Bigg K vs. Illmaculate

The lyrics for the across-the-board pick for best battle of 2013.

Round 1

Bigg K

I did your man 9DM real fucking dirty, that’s why you set this up like this

You handpick your opponents, pre-write all that tough guy shit

And that’s cool but what happened to that footage out in Portland? Somebody cut my shit

Before the 3rd round I told that whole room

Him included, to suck my dick!

True story, I was in your city showing no respect

In the crowd spilling Henny, giving shoulder checks

I would stretch your whole hood like a cobra neck

Punched your fucking face in half and headlock it ‘til the bones connect

This was your idea, I said long as them bills right

We hung out once or twice, bitch I know we ain’t real tight

But how you ask to battle The Saurus, Ness Lee, and 9DM

You know what this feel like?

You set up battles cuz you too pussy to tell people

You don’t like them in real life

When you was in Scribble Jam, I was in state boots and prison tans

We both rap but no wrap, I’m a different man

Real rap, I lift Illmac through a ceiling fan

And drop money on his grill like a dental plan

Let this faggot teeth bang on the concrete

You’re 5’1” I bet your feet hang out the car seat

This right hand knock your ass from Oakland to Long Beach

And you gon’ make it to Smack when your nose and my palm meet

Like hey hater, showstopper, face breaker, throw a haymaker

Wake up a day later with your cap peeled, Mac built like a 8th grader

I will quick-slice your windpipe with a straight razor

You act tough when you rap stuff, play gangster

But you really pussy, that’s fake heart, pacemaker

You come from a nice crib in the ‘burbs with gay neighbor

I was running through the fire and rain like James Taylor

'Caine slangers, chain yankers, and gangbangers

Fuck a vet, I’m in this spot for my rep, weight trainer

And I ain’t come here to out rap you, just disrespect

So go ahead, spit that nerd shit for all these nerds so I can get my check


That shit was good but what everybody’s thinking is

That outfit is flavorful and bright

Right now, everybody’s wondering how bumblebees are capable of flight

I hope you take this personal cuz when he’s focused, he’s incredible

And we’ve all seen the worst in you

When your emotions get the best of you

To me this is a… walk in the park! To him, this is a walk in the plank

For him, this a shot in the dark; but for me, this is a shot in the face

They ask me “where you been?” Staying polished

Meanwhile, a lot of him have came and gone, I’ve remained the hottest

Deregulate the game, Reaganomics, take him hostage

Breaking eggs, making omelet’s, don’t mistake us, pay me homage

You compared a satin to Satan, angel cake to Pagan prophets!

That’s an ominous thought, my style is ungodly

Now you have to ponder the quandary

You got in boxing the combo of Rocky and Ali

This is honestly a body, a homi’, homie, I’m small but you tiny beside me

I’m tall when I hop on the pile of bodies that I leave behind me

You said I was top 5 on your account

I was watching, I saw it, I was like, “aww, he could count”

The respect is mutual except when you alone

With your thoughts in your house

And all that salt in your mouth calling the homie

What was you talking about?

I was talking him up, he thought I was talking him down

I was calling his number to see what he thought of this, now

Fuck it, I’m mopping him up, hauling him out

Calling his number on my list of bodies to count

Instead of *click*, it’s *CLICK*

This the difference between calling you up and calling you out!

One thing I don’t wanna hear in this ring is

“I’m fucking up, go ahead man”

That’s like showing up to a fight and right before you swing, being like, “I’m fucking up, go ahead man”

I got a trick that might help you choke less, fam

Imagine a strap on your temple like an old headband

Soon as you forget your shit then that chrome led blam

Would you show up to a shootout, forget the clip, and be like,

“I’m fucking up, go ahead man”?

He’s used to rapping locally, he does that shit openly

He’s got some shit, he’s above average vocally

But if you can’t remember the raps you wrote for me, battle’s over,

Please buy a ticket, leave the ring

And watch from where the fan’s supposed to be

Round 2

Bigg K

Now, when you listen to him rap

You’d think he on some Mafia some wise guy shit

But you talk to him after the battle

He talking ‘bout the government and sci-fi shit

How he do research on his computer with like a turbo booster Wi-Fi chip

And in his spare time, he sit up in Or’ getting tie-dye shit

Yeah, you little fucking weirdo, where’d the rest of your beard go?

