Bonnie Godiva vs. MyVerse

Full lyrics to the acclaimed Battle of the Year candidate from URL's "A Perfect Day to Die" Proving Grounds event.

Watch the battle and check out our event recap.

Round One

Bonnie Godiva

You see all this shit right here? You’re welcome.
Consider this a early Christmas present,
‘cause it’s a gift you even (w)rapping in my presence(presents).
You been caption every second, got to at me every mention,
just been asking for attention.
You worried if I’ma bail, B? Well this a jail fee, I’m ‘bout to tax you every sentence.

Now that I’m getting paid here(hair), bitch, I weaved that battle.
And I don’t need this battle to get you Smacked with an extension.
I should’ve docked her pay, but they told me be patient with MyVerse.
Well I don’t got a ghostwriter. The fuck I look like waiting on my verse?

They say you diverse. That’s no Biggie. You Ready to Die, Verse?
‘Cause my verse, even Eminem couldn’t Stan(d). That’s suicide, Verse.
How my verse’ll leave you exposed after it Boom,
you would think I gave Tsu a side verse.
Your shit is filler. What’s in my hand Quentin Miller; don’t make me write, Verse.
Wait, out of all the rappers you know, though, top five dead or alive,
you picked Jadakiss? Well that’s a Why, Verse,
but thinking you out of this world?
Mama stop it, after I give Jo(h)nny Rockets, it’s you and I(U-N-I), Verse.

Slip up, ‘cause when I put a tho(ugh)t in a box, it ain’t a suggestion.
Where does this forty go? Rhetorical. The answer request chins.

I let a couple get at ‘em(Adam) then Eve-n they rib buckle.
One word and the pop gon ground you; this kid trouble.
But if the money official, my ratchet wig on stage: Ms. Hustle.
Six ring back to back for the green; I’m Bill Russell.

I know y’all like, “Leave homes alone.” Like I encountered Fit
to encounter a counterfeit. Man, you niggas got me furious.
You could bet the bank on it that every stock’s in Bon(d),
so why would I take a D verse if I(diversify) took the money serious?

Y’all know I only Kill for the Bills. So if you be a trick’s kid, oh, I steal daughters.
You wouldn’t have to punch your way out this box; I kill smarter.
A pie may(Pai Mei) show you I’m nothing but a snake;
come dance with a real mamba.
My pimp hand’s sharp; I will scar her.
I cut bitches for talking out the side of their face: Bill’s father.

I ain’t gotta imagine this shit, bitch. You got to imagine a line.
I be rushing to get out of bars. You be rushing to get your bars out;
y’all see how different we be battling time?
Your man’s cap could fly in the crowd over half of a line.
Don’t get your own (Charron) slapped; that won’t have your character Shine.

Just be the hippie Orlando bitch that you are. Don’t rap about shit that you not ‘bout.
‘Cause if you don’t think I’ma bully you,
I’m too big for a mid to school, play tough and get knocked out.
When the nine approaching, it’s get ate up or clocked out.
‘Cause the tool spray like it’s school grades or her boobs may:
A cup ‘ll(couple) drop out.

I already told you I’m on some other shit. I could’ve raised you, bitch.
Groundbreaker to housekeeper the way I made(maid) you, bitch.
If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be battling free, so thank me, bitch.
Nah, don’t even thank me. Fuck you. Pay me, bitch.


What up bitch? You trash, but I’m glad to see you made it,
even though you almost a year late.
I told Mister Wansel this battle won’t Pop unless the deal straight.
She rob and leech(Robin Leach), trying to get her bills paid,
so since you dine and dash, let your head get the steel(steal) plate.
You ain’t a shark in this; I’m trying to kill greats,

and I’d rather drop science instead of math in this chapter,
but the mass have a factor, in this fact of matter.
You’re more known for giving that face than Jaz the Rapper.

I’m Queen of the Ring. Holly or Ali. Someone tell Bonnie I’m rawly.
Catch her all happy and jolly, blasted on mollies,
sneak her(sneaker) then check her like a pair of Huaraches.

She rides shotty with her mommy beside her,
I’ll cock, squeeze, make her knock knees and body the driver,
leave Bonnie Godiva’s body to divers.
Your situation looking Rocky through the Eye of the Tiger.
I’m a big dog. Rottweiler with a collie beside her.
She a average joe: sloppy, slide her(slider).
Ask snobby, I’ll smack the saliva.
Weave bobby pins out your tracks just to show how I style her.

