Hollow Da Don vs. Pat Stay

The full lyrics to the truncated BOTBUK headliner between two of the top emcees in the scene.

Watch the battle here.

Hollow Da Don

I prepared for a three round battle. Last minute he switched up.

Came dressed like a burglar fiending for money, but he bitched up.

Now you got the crowd down and out.

I mean you’re just gonna go in one big circle, so what’s this one round(-)about?

Ever since Calicoe punked him in the States, he ain’t battled since.

You’ve been a unhappy camper: mad intense(in tents).


Matter fact, ‘fore I get to this battle rap, let me show y’all what type of cat is Pat.

See? All his big ass'll do is tap you back.

Can I finish my round, or you want to stand up here and go tap for tap?

I mean ‘cause don’t look at the host like nobody‘ll probably stand down,

there’s no Organik. I’m not Charron.

Come to the stage and stop Hollow’s hand (Hollohan) now.

So we already got you punking Charron and Cal punking you.

With that indication, now it’s telling me depending on the pigmentation,

you’ll switch your statements.

With Sketch Menace it’s, “Shut up! Don’t Interrupt me, I’ll kick your face in,”

then it’s, “Hey, Head I.C.E. Your shit’s amazing.”

See I always mention Head Ice ‘cause it’s the Jim Crow law.

They think the darker you are, the harder you are,

or the lighter you are, the lighter you are, and that’s not right.

I give everybody the same respect, but if I have to fight,

I treat a scrap like Mike: I go pop, It Don’t Matter If You’re Black or White.

You’re not a Canada thug. To a street American, you’re a average battling punk

that only gets paid from YouTube, so you add(ad) on the front.

Ooh, I hope you get AIDS and Alzheimer’s,

so you can forget you got AIDS ’til all your exes start dying.

I hope you crash into a median, car flying.

Eighteen wheeler almost hit you but <screech> park by you,

he think he safe, ’til sparks ignited from a small wire,

it explode and he die in a car fire.

Nah, minus the all-timers, I’ll four-five him.

Bigger the body, the bigger the hole size is. We just keep digging like coal miners.

Speaking of coal, I got the coldest flow, cold for sure, four below,

colder than Nova Scotia snow, colder than my heart which is frozen though.

Cold enough to let the toaster go at his grandparents’ mobile home,

Grandma do the rope-a-dope, Grandpa do the okie doke.


Enough of the jokey jokes. They came for your funeral.

It’s a million ways to die, and I want you to choose a few.

When I was young, I was a heat blower: revolvers with speed loaders.

Now it’s a drum and a Tommy gun, look like I’m swinging a leaf blower.

Or, I could’ve got him slaughtered at the border,

by an East African kid that I sponsored for a quarter.

Or, my nigga’s suicidal. He tripping ‘cause he homeless.

I give him the word, he’ll take him with him for a bonus.

Or, my niggas from the seven give him seven for seven pounds.

They bring them guns.

They say “Pat Stay want to play the god? Well tell the King dem come.”

Nah. I said he’s just an informer. So you should Snow what I’ma do with that,

I’m Sizzla mixed with Jigga, Supernat mixed with Super Cat.

I get the vibes(Vybz) from my Kartel, then like Mavado, us two'll Clash.

Then I’m back, moving packs through them bags, stacking Buju bands.

I hold that ting. I load that ting, then reload that ting.

Do this all natural, this my old man ting.

This a cold man ting, this a cold man ting.

Flow so cold, you should snow that ting.

You should snow dat ting, you should snow dat ting.

<Skrrrt> like Reeks when I blow dat ting,

when I blow dat ting, when I blow dat ting.

Pat, didn’t you cross your best friend to amp a crowd for a battle style?

Well you Skip to My Lou, the way you crossed him, then passed him, wow.

Wait, I could add a And-1 ‘cause that was foul;

he Skip to My Lou the way he crossed him,

then went behind his back just to rap a round(wraparound).

Now I got something that I owe Pat. So I’ll give him something old, <pat>.

The steel erase ‘is thoughts(racist thoughts) like the old Pat.

Then I circle around him like a news chopper. With that new choppa.

Big enough to knock down Chewbacca. I’ll Tupac ya then ask Who Shot Ya?

Throw your body over my shoulder: boombox ya.

Steel toe boots on, I’ll moonwalk ya.

Trying to play Jedi mind tricks to Luke ‘walker.

Eminem said you couldn’t sneak a plastic gun through customs,

and he’s right, y’all. So fuck all these gun bars.

