Tay Roc vs. Danny Myers
[Round 1: Tay Roc]
Lately, I'm the one that these fans wanna doubt
You in the way; you shoulda just let this man run his route
Dan wanted clout
Hands comin' out
Boy, I will punch the last bitta teeth outcha grandmother mouth
Punk-ass pussy! Niggas pay you at a low number
Prolly 'cause you dress like you rap... no wonder
You talk like you so gutter
You a whole sucker
I'll make you spit in ya hand and slap ya own mother
Whole summer
Black handle but the slide release chrome color
Surf, he into Cuban chokers; I like throat-cutters
I will smack ya bitch wit' a pistol; her dome rupture
Put her face in front of a mag; she won't make a Voguе cover
This is not a dream
What you, some kinda fiеnd?
When God made you, he needed a beard, some freckles, and a lima bean
I make a violent scene
Demonic as Constantine
Ya momma scream
I make Myers head bust through a wall like Halloween
Whoever gettin' involved gon' be sippin' through straws
Fuck around, y'all gon see D on a shirt—nah, not Christian Dior
This nigga's a fraud
You pissin' me off
I ain't religious; I was just raised to take my problems and give it to God
We wouldn't take you on a mission at all
You give me Tre-from-Boyz-n-the-Hood vibes: you wouldn't get in the car
I got a devillish two-step and I cha-cha with this chopper; we just tryna see if Dan's in with the stars
You got the simplest bars
Ya shit isn't hard
Nigga, I could've said, "Nah."
And you wouldn'ta even been on the card
Gun Bar King! I don't know Bar God
Matter fact, you ever been hit by a crowbar, Go—?
Close y'all eyes
I promise, if you don't keep it rap, fam
I will open-hand/back-hand slap Dan
Gat sprayin'
Then I dumps da metal in a trash can
I could bring ya ghost out on the stage from what I pack, ma—
Speakina Pac-Man, we brought chopper rounds
You let Rex take twelve K? It would've been ghost everywhere if we had to chase a Dot around
I'll leave ya head wrapped like a Afghan and you how I [?]
You prolly hear them words, "Head wrap." and feel sick inside
That head wrap symbolize all them rounds you couldn't memorize
Eazy-E ain't the only nigga from the West that got real sick and died
If we got action, I'm not rappin'
Glocks clappin'
That tranny angle fake, played out, and did not happen
You think it's a joke; I'm not laughin'
It's in the game and you can die over that like John Madden
I will slide past him
My mask only show the eyes
I hop out the van, plottin' on Dan—Cobra Kai
Picture this cornball in a Rolls Royce; I'll be so surprised
Then I'd leave Danny Phantom shot up wit' a ghost inside
Flowers on his grave; he'll be lyin' in a hearse
If a problem arose on the thirtieth, you'll be dyin' on the first
I put two on ya, have 'em cryin' in the church
Show up to the funeral like, "Shut up! Fuck Dan! D lyin' in the dirt!"
I'll squeeze the butt of this seventeen; shit barely is legal
We like when we see the funeral home buryin' people
This man really evil
I carry a Eagle
This bird cold as The Penguin and you dead if you ain't Danny DeVito
Dan is finito!
Go 'head, rap 'bout how I'm not the best
Scream, "Yikes!" until ya veins poppin' out ya neck
'Cause for this, I told Beas, "I want a thirty thousand dollar check."
Yeah! You ten years older than me and you get paid twenty-five thousand dollars less
I am not impressed
Tell Dan, "Settle this shit." or it's banana clips
Ya damn melon get hit
This Glock is handheld wit' a switch
He ran, fell, and he tripped
All that bass in ya voice; I bet this make Dan yell like a bitch
Don't think you safe just 'cause Geechi and 'em here
I will smack Daniel
Nitty can't save you
In fronta Rum, I'll hop out that 'burban and jack Daniel
Crack Daniel with the black handle
Dead this nigga
Make him bite the curb; use my Jordans to behead this nigga
I will stomp till it split; make ya shit look like a Pez dispenser
I will wreck this nigga
You know what I don't like 'bout ya raps, pussy? The parallel part
Two twin Eagles wit' a parallel arc
We'll pull up on his block; fuck the parallel talk
"Surf, get him! Eazy, watch him! Chess, parallel park!"