This battle was only a solid, ‘cause this what the fans favor.
It may be on your agenda, but you can’t date her,
‘cause if the wood fill her,
you saw dust(sawdust), those walls crushed like sandpaper.


You tatted a slanted dick between your banana tits. That’s just tacky, B.
She steady juggling sacks with seeds, and I ain’t talking bags of weed.

When she walks, y’all don’t hear galloping? Kentucky Derby running laps, looping?
Just ‘cause you wear horse hair won’t make you a Black Beauty.

Those synthetics have overran their courses.
She yelled to Math, “I’m ‘bout to pull my hair out.” He said, “hold your horses.”

But even without a guy’s help,
with all that weave, you’ll still always be Bonnie and Clydesdale.

Won’t let her roots grow, but in Bon’s eye(bansai) that treatment is the norm.
I could strand my killings on your hair, but that’s beating a dead horse.

‘Cause if it wasn’t for me, bitch, you’d still be battling for free on Smack.
You have a stage today ‘cause I let you speak when I asked.
You thought your stomp would leave me starving? I’m still eating, in fact.
You keep giving us leftover bars, well that’s gon lead me to scrap.
No poetry for a reason to snap.

This work from my hand ‘ll give you a permanent band
since you want to twerk for the cam.
My bloodline bred martyrs. Taught ownership, not to work for the man,
so I became Panama’s legendary puncher: Roberto Duran.

Your family’s Jamaican, right?
So that immigration line for Ms. Fit was a mis-fit. Check your angle then.
‘Cause if we roger that, her American Dad left no name for him,
plus your tranny uncle is the gender-confused alien.

Back in Jamaica, they call a fag “anti man”.
So that batty boy became your auntie, man.

In this game, if it’s any console, we’ll just name it “Aunt-le”,
‘cause we know that’s a chick with a dick,
even if you “Look at the Flick of the Wrist.”

But I got this new dance, it’s called hitting this bitch.
This is the stage that only matters. Why face?
Titles, I snatch, fast as Pai Mei.
You couldn’t try Florida if you had the Tri-State.
I’m putting Godiva in a box; that’s Valentine’s Day.

Round Two

Bonnie Godiva

You said you could freestyle better than me. Well guess what I got tonight.
‘Cause you just said a Pai Mei bar; this is bad business.
‘Cause all y’all do is trade marks that Copy write.

Back to freestyling. I see you brought a legend. He making crazy waves.
Well if I aim the lead, both of y’all be dancing with Crazy Legs.

I can’t help I’m sick. My whole life I never had aides(AIDS) rapping.
I don’t do shit the Eazy way.
I’m from a state where you can die when you land,
get D.O.A.’ed at your E.T.A.
You ever see my niggas courtside on the bench?
That’s courtside at the NBA.
But see your niggas courtside on the bench,
they court siding with the D.E.A.

So why should I believe the bullpen of verse or remember Verse
when she said she tried to bail me out,
but didn’t mail me out a phone call, letter, or even a pen from Verse?
Bitch, I felt like Fifty in that cell all alone. Like why raise her(razor)?
If when I was in the pen’, a verse brought me sane,
so now you getting chalked the same,
‘cause the walls where I’ma pen a verse.
Lord forgive me; I’m ‘bout to re-pen(repent) a verse,


let’s go to church.
It’s a holy ghost,
‘cause I’ll be clapping and stomping soon as they quote a verse.
My method is(methodist) to get your fellow shipped and open, Verse.
Let me work, ‘cause by the third round, Clips vers’ Lux:
first the preaching, then you’ll be piecing together a broken verse.

I don’t rehearse, and yet I’m still acquiring half of they bank,
‘cause the first one’s to fall into sin be the first ones to judge,
like soon as they see a ladder they(Latter-day) saints.

So let’s get to confession,
‘cause you be acting like Jo(h)nny Cash could get you Grammy songs.
Or ‘cause you in the Tribe Called Quest, you Queen Latifah when the cameras on.
Well, men lie and women lie, but the truth is in the camera phone.
Four years ago, you was fucking another battle rapper,
in his t-shirt with no panties on?

