Watch the battle here.
It's the most underrated. Underhanded, I oversaw,
‘cause being overlooked creates a pen that's over all.
It's a love/hate relationship with the crowd. I know it's wrong,
but it's just a troll to control the fans, so all in all,
this is a helping hand to bring strength to a cast that I seen would break all along.
Listen to me Corey. I mean, basically what I'm saying is, you're the weakest link.
Oh, what? What y’all think, he fire?
'Til I roll up in this joint like E-Z Widers
going overboard to air you through the tube like deep sea divers.
Wait a minute. Who the fuck y'all thought I was battling, Darrell?
Oh, so what, y'all think he liver?
Mind of a serial killer,
I've been aiming to put an Arsonal in the trunk: I'm the D.C. sniper.
Wait a minute. What else rhymes with "the D.C. Sniper"? B.E.T. Cipher.
So, wait a minute. You won each week and so what? Now y'all think he liver?
Dios mio, in the spirit of Chris Rios, he speaks nada.
I'm a beast, woken up out his deep sleep, fire in his eyes.
I'm alive, and you gon' greet me sire, or you'll meet messiah.
These sixteens get put to rest for trying to sleep with tiger(Tyga)s.
Reality shows he's not a threat; dog’s a liar.
You pulling straps out and marking dudes in battles with no thoughts inspired,
doing dumb, dickhead, white boy shit, and that'll get your jaw rewired.
I wish you would(wood) spark.
I'm from the jungle, so if the heat wave it's cause the four is(forest) fire.
It's a wrap if we talking that loud. Meet Meek,
I'm in the trap, drilling over the base(bass) like Chief Keef.
Head shot - bang. Brains on the horn - beep, beep,
‘cause ain't no seeing Cort’(court): cheap seats.
I can out rap all you chumps. All you front, then all you slumped.
Brooklyn, that's where Cor' is from,
with a dummy waiting to bust(bus) a whole clip like Forest Gump.
It's time that I black out; you lack props.
What y'all did, wave a steak right in front of a have-not?
Think, a disguise on Cort’(court) ain't a mascot,
and since y'all pushing buttons, it's only right I turn Blackout into Black Ops.
‘Cause I control the game; no, scratch that.
I control the game; I'll school you Corey.
Look, don't love 'em, just fuck 'em. Just fuck 'em and leave 'em,
don't hug 'em and squeeze 'em,
but, when it come to the bitches, we can tell the honeys mislead him.
Aw, man. Your stats dropped; you're a bad cop because you cuff for no reason.
As far as Black Entertainment Television goes as a whole,
well, bro, they disrespected you.
Plus Arsonal mushed you in your face; Pat Stay damn near molested you.
So what’d you do? You whined and complained, and that's why son getting dealt.
You came back to the States trying to rep Grapes and fuck with the belt.
Then K-Shine's palm proved them punches in the ring did nothing to help,
so how can a country stand behind a man
who doesn't have the balls to stand up for himself?
You mean to tell me you won on national television and didn't even have a contact?
You're white, and you're privileged.
Your rich ass daddy ain't teach you nothing about a contract?
Nonsense. He doesn't know about fine prints?
Fine, bitch. Your death certificate is getting signed, stitched,
and I sense the hatred. It's great, kid; I'm ceasing the weak.
Body language, obituaries: you can read it, then weep.
And like I said, I appreciate y'all reaching out,
but wait 'til round three, there's some shit we gotta speak about.
Hat's off to my last opponent,
but I ain't come here to make excuses or rap some bullshit.
See, when I deal with the smack, I stood there insulted;
when you deal with the Smack, the footage gets vaulted.
URL knows you're a bird; they don't upload your battles.
They vault your(vulture) footage like the Discovery Channel.
You rap 'bout pushing work and how you scheming crazy.
I'll rap 'bout it too, even if the people hate me.
Putting ops on payroll, even the police will pay me.
I got cops dropping kis(keys) off in my room like Steven Avery.
But that ain't me. I'm reserved, polite and ain't good in fights.
I keep it a hundred, like Cortez's booking price.
But wait, you're top tier? Your battles are fucking torture.