You be rappin' 'bout a parallel universe; don't even got a car to parallel park
Youse a pussy nigga! Rap, nigga! Light bars
[Round 1: Danny Myers]
That shit you did yesterday? Fucked up, disrespectful
Nigga had the streets chatterin'
We gon' calm that down so all my niggas rolled up...
For a piece gatherin'!
This freestyle shit somethin' you ain't able to do
Yesterday, I was gon' flip that bitch but this where I turn the tables on you
(Nigga!)
You just said you get paid more than me—cool! Who you finessin'?
Yesterday, all that rah-rah shit—who you was testin'?
Bitch, I will knock the white off yo' teeth then look at Nunu expression
(Ayy! Ayy! Ayy, bitch nigga! Ayy!)
From close range or back here, I'm a shell-cooker
The shot just like his shoes: a twelve-footer
(I am the GOAT, nigga! Ayy!)
Tay Roc, you think you scarin' us talkin' 'bout squarin' up?
Okay, fair enough
Y'all gon see me throw Roc against the window
(Like I ain't tryna wake her parents up)
Our differences are glarin', bruh
This nigga ducked me; I was not hurt
For six years, I let the pot stir
Couldn't even tell Vicky I was gettin' Roc
I'm tryna trigger you, not her
(Don't look so startled.)
Glock burst
Head shot
Berettas'll fly
The shit I'll do to Donte, even the Devil may cry
I'll level this guy
It's not a game; get his chest slammed in
Uppercut then I left-hand him
I'll beat his ass even though I carry the baby like Death Stranding
I'm from the West, damn it!
In South Central, no one was good
I'll drag this nigga for miles; morale is low in the hood
Let's get this understood
Ain't no almost-fight wit' me—you touch me, I'll let a dozen out
Ya homies gon' be pourin' out brandy 'cause almost doesn't count
You know what the fuck I'm 'bout?
(Ayy!)
I handle mine
Each one-a my mans inclined
To stomp you the fuck out for fake-talkin' like pantomimes
They drag you to the back room, kickin' and stompin', hands is flyin'
That's when I walk through the door like, "Stop! ... Hammer time!"
(Don't look so startled! Ayy!)
This part of a grand design
I'll rip his teeth out; told my man, "Hand me the pliers."
Smack, ya shooter is gettin' fucked up by Danny The Myers
I'm from a familya riders
You keep a gun? Bitch, ain't nobody scared to go to war witchu
Nigga, my birthday is next week and God blessed me wit' a forty-two
This nigga be gettin' emotional every time that tranny shit get spoken up
Mr. Gun Bars, tongue out, on the bed, legs opened up
To stop them rumors, went and got himself a girlfriend—joke's on us
First time he met Caution, he did a double take, said, "You not a boy but close enough."
Let's put this in focus, bruh
We know that you gay
You gettin' cut and slayed
Wesley Snipes been showed us the vampire's a fuckin' blade
I'm from a higher order
Knights of the Templar; our bloodline is Myers' aura
My allure'll
Prove you can't fuck with this typa scorcher
Fire torture
Won't survive it unless you got riot armor
Hawk him down with Ks
Ultraviolet rays sight distorter
Strike the [?]
We can be in a gun fight in Georgia
You'll slide across to Florida
Shots'll take you outside where the original land like diaspora
You gon' die in horror
Won't get a chance to hear the organ music
He gon' say, "That's light!" then a voice says, "Yes, son. Now walk into it."