You talking all this battle rap shit, but you was fucking Madd Illz?
Bitch, Madd Illz? I’m mad. Ew.

But you remember them Grind Times. You must’ve had a ill disease,
‘cause you gave Ill the V to battle Ill V,
but no matter which ill you be, you ain’t ill as me.

You nothing but a Grind Time groupie that’s limelight choosie;
but why pick a old biter over a big dog? Bitch, this ain’t the Twilight movie.

She like, “So? At least he took me on a tour of the South.”
Bitch, please. You couldn’t even get a tour of his house.
He room and board her, Total Slaughter;
I wonder if he touched her core(Cor’) on that couch.
But I figured you’d let my trey pound now,
since you used to niggas dogging you out.

It that why she don’t want to profess her(Professor) X?
She was just on his team. Bitch why your Jeans gone?
I guess that make him Cyclops:
he seeing fire in a bird, but put another Mystique on.
‘Cause the way she blew(blue) skin off niggas,
she don’t even feel comfortable in complete form.
That’s why she had to switch up characters to see Storm.

You got the whorest of ways. Rihanna falling on stage: this hoe tripping.
It seems you weren’t cut from my cloth; we so(sew) different.
I got drive, Progressive, commercial;
you just ride for insurance. Our flow’s different.
Talking about sheetrock, right? You nothing but dry walls for fun,
guys, the mold different.

I mean, how the fuck did you even get here?
Norbes, you took her to the roof? You ain’t hesitate to jump off, did you?
Another rookie mistake,
thinking you gon hit main stage just ‘cause he let one(-)off in you.
But since you do get a(-)round, it’s only right I let one off in you.

I told you, I could’ve raised you, bitch.
Housebreaker to groundkeeper how I made you, bitch.
If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be battling free, so thank me, bitch.
Nah, don’t thank me. Fuck you. Pay me, bitch.


First off, I’m here today ‘cause of blood, sweat, and tiers; I earned it.
But I know about three rappers that fucked you and can confirm it.

So your little premeditated bars, that shit’s not working.
How the fuck you freestyling so good,
but in Milwaukee you kept pausing? You should’ve been saying Jersey.
*End freestyle*

But wait, ladies and gentleman. Sexual Chocolate. Sexual Chocolate.
We need a axe now, really, to start chopping this fable.
You said your last match on URL was on the spot,
freestyle, what you brought to the table, right?

You ain’t atomic off the top. That’s a diss missile(dismissal).
I seen the signal when you picked the bitch that looked just like O’fficial.

And your pre-style against QP was ass; you mooned everyone that caught view.
No shade, but it must’ve burned the way that Son blocked you.

As a true emcee, that’s a low blow.
Shit was a knockoff. Say it ain’t so, hoe(SoHo).
Y’all just getting those “ether bars” from that other card she no-showed.

You couldn’t even sway Sway. You cut off 40 like you was gon spit that flame,
but was so out the pocket, they gave her change.
Sway had to explain, “it’s okay.”
They stopped the track. “She battle raps, this wasn’t your lane.”

Babs got you on Shade 45 to spit it live. Probably her biggest regret of all.
Bonnie bombed that cypher so bad, y’all would’ve thought Flex was on.

Lying(lion), trying to run, but you gon live with this Scar.
DJs wouldn’t slip your disc if you got hit with their car.

Plus, you say you draw, but that’s all sketchy.
Your definition of sexy is slutty, flat-out, it’s not edgy.
You may live in a stable, but your spot’s shaky;
you not ready. Offer me a stage, I’m making sure to Rocksteady.

I’ll admit, you were on a come-up.
At one point, you thought people were ducking you.
It’s not ‘cause you were good, bitch, just sounds like there’s a duck in you.

Can’t even think for herself. Just a thot trying to claim.
It’s like, no skills, all facade for the fame.
Yeah, it was Gladiator School, but we were not entertained.

You a weakling in this region; I seen it from the bleachers.
So I got in the game to teach ‘em how to beast it.
You lack leadership and genius.
You’re the Cyborg of battle rap: a cheater with a penis.

Remember when QP wrote for you? I know it’s hard to say,
but everything in the dark comes to light, ask Charlemagne.

