Tarzan Will Come

[Round 1: Mr. Wavy] My attitude like, “None of these niggas fuckin’ wit’ me” These lil’ rappers they throwin’ ain’t really nothin’ to me Chef Trez...ayo, Smack, tell me what this about Wait, so this is the mission that niggas dishin’ out? So smokin’ you is gon’ get Brizz to come outta that hole I’m tryna fish him out? They brought me back to work in the DMV I guess it’s Ls I’m gon’ be givin’ out Chef Trez, you know you lost It’s no remorse, I’m goin’ off Hammer on me, it ain’t to hold ‘em off or show it off They squad up, my arm up: I’m like a know-it-all Head shot: push his shit back like a holding call What’s up? Stop talkin’ ‘bout the work you be pushin’! See, these niggas be they own flaws They’ll tell you who drive they own cars Who the connect, where they meetin’, who done sold hard That’s when you mask up wit’ the- Don’t matter, just know the chrome large I hit Trez, then come off the plug like the phone charged Straight menace He gon’ run to Tay Roc like, “Yo, they stole the coke, the bag, weed, straight finished All the weight lost (loss): Dre Dennis” You gon’ have to explain to Tay Roc for eight minutes! We both in V.A., but you ain’t safe in it Silencer, meet my freak bitch: she put her face in it And when they together, it don’t matter what time they snappin’ Close-range, he wouldn’t even know a sound was happenin’ ‘Cause the shit sound like...exactly - no crowd reaction! I’m back in this SHIT, nigga! Now we gon’ turn up! You a Writer? Well, I’m here to put that pen under Make ya men wonder, why, you a bench-runner Nigga ain’t been hotter than ten summers Pussy nigga wouldn’t bend rubber! The Chef? If you serve shells, it’s to end hunger If I serve shells, it’s to hit you, and leave ya mens under! ‘Cause this here? A fence-jumper This four ain’t no PIN number Fuck yo’ drive! ‘Cause the clip I’m holdin’ longer than a VIN number! You don’t do enough! Always talkin’ “he keep his toolie tucked” Fuck outta here! Nigga rockin’ the Lil Uzi cut! I’m suited up, ‘cause niggas actin’ like this a plate for me No, I’m suited up, you gon’ look like Drake to me I’m suited up, ‘cause this ain’t about who could hold a gun the tightest This about the Chef thinkin’ I was a plate Now you gon’ fuck around and catch a stomach virus! DMV, I’m pickin’ up where I left off! No, we in the DMV When I’m pickin’ up, whoever left? Off! ‘Cause it’s no games wit’chu! I don’t care if his lil’ gang wit’chu! I’m where the soldiers be No mask on, niggas know it’s me I walk up, Trez get the free smoke like stolen weed Social media had you 3-0’ing me? Let’s go and see Blade to his chest, I hold it down like I’m tryna reload the feed Who hoein’ me? All these dark-skin niggas wit’ oversized clothes: these niggas Jodeci! Automatic for the static Oh, they rollin’ deep? Well, you can’t dodge this big bitch forever: Professor Oglevee! It’s no chinks in my armor, but let me vent somethin’ See, when I first came, I had a PG when a PG really meant somethin’! My own style, own slogan Every battle, I’d invent somethin’! Rookies vs. Vets, my “zombie” line had the event buggin’! Summer Madness my first year - they can’t prevent nothin’ The crowd turned on me - that was corny - but I don’t resent nothin’ ‘Cause that shit made me the man I am! They ain’t prevent nothin’ But Chef Trez, you don’t present nothin’ You got your story wrong He just went to Cave Gang to get his glory on I did my thing better without the group: I’m like Omarion! Fuck is shorty on!? Man, it’s nothin’ that y’all tellin’ me Weaponry, I’ll be over the Top - BOW! - of this street (Streetz) nigga Now it’s him spittin’: it’s not Born Legacy That’s Round 1, y’all know I came to chalk him out I’ll look him dead in his fa- No, let me do me...truly...smooth, see I’ll rebuttal my own shit and have somethin’ rose from this new T (tee)! Bow! Round 1 [Round 1: Chef Trez] I say, yo Salute to the DMV Salute to Wavy, too, that nigga wild when rappin’ But I’m a real street nigga, nigga Like, really, the Cal’ is blastin’ You say it’s on silent like...the crowd reaction? They all focused I’ll BOW! so they look that way, then (*swoosh*)... Real killas get away wit’ a loud distraction See, I’m somethin’- You lookin’ in the sky like don’t none of this shit faze you ‘Til you the nigga