God done proved it
His own losses fueled by the foolish thoughts of humans
I ain't the only one wit' parallels used in rap
View the facts
It's funny how you the Gun Bar King but yo' bitch the one that use the straps
You was the face of the league; we had different views wit' Smack
I was into traffickin' cheese but it turns out youse the rat
I'll shoot you in fronta yo' bitch; peace is what I'm not gon' brang her
Lock on the banger
She tried to cover her eyes before cops could pop the question
She had Roc on her finger
Can y'all imagine pieces of his brain on her wedding finger from his damaged cranium?
All those that doubted the GOAT; now, the man is flamin' him?
Do you believe in a parallel universe?
(I do!)
When we first heard them rumors, it put our heads in mania
Then he became Dracula and that nigga's from Transylvania
I wanna believe that you a gangsta
But it's hard for me to get convinced
That you grippin' clips wit' pistol grips
When you're a vampiric thug that sucks blood outta niggas' dicks
(Ayy, bitch!)
I lost to Real Sikh but I got you—I know it's burnin' his soul
Any time God takes an L, it turns into gold
I'm from a permanent mode
Get murdered in cold... blood!
On the spot, God
I don't tote the Glock 9
Get hit with that same shit that popped outta RoboCop thigh
I got local block ties
My demeanor'll ruin him
I got people in every neighborhood from 55 and up like a senior community
It ain't a thing you can do wit' me
Shots spread
Clip fulla hot heads
I ain't lettin' offa the trigger until you drop dead
They booked me versus Ave and knew
This ain't the first time I reverse-engineered a Roc to get the block fed
We don't always need big guns
(Cookin' this dumb-ass nigga! Ayy!)
I'ma thirty you first then I'm comin' for Tsu
How that sound, Wave? Even the thirty-two hurts
You in the dirt and you on the ground with this shit
This dumb-ass nigga got another two roundsa this shit
(Yikes!)
[Round 2: Tay Roc]
Ayy, Danny... Daniel...
You got twelve kids but that ain't what puzzles me
You said ya baby mom took ya twins away when they was two
You ain't get 'em back until they was twenty-three?
When you seen ya kids after not seein' 'em for twenty-one years, how ya face look?
How they find you? Twitter? Poke you on Facebook?
How long was you on child support? How that case look?
Twelve kids in one apartment—how that place look?
I did my homework on this Bar God; I didn't even notice you have a life
Found out he's a battle dad... wit' a battle son... and battle wife!
Reunited with his kids through battle rap—that was nice!
I will make you reunite witcha kids in the afterlife
It gets darker
Trust me, this round is a shit-starter
Fuck a gun bar; when I talk like this, it hits harder
Nigga, as far as bein' a parta ya son life, nigga never had a will—Fresh Prince father
I'ma chip armor
Scrape the blade; make the shit sharper
Let fifteen outta this raptor—Vince Carter
You gon' have a missed son and a missed daughter
I drive by on a Friday and wet up the lawn—"Hey, Ms. Parker!"
I been smarter
Danny don't even respect hisself
He was the nigga in school that rode the short bus and got the extra—
Check yaself or watch ya head leak fast
And ya kids gon' find they father stomped to death—that's a deadbeat dad
Pussy! I ain't gotta use fake angles
Say, "Thank you!"
I walk in ya crib, catch ya daughter like, "Hey, angel!"
Then break ankles
She get straight strangled
With strings from my shoe; I pull laces out—Ray Finkle
That broad get hurt
One in her stomach could cause a lossa birth
I'll knock ya son out; 'fore he wake up, I'ma stomp him first
He dizzy, crawlin'; I don't know if his walkin' works
He seein' two of hisself; Spider-Man in the multiver—
You too slow swingin', pussy! Your timin' all late
You'll get slammed on ya face
Ya smile and all scraped
Everything that hit the tile and all ache
I'm not at all fake
This shit'll make body parts break
Knock out a rib, eye, meat, and bone—look like a tomahawk steak
Tell Dan, "Stop or get everybody in ya fam rocked.
Even ya grams shot for a stack; that's a gram-pop."