QP used to haggle her for that wholesale,
‘cause when that hoe sale didn’t charge the same,
she got the Math and had to bargain for bars to gain, what a shame.

I mean, holy ghostwriters, but hey, there’s always Born again.
Let me take you to church. Born getting washed for his sins.
It was what the four told (foretold) to smite the gins
Cause I'm here speaking my verse but your lips reciting him(hymn).

Have you looking at her shake, like your last gimmick.
I’m catching this body tight, but she need her ass lifted,
especially when them butt pads missing.

I bet 40 ain’t seen you write one rap lyric. Bold face.
You wear shit with no circulation, thinking it’s gravy with all that flabby meat.
Y’all bugging if you think Bon that petite(bon appetit).

I’m here for the scolding.
You trying to rap about doing a rap, ‘cause you got your tat in holding,
but got out real quick. What’s the reason?
Felt lonely behind bars, I guess it was cuffing season.

I’m saying a game of spades is the only time you ever had a bid.
It’s like a jail riot they way they gas your pen.
You gon say I’m Latina, need a Visa, but you’re the one scamming them.

Oh yeah, and your wig fucked up. Thought I’d leave that hair relaxing? Ew.
I bet the back of your neck is scabbing. Bitch need to switch your perm.
She went from Math to multiple partners;
the prime number of STD sums, one thing’s for sure:
say goodbye to your dick. Buy that shit a urn,
‘cause Bon? Bon(bong) go smoke your bud’s pipe, watch her switch a(swisher) burn.

My presence(presents) has them playing swear to god:
guess that’s a gift and a curse.
You trying to sell them on fake dirt like that’s a pitch that’ll work.
But you couldn’t finish a sixteen, so how the fuck you gon finish a Verse?

Round Three

Bonnie Godiva

You keep talking about that shit in Milwaukee,
but it was ten people in that room. So in other words, they all vic.
Far as bars, check my rap sheet. Crime pays, and you know it’s easy to con vics.

So what, you want to talk about Born?
I told you, this battle I’m having a open verse,
but keep talking about Born and my last battle,
I might have flashbacks and start choking Verse.

I ain’t even want this to be you, though.
Since I found out you like battle rappers, I was kinda hoping you’d like me.
And whoever told you white men can’t jump never met Mike P.
I mean, I know you like to spit. I could give you the Mike(mic) free.
But wait, maybe I should Do the Right Thing,
so let me finish icing this Spanish bitch on cam like Spike Lee.

She really think she the most def poet,’cause she be taking Q tips,
and spitting knowledge for the crowd reaction.
Well say one thing to me about The Roots,
and you won’t even be conscious rapping.


I get the melanin to push her melon in;
when I black, history. You don’t got the memories.
You just salty you ain’t hot this season.
Well call cajun(caucasian) if you ain’t got the recipe.
‘Cause your Net flicks(x) shows you need to stay in class,
all that Breaking Bad, you just ain’t got the chemistry.
Fuck a knife or a weapon; my mind is inception. I break towers mentally,

so while you new-slaving, I’m deuce-deuce waving,
and I don’t want to hear shit about the Zulu Nation.
Or bitch, see, Toots, see, you could be the next one who two facing.

Wait, she ain’t even get that.
Let me show you how a con go(Congo) harder.
I said Zulu, Tootsie, Hutu… that mean when I slap every tribe out her,
even Afrika Bambaataa ‘ll rewind her(Rwanda) slaughter.

Murk me? How, bitch? You ain’t even worth the while.
I’ll smack this bitch on the bathroom floor; now she Verse-a-tile.

‘Cause I’m mad y’all even think Verse is better,
‘cause she circle-stepping, blurting metas and nervous gestures,
desperate for a card again(cardigan)
so all these nerds could sweat her(sweater),

so now, I got to Prep for Redemption.
‘Cause if these bars don’t Chill(-)a nigga, I got the perfect setup.
When it’s showtime, you either getting Clips or Hollows.
I’m trying to figure out which Verbs are better.

The fact you think you
naturally have to rap like Dizaster’s a fucking disease.
She like, “he got baaas.” That’s ‘cause he be fucking the sheep.
I can tell by your ex(X)-men that you don’t want to fuck with a Beast.

So one red flag, I’m at her door(matador) for trying to run with that bull.
I don’t duck bitches. I muzzle they beaks.