The day you're top tier is the day you jump the border
in a shirt that says "proud Trump supporter”.
Your girl's pussy was lose; she had to start to give dome.
That girl gargled Charron. She was choking so hard she pulled out Arsonal's phone.
But I didn't want Coytez. I want to body Tay.
No Jay Hova, but I'll Takeover when I put Roc(-)away.
I've seen the way you do it, and it's not the same.
They gon' feel the pressure on cam(Cam) and see him drop the ball;
this is how the Broncos play.
I'll break him down; you won't want to play.
I'll have you feeling like Meek Mill on Boxing Day.
Your slogan is “top tier money”. You do not get paid.
Who thinks he gets that Lux, Mook and Hollow pay?
You lie like a politician 'bout your top tier pay.
It ain't true dough, you talking about the side of your mouth like Jean Chrétien.
Caustic exposed he couldn't smash ‘cause he was limp.
Listen, penis shrimp, you shouldn't have dissed Bruce B, you bitch,
but the theme of the needle fits, ‘cause you have such a needle dick,
when you beat a chick it's considered an intravenous hit.
His favorite band? Limp Bizkit. But I'll cut it out quick.
You can't tell jokes, you have to act tough when you spit.
I dare you to shoot me; I’ll just rebuttal that shit.
So let me guess, if someone put hands on you, you gon' fight.
I'm laughing at this situation, it's so light.
Since birth, I've been pushed into lockers and hit with cold rights.
I should be running the Ultimate Rap League,
because I've been getting Smacked my whole life.
This is how his first round sounded.
"I'm in an aggressive mood, when I sketch in you, then I step to you, like Tekken—“
Yo, why the fuck do you rap like that?
I guess y'all figured this would be a waste of a round,
and that would be perhaps why y'all would think I would slack like that,
but it's not in my DNA, so I'm gonna separate you from the gap like that,
and the last time here I cook 'cane, so it's only right I come back like crack.
Now my name at one point was right here; it don't get no higher, cuz.
Y'all all thought I fell off and my career was nearly dying, cuz,
but now I'm back from the dead, it's the Lazarus Effect.
Y'all don't get it, y'all ain't even see me rising up
so wisen up, you idle up, you idol us,
or I'll surprise him out of nowhere with this gift like secret admirers.
I am(I.M.) just well-received like mobile phones,
grilling white boy in his mouth like Post Malone.
Whoa. It costs to be the boss and the throne's my home,
so if I let you get a(-)head, it's only so I can add it to my totem pole.
Whoa. The very second I'ma set it in action of every second I'm clapping,
you’ll get bucks after it fire; that's a severance package.
I came here for one reason: to stop the lesson.
In a class all by myself, yet it's not detention.
Hollow tips like Rone vers’ Pat Stay: these rounds is comple(i)menting,
with add-ons fully equipped. I hope you got your weapons,
techs(text) blue, get left red. Oh now you got the message,
and he's talking reckless. Fuck it, pass me the tool.
Stupid, clips on Cort(court) like Shaqtin’ a Fool.
Fuck it, I don't even need gun bars to beat him ’til my hands get a bruise.
The way I drug him over the border, he could pass for a mule.
Now let's take some things into account. Nevertheless,
I bring balance here, so go 'head and check. You're forever in debt.
Insufficient. I mean I can't get no lesser than this,
and though my name's on the card, I get no credit for this?
And that's why I need to know, who planted this fucking seed to grow?
‘Cause you? It's unbelievable how you achieve with style that's unbelievable.
I mean, Shotgun Suge tapped your pockets in front of Smack and them,
then K-Shine's palm put you right back on Smack again.
I mean, I ain't even mad that you got slapped, and that's a fact, ‘cause shit happens.
But I'm more mad at the fact that after you got slapped.. Bro, you kept rapping.
Plus DNA and K-Shine 3-0'd you. Both of y'all. You ain't learn your lesson by now?
I got a question for pal. How you come with 100 Bulletz, but ain't get you a round?
Wow. But I'ma save that for later; I appreciate y'all reaching out,
and round three’s next. There's some shit we gotta speak about.