My can cocked
I will send you to Paradise
You and the Eiffel Tower got somethin' in common: y'all both parasites
They tellin' me, "Don't be a menace." Boy, I'm 'bout to wig out
Like Tre in Dashiki crib, I knock all ya kids out
You got a big mouth and look like you tattle-tat
How you forty-one years old in battle rap with a son that battle rap?
I can't fathom that
Here's where Roc expose
You got twin kids named Malik and Dominique; that's prolly somethin' nobody knows
I'll put ya daughter Dominique in a oven; lock it closed
You won't be comin' home to Dominique; he'll be comin' home to Domino's
Nigga, ¡vamanos!
This shit is fuckin' witcha heart
I'll catch ya son Malik out on the East like, "Ayy, son. I wanna talk."
Trunk him, take him to Brooklyn, dump him in the park
Since Malik is already known for bein' undercover in New York
Fuck this nigga thought?
You promised me war
Whole time, I got bars 'bout ya kids and... they prolly ain't yours
Fuck around, they gon' found Malik skull
Laid under a Barbie house; I even flip Dominique dolls
Danny, I hate you—true shit
You ain't gon' do shit
Nigga, as a battle rapper and a father, you are useless
I am ruthless
All I know is shoot shit
I'll introduce your twins to these two twins and make quadruplets
Pussy! This hellcat hold fifteen and the shells big
And that's enough for you, ya wife, and ya twelve kids
Leaves the chamber wit' one more bullet to blast from
Chk-chk! Guess who gettin' the last one
Don't stop nothin'; Smack, keep lettin' my clock run
Cut his time short; let me keep goin' till I'm done
Your kids found you 'cause they thought you was lit; I'm not dumb
Met you at Gates of the Garden, thought you had all this money but you ain't got none
That's not fun
Battlin' for crumbs; that shit is senseless
I'm sure all twelve-a ya kids had them a shitty Christmas
These niggas bitches
In the trenches, we do not believe you
Somebody tell Danny the weapon that I got is lethal
I walk in while they doin' surgery on on him; start droppin' people
Grab a blade, mic Myers while I'm starin' at the doctor evil
Deadass!
Ya Pokémon, Charmander head-ass
Greasy head-ass
Boy, I will smack ya Beasley head-ass
Pussy! (Light bars! Fuck outta my face.)
[Round 2: Danny Myers]
You said everything that was gon' be achin' that hit the tile and all
That's somethin' that I don't believe
Bitch, if this motherfucker peel, ya soul'll leave
And the lines that came after that wasn't ill either
Nigga, if you make my daughter Domino's, I'm puttin' five in ya lil Caeser
(I am the GOAT!)
(Don't panic. I'm too cold. Listen.)
I had a conversation wit' a dope fiend, some guy that I knew from years hustlin'
He was surrounded by drugs; his mom tried to steer him clear of it
First time he hit that pipe, his eye swelled up and drew a tear from it
It wasn't until he stood in fronta rock for that second round he knew he'd make a career from it
I speak in metaphor
In that analogy, I give dude his props
But this where I show you there's other ways to use a Roc
Surf was on a down slide while you gave us classics and refused to stop
He started Gun Titles witchu and that's what renewed his stock
I'm speakin' facts now
Niggas always yo' brother when it's time for them to rap rounds
Bars on I-95, you ain't even put him in the background
Did a whole album wit' Mozzy; you ain't get to put a track down
These are some of the burdens that come wit' wearin' Smack's crown
Back down
Surf would never let you out-shine him; look at his mental structure
Phonte has shown us, no matter how ill you are with them bars, you'll always be a little brother
In a parallel universe, you helped Brizz; that night, you didn't move foul
You kept ya respect and we don't view you as the bitch-ass nigga that we do now
When you tell a grown man to suck yo' dick, you can be injured critically
Ninety percent 'cause it's disrespectful, ten percent 'cause we think you mean that shit literally
When you told them white boys to suck yo' dick wit' ketchup on it, you was viewed as a freak
(You said that!)