This jackrabbit rhymes like a crack habit smack addict;
she really want to be a heroine.
She yelling “fuck the presidents,” but really fuck the presidents;
you bitches love to be in Maryland(Marilyn).
This beatboxing, breakdance hip—
bitch, you don’t even want to be your heritage.
Trying to make a better life thus far by getting stripes off stars?
Aw, you really want to be American.

Well where they discover you land is where this could get settled then.
‘Cause one April shower and I May flower the land you settle in.
But if the Nina Pint-her, she’ll pray to Santa Maria; let that settle in.
That mean you getting scalped in the end(Indian),
‘cause what I peel grim(pilgrim), that’s what a settle meant(settlement).


Yo, that’s so funny, you brought your Mike boo, right?
I don’t care what your lines do.
It’s funny, ‘cause ironic you always have a ghost behind you.
(Earlier. You had to be here.)
*End freestyle*

Since you said you top five off of looks alone,
bet I’ll give your top five off of looks alone.
Bonnie ‘ll top five off of looks alone.
You could tell your twat wide off of looks alone.

She figured, Drake loves strippers, so she became one by delusion,
and hopes he move in
and touch her arm and say, “you don’t have to do this.”

You have the nerve to judge Germ Free when you’re worse, B.

You show your bare ass, just for a name.
You’ve literally put everything but your vag on display.
You’re one selfie away from catching AIDS.
She’s in danger, it’s safe to say,
‘cause I could put the four-five to your shoulder,
but if a thirty-eight bust, see your waist in thirty-six days.

Eight teens got hip to the stench of Bonnie rotting(Rotten).
I’ll let the five and nine find you head to toe altered with no options.
Whole time in mind I measured your body for the coffin.

I may not speak it, but I was taught how to aim one.
To tell you the truth, I’d rather make your face up.
Show your jaw the bottom of a barrel; remind you where you came from.

But where you going is beneath and below the floor bed;
you were jerking off in Milwaukee with Vixen.
Really choking; this chicken got bodied by Norbes ex.

‘Cause when you did that, you stepped in some shit, puto.
Want to talk about people choking people, but you though,
in that battle with Uno.

Let me punt(pun) it correct:
if he kicked it last, you would’ve been rebuttal’d to death.

Crazy ‘cause after the battle she gave him dome for the win;
I guess that’s the second time Uno got pussy after choking a bitch.

As a personal vengeance and as a woman, too, I was rooting for you.
We were all rooting for you.

But instead of thinking the whole time, “Damn, what Bonnie on,”
I was thinking, “Damn, Bon, neon?”

My fashion statements welcomed. Your fashion states men will cum,
‘cause if it’s fake angles only, well that’s a lack of creativity shown,
but it’s evident, Bonnie. You’re a hoe.

I got that Erykah Badu pussy; you got that airing out a room pussy.

May be a eye candy, thinking it’s the sweetest,
but like mama said on Halloween, if this (w)rapper’s open, don’t eat it.

You’re a ventriloquist and your clitoris is the color of licorice,
and if you licked her ish then you licked her itch and that’s sick as shit.

So I’ll address her call.
I’m from East Orlando, but I could show you the West Palm.
Goons run up with you saying your name; word is, bond.
Word is, Bon used to fuck John John Da Don,
almost had a baby named Bon Bon Da Don.

This angle for you is signature; she forged her vows. Her initial man opt,
she was just a chicken scratch once she got John hand cock(Hancock).

Here is where the chain connects, where she flaked the best:
you ducked me in April ‘cause you fucked half of the main event.

You vexed, huh?
How ‘bout after Math made you a step-ma he told you to step, Ma,
had a baby with the next broad,

couldn’t take you up, even said you were a lazy fuck.
See how that real ‘ll stretch her?
Or how you had to take twenty blowjobs to support Bill Collector?

I can’t even point out with all fingers who’s your damn lover.
Just habits from her elders she learned to act under.
Your real pops is your dad’s brother,
and you share fucking club clothes with your grandmother.

I was a fan of her, ’til she was stamped an impostor quick.
I’m battling her ghosts ‘cause her writers can’t top my shit.
I summon those skeletons in your closet hid,
‘cause even though I Used To Love H.E.R.,
the resurrection of her was Common Sense.


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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