This event is strictly for top tier. You gotta book them for their bars,
so you do have a secret admirer, ‘cause no one knows who put you on this card.
Yo, my hotel crazy. The squad gets savage.
Carter Deems jumping on the bed popping rachets
Your hotel don't even got a mattress.
All you have's a couch; Organik got you the Total Slaughter package.
But that's how Brooklyn do. Every time I look at you,
I see the couch you slept on after Rex started cooking you.
You came in last place. Everyone made mad cake.
You spent more time on the couch than the guy from Half Baked.
I saw your battle with Jimz, watched it on blu-ray.
You said, "I had to pop myself.” My TV paused for like two days.
Spit your gun bars; I ain't gon' lie 'bout how I gotta let my tool spray.
If I took a Shotty out, it's of retirement, to catch a body in the U.K.
You have a S.T.D., Cor’. Bet it's stressful to piss.
Now he picks up girls online at Plentyofitch.
A girl you smashed hit me up; I rejected her quick,
‘cause as soon as Cor' in her(coroner), I wouldn't be caught dead with that bitch.
This Canadian's so big, it might offend a Bender.
You died from Rex(wrecks); this is more than a fender bender.
They resurrected Ledger, the second Dexter,
Professor Lecter perfecting lectures in tracheotomies next semester,
my pen will enter this candy rapper 'til his neck's dismembered,
and something pops out his throat, now that's a 'Tez Dispenser.
But we could take this to the stage if you want war with Corey.
I'll have my whole team waiting at the border for me.
You won't see Lady Gaga in a hotel, but it'll get more than gory
when I bring killers to Cortez; that's an American Horror Story.
I hate when you tell the crowd what you're doing to make it look easy.
Funny you faced G.O.D. and 'Cane but ain't able(Abel) to beat me.
But if I ain't down with you, I'll put the pound to you
and shoot everyone surrounding you.
Do you talk like that in real life?
He came up to me like, “I was with this girl last night. Her name was Jasmine.
I almost got it in, but I just couldn't make it happen.”
But fuck the jokes. More gangster, monster. Grown man, Mossberg.
Desert Eagle; they call me The Bird Man.
I'm shooting with two hands, aiming on one knee; I aim at you, and hit the lady in 1D.
Those aren't my bars. I’m not even saying it right;
I'm just spitting a T-Rex mixtape verse before he does later tonight.
Now what more I got to do? I'm talking to you.
I haven't lost clearly in years, and yet I still get lost in the views,
and often I'm screwed, so I need y'all all to listen to these thoughts that I spew,
‘cause this wasn't a step down, it was a step-to, just so you can walk in my shoes.
Now, what, more, I gotta do? You should ask yourself, in fact,
because you’ve done a lot for King Of The Dot with unselfish acts,
but how can you separate from a league that always welcomes Pat
while you're always left out in the cold and being stepped over as a welcome mat?
I can help with that.
First off, grow a fucking set of balls. Second off, grow a fucking spine.
Third, be a fucking man, start fighting back.
‘Cause how the fuck you chase a chain for five years,
and let a nigga change your third round and you ain't fight for that?
I mean, despite the fact you spent weeks and days writing raps,
all you did was prove you been a slave to the chain way before Daylyt and Pat.
You chased the fucking chain, for what? Five years?
“Wahh, Pat made me change my third,” and you cried tears?
What happened to all that Grape Street cripping, cuz?
Yo, that's how you know, look at the bullshit we allow.
There's a big difference between you fucking spitting in a round
and him fucking spitting and punching you in a round.
I mean, you represent everything I see wrong with battle rap today
You pull out straps like it's a joke, purple flags like that's live;
it's bad vibes, Corey, it's sad, why?
‘Cause you're not a black guy, you're a black eye.
Always looking for shock value. It's unlikely that you like me, pal.
Shock value, God literally wants to strike me now,
‘cause I catch bodies after bodies, you see, my life be foul.
That's why I'm taxing and getting checks to put a soul(sole) in a bag like Nike Town.
Hold on. Think about that, that shit's deep.
But what the fuck you gon' do, huh?