Nigga, ketchup? I don't even want a bitch to do that to me!
You have to see, with all these gun bars, there's no substance
Swallow your pride
Even when he's fully loaded for a round, it's all hollow inside
Why follow this guy?
Our skillsets do not compare
ROC is not cut from the same fabric but I don't know if Roc aware
Y'all think I'm worried about Tay Roc?
(Shut up!)
Nigga, I done sold white rock, gray rock
Tan rock, base rock
Granite mineral jade rock
Aboriginal cave rock
Prehistoric fossil rock
Old rock, new rock
Stove top [?] rock
Smooth rock, Moon rock
Color-changin' mood rock
[?]-mixin' street rock
Multi-lava heat rock
You'll go inside a sheet, Roc
You still alive? Then I counterclockwise and re-Rock!
Literally put you forty-seven meters deep... see, Roc!?
The don's onto me
Danny Myers direct wit' Roc without a Hollywood script and Sean Connery
All this gun bar shit from you never made a lotta sense
Niggas threw his chain in a fast food trashcan; he ain't been to McDonald's since
What happened to all them big MACs you be holdin'? He ain't hit the block wit' his man
Nah, I'm frontin'—he did some gangsta shit and got his revenge
He rounded up six of his meanest assassins; Edgewood niggas come from a trife road
They kicked in the do', started recordin', and one of 'em slapped a white girl
Really, my nigga? Violence against a woman?
I mean, it's sad to say
When you snatch fake chains from a viscious murderer, somebody has to pay!
This ain't even my savage stage
I'm spittin' passion past the rage
Only a single mother amassed with eight bastard case kids listenin' half the way to Donny Hathaway "This Christmas" could rap this way
I do this for practice—ayy!
This shit finna get spooky, Tay Roc
You think you'll survive a head-on collision with a hawk? I'm Mookie Blaylock
(Bar God!)
Look out ya window; it's a speedin' Denali in view!
Outta-state plates; peep what a team from Cali'll do
Before he grabs his phone and he can rally a crew
All we know is a bitch dies in the season finale of you
You wanna know how ice-cold these murders can get?
(Yeah, Joe!)
I'll demonstate 'em
Eliminate him
Veer in ya villa wit' villians from Venezuela
Smashin' ya brain, maskin' a blade like this is Vega
Catchin' bodies midway through the air like figure skaters
Niggas hate us
I ain't gon' play with the cartridge; I'm sicka Sega
Disintegrate his whole village; make it the biggest crater
These niggas wanna gamble with they life? We innovators
Mafia members witnessin', envisionin' to build a Vegas
I'm still the greatest
Y'all remember that blue-haired chick he was wit'? That bitch was bad that a motherfucker
I look at her... then I look at Caution... I get sad than a motherfucker
They say when a nigga wit' a ugly bitch, it's 'cause the head's good
What would make a man fall off that far? I figure a nigga from the Edge—
Listen! You are not the man that you think you are
Scared to tell Caution you don't really fuck wit' her
You let her ugly ass move her son in witchu and now you feel like you stuck wit' her
You are not the man that you think you are
You always lookin' frail here
If I ask Chess, can he beat you up, he gon' look at me and say, "Hell yeah!"
You are not the man that you think you are
Leadership ain't money and things
He raps the Cave wit' a bat signal but no one's under ya wing
You are not the man that you think you are
You don't realize that you dead, kid?
You are not the man that you think you are, bitch nigga, 'cause Fred is
I am the GOAT and he on the ground with this shit
This dumb-ass nigga got a whole 'nother rounda this shit

[Round 3: Tay Roc]
Mike P exposed that yo' wife is a crackhead and that boy is the weakest
(Your wife is a crackhead!)
Vicki Myers? I'd be lyin' if I said that shawty is decent
Ayy, Smack, I wouldn't touch that bitch
Plus, how the fuck Mike P know all Victoria's secrets?
You genius!
You met a crackhead and said that you got to keep her?
