tiring how you cramming your rhymes.
A flight delay when you write that way, ‘cause shit ain't landing on time.
We see you ramble on lines
and try n meet today(2-day)’s standard with a rushed delivery like Amazon prime.

I know your flow's the core of how you open doors,
but when these leagues got feeling you under pressure,
kinda like the ocean floor,
you need to punch with conviction, focus more,
‘cause when you choose to speak it's a nudist beach:
you nowhere(no wear) close to sure(shore).

You ain't suited up to play here. I’m better.
Plus, you did your last three matchups in this format, and that ain't very clever.
You should learn to change gears whenever,
‘cause the point of going Back to Basics isn't just to fucking stay here forever.

That's why you should shut your mouth.
I got a punch for every Cali match you had no one gave a fuck about.

So those that ducked you probably got a point.
Why test Flex(-)ability in this(dis-)location,
when he proved that he can't get it popping in the joint?

And I hope you thought that shit was soft.
I wrote a flex ability bar just ‘cause I know how much they piss you off.

See, disrespect’s what I'm ‘bout.
I once battled Cortez and choked the whole time,
just so the footage wouldn't ever come out.

I’m different. See, Flex cool, but I was best left off alone,
and since this corn rose(rows) to the occasion,
if he get it twisted here(hair), I'll knot his dome.
I’ll tell him, “Watch how u talking, homes,”
‘cause dog'll get a two-piece in his mouth
like the sunscreen bottle if he cop a tone(Coppertone).

Life's a beach; I’ll catch you trying to kick up your feet in sand,
and pull up in the Jeep wit some big shit to sweep the land.
Even if you bring the pigs, I’ma get to meet(meat) with cans, like eating spam,
sock a(soccer) bitch and let it kick over green; that's Mia Hamm.
I know because we seasoned fans, it seems we fam.
I'll tell you that I need a hand, then have you flying from a hook; you Peter Pan.
We should at least had planned to put up each a grand,
‘cause I ain't got to post my Don't Flop battles in Talkback to see a band(banned).

At this point, killing all y'all is too necessary.
Facts(fax). I'm getting paper for the principle(principal): school secretary.

Charge a rack for a mixtape feature.
You should probably take notes from the kid like a fifth grade teacher.

Anyone who think I'm Stephen Curry getting thirty’d by Flex
is talking crazy out the ass: Eddie Murphy in Shrek.

Round two, I ain't came for classic.
I put Brian in a box,
like a guy whose name was Brian died and eventually was placed in a casket.

MadFlex

Putting this cub scout on the thug route, was whose decision?
Was it you? Come get him. I'll wait, I'm used to chillin,
like... Any bark, ’n’ E. (N.E.) heart break, that's New Edition.
Your moms mastered the science of fucked up genes(jeans): that's True Religion.
Schemes: but I don’t buy it, he lose commission.
Get through the mission.
I know Bad Dudes; you know Shaq Fu. We moving different.
Tell Avo this shit is Roscoe’s; I'm through with chicken.
He spent his life as a proven victim, ya'll knew the symptoms,
and y’all react to his fake ass punches? Fuck ya'll. Two for flinching.
I'm too efficient.
Look, do I choke? No. You get bars ’til you stop: I use submissions.
I got goons to kick in
and, pop, put money under a pillow, you'd think a tooth is missing.
Boom, hit him. Mix the jab-cross with the shoe position
’til that hook follow a tackle, and I ain't tuna fishing.
I'd supply some good advice if you would listen.
They just got to add a little paper to cook E(cookie); that's Confucianism.
At this point, I'm just fooling with him.
Call up Dot and let that "um Berretta" open up in his house,
like, "we ain't worried ‘bout superstition."
Eric, I fuck with you… Youtube ‘ll get it.
I fuck with you, but you a mild substitute, a euphemism.
I got charm ’n(Charmin) wipe my ass with fabrications you have written.

Truth to fiction: Spice Rack, go hold down the herbs,
but I'm known round the world,
and you known ‘cause Bangz louder than a comb down with a curl.
He say he pop Molly?  He will throw down with a girl,
and you can pick up the pieces.
Tell this chump I want some background funk: we playing Toejam and Earl.