With your Mayweather promotions.. let the fifth leak, you pipsqueak? Bitch, please.
You’d probably sell out your fam and send them up shit's creek for chips, B.
Wow, this bitch blew(blue) and turncoat quicker than Mystique. Bitch, please.
It's deja vu to me; no ski mask when I'm steeling you,
that Shotgun in his face: look at me when I'm killing you.
Just be yourself, Corey; those are words from the industry.
They all knew you couldn't work for me lyrically.
You're autistic, so how you getting checks at home but can't work this(dis-) ability?
As for me, I write from what the fuck I see; my view from the pits.
If the tool come equipped and I'm sealing your top, that means I'm roofing your shit.
So quit fucking fronting, ‘cause you won't buck for nothing: you're frugal as shit.
And if I scope him off the top, it's just my View From The Six.
Now, he said my battles went in the vault; damn right, I was wild thirst.
For y'all to see the footage, my style hurts, pound dirt,
so I'ma put Corey in the ground Earth,
just so the fans get to catch the body, it's like we crowd surf.
And, one more thing. Bro, you have really fucking bad luck with national television.
No, like, like, really fucking bad luck.
I mean, first you went on B.E.T. and they ain't cast your ass.
Last week, Canada A.M., they banned your ass.
But it's because everybody hypes him. Somebody must've gassed that hater,
‘cause still your bars been half-assed, playa.
You just bringing the city down with faulty lines like San Andreas.
I got a new slogan, bitch. Fuck you fakes, corny, keep doing what y'all do,
and stay the fuck away from me. Brooklyn all day. I keep it trill for that.
Lick a shot for PH, ‘cause the real is back.
Yeah, I did rap for 80-year-olds on TV. It's a bad look? You want to talk about it?
Half of them have Alzheimer’s; they've already forgot about it.
But I've been battling for seven years, still cashing checks.
The fans still love me; still get mad respect.
I snap your neck; I still spaz with vets.
K-Shine's hat.. still ain't landed yet.
But did Shine leave a mark? Hell no.
If I slap him, you'll really see prints(Prince) on Cort’(court) like the Chappelle show.
Me and 'Ganik are boys; he knows I'm the truth.
He'll say his dog ate this ese(essay) like a homework excuse.
The internet hates; it's what they constantly spew.
This ain't the last supper, don't whine(wine) when I give this body to you.
I'll burn Ernesto to ash; that's what they want me to do.
Ernesto starts with an Ern(urn) and I'll make sure he ends off in one too.
In Atlanta, you said you're dead broke. How is he a G?
You borrowed $300 from Sonny, not for his kid he needs to feed,
it was so you could buy an outfit to look fly on B.E.T.
That's what you think about when you're getting your bread?
What about making sure your son is eventually fed?
I guess them Instagram likes are better instead.
I let the Shine get to my cheek; you let the shine get to your head.
How are you in your thirties and have no wealth?
How do you not feed your kid like he has no mouth?
And you say I'm not a man ‘cause I didn't scrap myself?
If I bought outfits instead of child support, I would slap myself.
Image, street cred - that's what you preach about.
When I have a son, work ethic, education - that's what I'll teach about.
My son will be at his graduation and thank me for reaching out,
while your son's on welfare like, "There's some shit we got to speak about.”
But yo, I was reviewing your little street code, let me get my facts right.
If someone slaps you, you supposed to hit them back right?
And if someone jumps your boy, on sight you get their back right?
Well, ain't this the first time you been around Dizaster since the Math fight?
I thought you'd be showing up ready to spaz in a ski mask
You should've put Dizaster underground like the Cassidy rematch
Right now, Math calling like, "You ain't got balls like that.
Dizaster right there. Why ain't you tap his jaw like that?
That's why Smack put you in the vault like that."
You apologize for being a hoe, Math hung up and you called right back.
You are clearly not a top tier, buddy.
Look at those teeth; you're doing top tier gummies.
There's a reason you're broke and don't have top tier money;
it’s ‘cause no one in the world thinks you're top tier, dummy.
So it don't matter if you think I'm a bottom tier cracker,
as long as I keep killing Smack's bottom tier rappers.
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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