It looks like your feet shrink every time that your ears grow

See I could rap like that if I wanted to star in this queer show

But let me get back to what the fuck I was here for

That gutter shit, handgun with the rubber grip

I’ll lift your soul to the beam like a mothership

So who you fucking with? Little man, suck a dick

You fragile, I’ll break your shit wearing oven mitts

I keep a level-head in drama, you seem shook

I’m bipolar, NICE jab, MEAN hook

I lift his carcass up one hand like “team, look!”

Then ride around with the body on top of the van, Teen Wolf!

If he a animal, what do you call me?

All it take is two shots, the gun is in arm reach

A Chrome Mac 90 up in your dog teeth

This ill Mac ring twice, that’s WRCs

But I ain’t giving you props, that’s just a scheme that seem sick

Broken doorbell, your two rings don’t mean shit

I was running to the Booken with a gun up in the hood

You can take them two rings and shove ‘em in your pussy

I said fuck your track record, my shit deeper that rap

I’ma let you talk greasy for two more rounds, but leave it at that

I wanna swing with a bat upside your cheek ‘til it crack

Your chin snap and the impact break a piece of your back

I draw blood for the sport like a Van Damme flick

I’m on the road with these drums, Bandcamp trip

Some shit in the trunk that’ll make a Trans Am flip

Hit this clown with a sweeper on some Sandman shit

I don’t belong in battle rap, I’m in the streets with the crooks

This is where you home cuz you just as sweet as you look

But as long as every time you gotta battle a black guy

You keep getting shook

It’s gon’ be a motherfucker like me that’s gon’ keep getting booked


I’ma use one of your slogans ‘cause that last line, that shit’s corny

Losing to a black rapper, well if that’s his story

I don’t think he realizes is he don’t fit in that category

It’s rebuttal time, listen closely and hold me down

I made him cater to me, so what’s your slogan now?

I made him switch his whole style when he wrote these rounds

I thought it was all bars, no personals, act like you know me, clown

I’m tryna get through the pimping ‘cause by the looks of him

He’s got issues with women like a Swimsuit Edition

He’s so forgetful with writtens, I ain’t got a line about this fool in prison

Cuz at least there he can actually get through a sentence

Listen Pesci, you’re unlikeable and you choke a lot

That must make you URL’s Loe then

You must have been high on your debut, but you as URL’s ?

I bet the thought of me murking him, URL’s low then

But this a fight for your life so keep your eyes on the sights (sites)

Like the URL’s loading

Y’all seen the trailer, right? They didn’t put his face in, but the best part?

You should thank them and their blessed hearts

Between the eight chins and the stretch marks

And the customized beard

So it’s clear where his face is and his neck starts

You want a Smack rapper? Here’s what all of ‘em would say

Couldn’t call it with his name if this B.I. acting too (two) G

He’ll get followed with the K

I’ll put him in a bag when I spray and hit whoever

Then keep busting ‘til there’s nothing in the mag

Like the pages stick together

I see him, I start clapping in broad day like

He sees me, he starts clapping the wrong way like…

I may not have a fortune, but at least I don’t have a fourth chin

Now do you wanna battle for ‘em

Or argue with fans some more on battle forums? That shit’s corny

Your hair, you’re not that important, I’m battling my last performance

And look - I ain’t drunk, I still got a leg up on ‘em like Captain Morgan

You said I was nerd rap, right? You said that, them lies you spreading

The Kalashnikov rinse him off, pyrotechnics fall from the sky and wet him

Suppressors would extend the clips like I had a motherfucking rifle fetish

As far as knife collections, mine’s impressive, bioweapons

A pair of Eagles, that Glock-18 like a Barely Legal

Trigger finger give him hypertension

Equipment check, ballistic vest, you final-destined

Our paths intersect, woo! Insert a violent reference

I got that Larkin for a bargain, it’s in the car ‘cause the pound’s light

I got that carbine with a beam when I’m targeting down sights

I made accustomed potato muzzle for that A.R. if a clown might

Hop that fence, that Bullpup’s got a quiet bark and a loud bite!