Look at me, dork.
The hands come out for a broken man down, it ain't the peace corps.
You leave, or get hammered in a trunk, now you a tree fort.
What the fuck you want it with me for,
when you looking as uncomfortable as you without a keyboard,
and hella squares on his side like Nike Elite shorts?

I got messages for squares, so, grab a Post-it.
It's just a little light when you snap; that's a glow stick.
Who you roll with?

What? Ya'll break my shell for the cream like crab chowder?
That coward couldn't break news if he was Matt Lauer.
Flex: rap game Jack Bauer.
No Chilla Jones shit, like "tear a wrist when Mad counters”,
it just takes a week to learn what I've done in the past hour.
Keep the soda. Teach him yoga; dog posing flat downward.
You'd get caught if you got into dirt, that's warning track power.

Relax. There ain't no reason to score this match.
Just upload the shit to YouTube with a corpse attached,

I'm so beyond. I mean, you know me. Obi Wan, ‘cause I can force the hand.
I'm through with this moving through duplicates, ‘cause this ain't Orphan Black,
and I ain't holding back without a torture rack.
A single punch ravage through his body and transform a cat,
and Ravage a Transformer cat, so when I say transformer: facts.
But if i spoke like you, it's "fayacts".
But when I say transformer, facts,
‘cause first it meets the eye, then you get more than that.

Motherfucker, now you die, and I’d bet one or two lives
that you ride with a bank account balance that fucking matches your shoe size.
In summary, Eric, your mama should’ve got her tubes tied.
Fuck you, guy.

Round Three

E. Farrell

I got a story that might just make your day. (It might not, either.)
One time I faced a j, then hit the club to sip some Tanqueray.
I threw my balls at your bae(bay) like the A's came to play.
She didn't didn't shut my game down; just covered all bases; that’s a rain delay.

Translation, homie: I got drunk as shit and fucked your bitch.
I’m kidding; I just got drunk as shit and let her suck my dick.

She even topped the whole squad off ‘cause she likes the whips we drive.
Before she left, everyone was blew(Blue): Eifell 65.

Fuck your life. That's some shit I’m hating on,
‘cause to me, son ain't really that bright, out here trying to break a don(of dawn).
Its like as a baby, you was dropped by your crazy mom,
and your head had taken more hits than my favorite bong.

But you don't smoke pot. That got me really surprised;
this whole venue’s stoned, bro, even the ceiling is high.

Real rap, I bet you're prolly mad at weed,
and think that being a pothead
will surround you with more fruits than fucking Johnny Appleseed.

See, getting fucked up's just something Flex don't need to write raps.
Pull a  joint out, he gon’ look at you like Jesus Christ's back.
Go to spark it, he’s like, "please don't light that,”
then he just might snap and kill the buzz like a Venus flytrap.

But try that here, I ain't gon’ be the one thats laughing;
out of nowhere, I’ma get it shaking with Flex: muscle spasm.

If I throw a left fist or right at homes, his nose ‘ll break.
Then he gon’ feel right at home with a red bridge like the Golden Gate.

Yeah. Fuck stretching em wit a Ruger.
I’ma take you to school, and then teach you a lesson like I'm your tutor,
like how Avocado booked this and CT’s 3 hours ahead:
I'll be talking to a vegetable in the future.

Yeah, so you gon’ lay with your frame broke.
I got a gun that spit so crazy, shit came with a raincoat,
and when I pop it at your face and your brain smoke,
your third eye could open up, but you ain’t gonna stay woke.

I ain't trying to have Flex offended, just flex my pen,
‘cause I got less than 10 bars ’til we back to being friends again.

It's just sad I had to fuck up your movement.
Never should’ve got Mad in the first place, like I jumped to conclusions.

They say my drive been watered down; that's a car pool.
But I think I still spit solid; that's hard drool.
If they said you heating up, it's just ‘cause you aren't cool.
Plus, all your punchlines are shit: you have bar stools. (Boo.)

I got bigger fish to fry, and Brian ain't an obstacle.
Now I got to stick with jokes like I ate a popsicle.
Plus, that MadFlex name is comical,
‘cause you getting straight bodied, while I'm bending over backwards
just to make it possible.

I said I cared about this, I probably lied.
I just wanted free tickets to see Carter Deems live.