I will make her sniff a line off my Glock then cock that Nina
You will see a hole through her head when I pop the heater
I will have it smokey in that junkie bitch face—bye, Felicia!
You a bottom-feeder
You not the leader
Kick in ya door, give ya mom a seizure
Then stuff her inside a freezer
I ain't lyin', neither
Chopper-squeezer
Watch arms come from the waist, in the air, into the head like the Macarena
I ain't tryna wrestle like Tommy Dreamer
Give Roc a cleaver
Stab him; it go through D back like a wide receiver
Oh, you a non-believer?
That's until I put this stick with the mercury tips in his mouth, check if he got a fever
This man is a faggot
My shooter handle a ratchet
Rental car in L.A. lookin' for this man up in traffic
This nigga better have a Lambo to dash it
You will be a dead bitch in that car unless Danica Patrick
Stupid nigga play hisself; I am the man in this rap shit
Turn this to a funeral; we got cameras to catch it
I'll open up a coffin, put Dan in it backwards
Close it up then Triple H sledgehammer the casket
Tragic
I will make it more than rap
You'll get a phone call that your daughter clapped
And ya son dead; imagine the thoughta that
I brought a strap
For ya wife, Vic; she got outta pocket, tried to run, and the eagle caught her back
They want more-a that
(Pussy! They want more-a that, nigga! Yeah, nigga! Fuck outta here.)
Scalpula to ya scalp
Split brains
Rip veins
I make it stick in a skull like a pimp cane
Knife'll get stuck
A spike in the front like a Knick ga—wait
This nigga Danny married a junkie; that shit strange
I should run up blowin' her nose since she sniff 'caine
Ain't shit changed
Don't get shot in ya mouth
Your wife is a real life crackhead and you don't want her to see Roc in ya house
I heard she'll sniff a bird till she fall out in bed
Meat tenderizer; I will beat that chicken thought out her head
She be layin' there, shiverin' while y'all in the bed
And Vicky gon' relapse 'cause I'm fittin' all us in ya crib
(Pussy!)
SIG drawn, hit ya kid
Daughter and son get murked
Boy, I will flip ya house upside-down—WonderWorks
Let somethin' burst
(Pussy!)
All I know is chaos
Unloadin' ARs
To talk to you again, ya kids gon' have to hold a séance
I don't know what they on
I just a hundred twenty-seven six two standin' up in a box look like Crayola crayons
These shits'll mangle a vest
All that shit you was talkin' gon' change in a sec
You shoulda came in correct
Aim wit' a Tec
Bang! Hit his neck
For a ban, Dan'll get set on fire; that's gang disrespect
This lame nigga deaf
Soccer mom van when niggas slide
Door open, hop out, drag this man up in the ride
To a two-car garage
One spot's for the van to get inside
The rest of the space is big enough so Dan can fit inside
(Bitch!)
I bring Chess wit' me on a mission to ya house, start sprayin' slugs
Ya dumb-ass wife Vicky ain't hear us break in; she nodded off takin' drugs
Lil bro got point black range to bang the snub
Now, the blood of Vic's all over Chess; it's vapor rub
Ya son Malik get pistol-whipped if he plannin' to run
Then I'ma Mr. Miyagi crane-kick Daniel's son
Damage done
(Pussy! Youse a pussy nigga! I fuckin' hate you, pussy!)
Fuck how ya daughter Dominique feelin'
I'll bang her with the hawk and make Dominique Wilkins
(Pussy!)
I do not respect Dan
Turn you to a pack; you are about to become the best strand
I'm smokin' on a dead man
Like Method Man and Redman
Lead blam
You gon' need a X-ray, head scan
Brace for ya neck, shit bag, and bed pan
I'm right-handed; I shoot it till the Tec jam
But it's ugly; it look like I drew it wit' my left hand
(You stupid motherfucker! This is me! You could never fuck wit' me! You could never! All that gas they gave you. This is my shit, nigga. You're dead! It is me!)
Deadass!