Let’s get into these knife bars. I hold it with a steady right,

then get his chest very sliced with a chef Curry knife.

Or a ox pick ‘ll drop his spleen and he’ll need doctor treatment,

got a minute to live, he trying to Google how to stop the bleeding.

Get it down. Rex, keep my name out your mouth and you could get it now.

I’ll spit a round and— ooh, you lucky it ain’t a second round.

Pat Stay

Scraight to it, no time to waste. Fuck you, right away.

Fuck you, your gecko eyes and I’m-about-to-start-crying face.

Fuck you, your whiny, Siamese-cat-dying,

Mommy-my-knee’s-scraped, lord-why-me, help-please-untie-me,


I-need-bass voice, fuck you.

A woman’s fingers jammed in a car door. Other hand in a lawnmower.

Iggy Azalea on tour. Nails on a chalkboard.

A foghorn. Hardcore dog porn.

Just a list of things I like hearing a lot more. Fuck you.

You said in the world I’m number sixty-four?

Then tell them, why the fuck ‘d you pick me for?

What you never thought I’d catch onto it? He set up all of this.

It’s in England, that’s why he picked me over Shotty, it’s obvious.

Battle of the Brave, more like a coward who’s afraid,

respect to Shotty, but I already bodied him,

now you just dug a hole for yourself for me to dump your body in;

body on top of body, I’m on some Giant Gonzalez shit.

Man what you gonna do? Give me some business tips

and educate me like you did with Clips?

Like, “all you have is ClipsTV,” like he got bigger fish.

Dropping all that knowledge, I had to go and look into it.

And dude might actually be onto something, he’s on some different shit.

Innovative genius; he did his research for real.

He got a website now, and t-shirts for sale.

You got hoodies too, bro? Look at you go.


Whoa. Don’t forget us little guys when you blow.

Dog, you got Loyalty Ova Money custom-made pens?

Shit, they aught to give you a chair on Dragon’s Den.

He’s like, “god, I’m a innovator. Fuck a job or a business major.”

Mum calls him a minute later like, “why is there an intercom in my generator?”

I got to ask you a question, my brother. From one entrepreneur to another,

how did you come up with making shirts in different colors?

Like, just to be a fly on the wall. What next is he gonna discover?

He’ll watch a porn like, “this guy ain’t even a real plumber.”

But wait. Man, what you know about business ethics?

And listen, it’s ‘bout to get interesting.

And I’ll run it back ‘case it gets intercepted and you didn’t catch it.

You gave Drake the Started From the Bottom beat.

Your boy Mike Zombie made it, but you’re the one who shopped it, see,

now, that’s where royalties and publishing occurs.

Stuff just to ensure you get the cut that you deserve.

Mister businessman here ain’t get nothing in return;

his boy Zombie got cha-ching and fuckin chucked him to the curb.

This motherfucking nerve. Talk about my ten grand.

(Oh he’s right here? Yeah?)

He’s right here? Cool, well off the head, man,

he’s just creeping up to you like some type of obsessed fan.

He’s right the fuck there? This dude’s still your friend? Damn.

If that was me, Zombie would be a walking dead man.

Hate it or love it, the underdog’s on top, and this sucka’s getting mopped.

But he was scared to have it judged

so it’s technically just a tie whether he wins or(Windsor) (k)not.

But this is for y’all: for all the TV series they stole, right?

Fuck this American. A Canadian’s stealing the show tonight.

Hollow the Don. What’s your mother’s name, Donna the Mom?

You got a face that says, “I don’t understand how this condom goes on.”

I can’t tell if you look like a salamander or a tropical frog.

Did you catch a flight here or just fucking hop off a log?

Hollow the Don. I’m a big fan of all of your songs.

That’s bullshit. Sound like you’re fucking dropping a bomb.

Hollow the Don. How ‘bout a good old game of follow the palm?

I’ll put a hole in him, leave Hollow all empty ‘cause he ain’t solid at all.

Go to his funeral service; they ask me to turn my volume off,

I’ll fuckin jack that shit up on blast, set the ringtone to Atomic Dog.

No respect. See his casket, I’ll <spit> right on the box.

And that’s the best case, like an Otterbox.

Leave smiling. Cold as February.

Got a strap and I’ll cold buck it(bucket) like Ben ’n Jerry’s.

And I been just dying to bang it like the secretary.

And it stay in my jeans(genes) like it’s hereditary.

I’ll hit the cemetery where your best friend was buried

and steal the red rose from his headstone and replace it with a dead canary.

Disrespect on a whole different level;

rip the stems like a producer sending the engineer an instrumental.

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

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