I can’t wait ‘til my fans hear them bars in the sound bite

But I use that part of the round right

Before you bring up Arsonal

Figured you ought to know what a real arsenal sounds like!

Round 3

Bigg K

We in two different lanes, that’s something I found out quick

Cuz you only aggressive when you rap, you just a loud-mouth bitch

You ain’t tall enough to reach my chin if you threw a roundhouse kick

You think all I got is gun bars? So how ‘bout this?

I will smack the shit out you with both hands

You a grown man the size of DJ from Roseanne

Maybe I’m real old-fashioned, but I don’t feel your rapping

Who is Ill toe-tagging? You tall as Bilbo Baggins

I said I be twisting the cigar, that piff that’s in the jar

Thirty wishes, dirty dishes in the kitchen, whippin’ hard

When Illmac rap, I ain’t listening at all

I could throw him in the air and kick him 50 yards

You a suburban faggot that rap and think he hard

Like you get some type of street cred

Cuz you caught a motherfucking weed charge

I will beat slob down your chest like a retard

For three large, I’ll send Mac to Steve Jobs

If he ill, this H.I.V. meets cancer

I come to any league and work, I’m a freelancer

I made your boy 9DM look like a Pink Panther

I caught a body behind your back like a swing dancer

I been to block, dump the Des’ E and ride off

Swing back through, the shit sound like July 4th

Hop out the whip, stomp his head ‘til it slide off

No tap dancing, I’m kicking Gregory Hines parts

Fuck being at home, I want the best of the best

I’m a true gunner from newcomers to the legends and vets

That long Desert Eagle hit you dead in your chest

That’s how To Kill a Mockingbird - shoot Gregory Peck

This battle rap shit is corny, I only do it for the paper

If you say somebody nice, you a dickrider

But if I say you wack, I’m a hater

And this top tier ain’t based on skills, this shit is favor for a favor

I don’t take you serious ‘cause you not, now pay me for my labor


He did exactly what I thought he’d do, act like he’s so damn hard

Motherfucker, you look like Roseanne’s husband

Now that’s a Roseanne Bar(r)

This troop is in training, salute, it ain’t the music, the fame, or the views

Don’t blame the rules of the game, you’ll lose

Use it to train that’s fuel for the flame that grew

Review the tapes, do what I say to do

And watch the moves that you make improve

See K, I could step my game up while still doing the same for you

Salute when you see me, tell them to let them horns blow

This is my second coming, my forthcoming was foretold

This is his corpse, cold on the floor, blood on the wall

Swinging a sword slow through the torso of his torn soul

My hands reach out from the abyss, remove the ground under his kicks

His soul lifts from the ground up and it drifts into cloud cover and mist

He shouts, clutching a fist but feels his mouth’s covered in stitch

He’s now stuck in a glitch where sound doesn’t exist

He could see though that he’s marked for death

That revelation made him reload even though our bars reflect

The scene with Neo and The Architect

We are connected like DARPA Net

I’ll fly a charter jet into your thought bubble and park direct-

ly in front of the verse you ‘bout to start with next

This is plastic army men to nuclear armament

Every dollar spent on defense and the HAARP project

Each bar – an armored mech, alarm detection armed in

Set to target threats

Each word – a sharpened edge, scar his flesh

Carve it through his heart’s contents ‘til my heart’s content

Rewind it first, instead of threatening

You’re going to die in verses, I reverse it

They’re paying me not to kill you, let your mind interpret

Soon as that contract was signed in cursive, your life was purchased

Rewind it further, before you lost this battle to a vet

Before you seen Organik in the flesh yelling, “rapper to my left!”

I accepted this match up as a matter of respect

So you should feel honored when I decapitate your neck

Blood splashing on the steps

In the cracks of the cement until the avenue is wet

But wait! That’s when you snap out of it

Wake up drowning in a sweat, grabbing at your chest

Gasping for a breath

You look around you but instead of a casket, it’s your bed

And you realize, we haven’t battled yet, this all happened in your head

Just imagine what’s gonna happen at the actual event!

Cover photo by Lemme Kno for King Of The Dot.

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