Your Squirtle-Wartortle-Ninja Turtle-lookin' head-ass
Greasy head-ass
Boy, I will smack ya Beasley head-ass
Light bars, nigga

[Round 3: Danny Myers]
That nigga brought up my wife; I knew he would throw a shot
(Chill out! There are those that do this and there are those that are born to do this.)
That's why I crept up, waitin' him to come out for about four o' clock
I load the Glock
Vicky said, "Nah. Lemme throw the shot.
This gon' be easy. I spent most my life smokin' rock."
(I am the—ayy! Bitch-ass nigga!)
You will really get smothered out here
Said crayons? Nigga, this L.A.; we been knew about colors out here
I wanna teach this nigga; why the fuck they thought the man could test us?
I drew it with the right then the left—bitch, I'm ambidextrous!
(I am the GOAT!)
(Ayy, y'all, I'm really the GOAT out here, bro. Chill out. Lemme bring it home. Let's bring home a classic. Let's bring home a classic, y'all.)
Ever since I got in this battle rap world, I knew I'd go to the top
I was right at the door but these niggas was controllin' the locks
Now, I'm on stage, point blank range, unloadin' a shot
Extravaganza; Adam Sandler died the same way, over a rock
If it's war waged, these four walls gon' absorb pain
Like a smuggler's kis tossed in a duffle, I proceed wit' caution through a crawl space
Blood pour stains on my North Face
While me and Jorge carve shapes and make sorbet out ya whore brain wit' a sawblade
Gourmet not be how y'all handle beef but it's our way
My clan's insane
This ya last chance to plan a change
Or spend ya lastin' days hands in face in fronta the candle flame
Tryna rebuke the viewa ya bitch movin' stupid in the back 'cause you can't stand the rain
What did you stand to gain?
Don't you want more children?
Why would you want fours spittin'?
If you and Caution planned parenthood, you better abort mission
This battle is a morgue visit
Mortician
More friction
Wit' one hand, I point and annoint the dead; get his corpse Christian
Boy, listen
How our legacies got the same span
When fame can have you spittin' in the face-a ya main man?
Nigga, I'm from gang land
If a bitch ever came between me and my nigga, it was a train ran
A whore is nothin' sacred
Growin' up complacent
Pourin' out liqour for niggas who ain't old enough to drink it
My aura's of the ancients
Get stabbed or burned with the Glock
But if this pearl jam, you'll get the alternative, Roc
Surf, I'm talkin' to you, too
We smashin' pumpkins in a lot, fam
As soon as that link in park, the killers come out, snatchin' Roc bands
You'll fall out, boy; when the beef is on, we lock and load
Pull up to his house, bumpin' Chuck Berry, ready to shoot the father of Roc and roll
He tried to lock the do' but fuck that; the Glock'll burn
Shot his auntie, popped the dog, shot the urn
He fell face first—is he dead? I'm not concerned
Kick him over, shoot him again—I'll leave no Roc unturned
Even though it wasn't Easter, somethin' odd occured
The moment Roc moved from in fronta the cave, God emerged
I am the resurrection of battle rap
They been debatin' for decades who the best; this settles that
I'm tellin' Smack
From this point on, my money doubles up
No more new niggas, no more such-his-face and fuckin' fuck-and-such
Where the fuck is Lux?
We can step today
The moment he chooses to take this L, you ex the way
Accept the pay
Fifty K is what my Venmo gon' say
Then I kill that other nigga from Harlem 'cause murder is my M.O., okay?
I am the resurrection of battle rap
Look at the pictures that I draw, clown
Ten Commandments
God himself used rock to lay the law down
Ask the staff; at first, they didn't wanna follow my greatness
Now, I'm surrounded by parallel lines like the numbers fallin' in Matrix
I am the resurrection of battle rap
I gave y'all, "Come outside." Restore Order
Swave stole it and been havin' fun wit' it
Y'all motherfuckers wanna take my flow and run wit' it?
That's cool; I was the first one wit' it
Bar God!