And that’s still on the bucket list.
That's all for now folks. If MadFlex ain't at World Dom I’ll be fucking pissed.

MadFlex

(I don’t want to be mean to you for another round, Eric. It’s gonna go bad.)
You came out here looking like the product of some one night stand with Absyrd-
(No, you don't understand, it gets worse.)
You came out here looking like the product of some one night stand with Absyrd
did the fucking fusion dance with a Amber Alert.

That still ain't better than a no show.
I start attacking E ’til plasma streaming from his head; wanna Go Pro,
then you curl up, and I leave on a high note like Soul Glo.

Frodo, this charity. I mean, it may be deductible.
These motherfuckers paid you in Lunchables.
Don't talk about money. If he do, don't trust this fool.
Lactose intolerance, ‘cause you just got a little cream,
and it makes me uncomfortable.

Bump knuckles, we’d catch a case like fuckin bellboys.
If you flex an arm connect, it is a frontal deltoid.
You got more goons in JeFF’s Mustang than the one that fell Troy?
Cool. The whip next to the ratchet, shit, I'm Uncle Elroy.

You hear that? Get used to those.
It just happens when a true man show versus the Truman show.
Here's some shit that some of ya'll hoopers know.
He missed his shot, but he goes down no matter how you spin it.
What's that?  Shooter’s roll.
You a troll. You got "da feet" bars. I'd never use one though,
‘cause I don't fuck around with da feet, boy, I'm in cruise control.
The usual. The 50 Super Bowl dumped roman numerals,

A.K.A. Take this L, you played yourself.
It's "let's work" ’til the network make a joke disappear;
this one here Dave Chappelle.

Well, you a little more Velma, Shaggy, Brennan Dassey.
I'm an athlete,
and Clark Kent came out the booth like, "I thought I was half geek".
Half the room knows, Dan Larusso with the bad knee
is the only time in his life that he's seen somebody clap heat.
Now, I can't tell if you animated or anime, kid; your style is mad cheeks.
20 battles, I still ain't heard you to rap, E.
Get the picture; I tag E. Collapsing back teeth all hit the damn street.
He pick it up, pick it up, pick it up; that's Black Sheep.
I'm nasty. Fix the crib for your girl like Nick and Gatsby,
then your Boo ain't never leaving the house; it’s Mr. Radley.

High school education bars.
You ain't a star, Farrell. Fuck rap. Your whole stack fit into a mason jar.
I lay a beat down until E sound like bass guitar.
You a shooter? No. You get Happy to play for par,
and you pay a goon or two to root for you cause you can't raise the bar.

Jackass. Nah, the care package void.
Get drilled for real, a southpaw to scare Pastor Troy.
You lack the poise.

I mean, you something that these squares can enjoy,
but you fronting in the hood so hard the airbag deploy.

You terrible. I throw my fist in just to fish from the bottom barrel?
This bull come to a close(clothes) like the Rock's apparel.
I am not comparable.
You keep ignoring the cost. You Horrible. Boss,
I'll kill him, why you callin’(Colin) Farrell?

This a waste of movement,
‘cause you mixing in more fake drums than eighties music,
and I start to feel a hatred brewing.
I mean, it’s Eas(z)y, E, and for the Record, it may be Ruthless.
But you not my cup of tea ‘cause the tables turned: that's a lazy Susan.
I hate these new kids.
They ain’t proven, and they ain't seen shooting.
I got a gun in the safe with the safety safely rooted
and I did not bring the shit, I ain't gon’ use it.

Look at him. You don't let the tech blast. I don't stress that.
True to form, Human Torch:
you (poof) hold your fire when you get mad. You get that?

Nah, Flex- that jabroni is Dellavedova to Kobe,
puttin’ Goldberg the wrestler vers’ Goldberg the goalie.
Dethrone me? Hoe, please. Your whole steez is dopefiend.
I'm so deep in the game even the old me was an O.G.
White man flash (slap), red hand, don't crosswalk no streets.
Me and E trade, my stock too high; those seats come with nosebleeds.
I'm testing switchblades on resting bitch face. You the homie.
You the first person I'll tell when I tell ‘em that I got 0-3ed.
Eric I got 0-3ed.
Organik, if I'm not on World Dom than you can blow..
your money, elsewhere, it's your loss, O.

 

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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