I stick a blade through, the arm Movin’ left and right, I’ll let it wave through Intestines, liver, kidney, the nigga Wav’ through Knife to his back: I can even pedal through Wav’ (wave), too! This battle gon’ be somethin’ different You think I’m playin’, right? Say good night! You dead off rip Why would I take you light? You take advice? You should’ve stayed away from this stage, you ain’t as nice You got a push, popped out, then died, but that’s the way of life I wish you would trip! You ain’t never been on no hood shit! Stop the fakin’ Every nigga I know named Joseph was a good kid And yeah, my name is Santrez But in this ring, I slaughter guys So if they put Wav’ (wave) over San’ (sand) That’s only gon’ bring out my darker side! I’m one of the niggas you should run from You all performance, no bars Don’t forget where you come from! You’ll get a head shot and a leg shot wit’ a dum-dum Now you don’t gotta walk like a zombie, you gon’ become one! But how you walk all dumb wit’ it? You think it look slick? Nigga, even wit’ the biggest pants that way, it won’t fit You gotta salt the barrel, or remove the clip, wit’ double socks So when you tuck it in your shoe, the barrel don’t rub against your skin! Is he a killer? Naw! He prob’ly do got guns that can lift us all But these shits’ll shake America Have the country rockin’, like Tim McGraw! Wait, I say- You barely put in work Smack, that’s what y’all lettin’ him do? No promotion, no network, and that’s the way y’all lettin’ him move? Then he say I ain’t as nice as him? Well, shit, to tell him the truth You ain’t had a bar as fire in three years Nigga, you ain’t even better than- Wait, that wasn’t even you! Talkin’ ‘bout you “fathered it” That’s Montana of 300, you stealin’ other artists’ shit Well, for stealin’ from 300, I should off ya shit Catch ya bitch pushin’ ya seat out, give it that Sparta kick! He hella gassed off his Twork win But y’all think this fucker is nice Well, here’s some fuckin’ advice: Keep it rap, before I fuck up ya life Why would I cut him wit’ knives, when I could gun-butt him wit’ .9’s? Split through the dark, and have it goin’ against the white meat like Brother Polight You weak, scrap! Name any place in this world you wanna meet at If it’s beef, then the heat clap Gun under his chin Man, all that shit, and the way your name see that I’ll still shoot, barrel spark and flash under the beard I’m bringin’ Mr. T back! My bro called and said, “Chef” I say, “Bless” He said, “Don’t they find treasure in the bottom of the ocean?” I say, “Yes” He say, “So why you battlin’ Joseph? You already ahead a couple steps” ‘Cause you have to pass Wav’ (wave) when you bury that Chess (chest)! But it’s Mr. “Debatable” ‘til I squeeze a K It’s gon’ hit you, or your people’s face Now it’s really debatable, ‘cause I’mma put it to one (2-1) either way! Nigga, you can’t get street wit’ me! If you go to talkin’ wild, you better speak quickly If you beef wit’ me, you’ll get the MAC wit’ the bandanna tied around I’ll do the scene gritty Aim down, wit’ the rag over Wav’ (wave): watch him 360! You ain’t done much You let your shorty twerk on stage, you lil’ dumb fuck? If I let a ratchet show her ass, everybody gon’ witness a gun-butt! Your temple split It’s crazy I’m the one in love wit’ the gun...but you the one pistol-whipped! I don’t get ya kind Ain’t nobody shootin’ shit but me, this pistol mine It’s not far from us The ratchet jet-black: it’s my nigga .9 It’s gettin’ tragic for you Bitch-made nigga, you’ll let your homie clap it for you? Do the damage for you? Well, your best friend can turn to a dead man He can go from your best man to holdin’ ya casket for you Nigga, I don’t give that Nike check and the rose where you stand at Nigga, everybody in a Golden State ‘til they in a coma state for three months The Wesson the hand clap Long .30, have him curled up for a season: he’ll take a Kevin Durant nap Nigga, fuck it I say, nigga, I’m goin’ wit’ the basketball shit, and this nigga will miss if he let it ring Like, literally, he'll (Hill) miss the shot, then the Smith’ll fuck up everything! Time, time [Round 2: Mr. Wavy] This nigga actin’ like he chosen Close-range shot, you know he open Nah, nah, I said close-range shot What you movin’? What you movin’? (*click, click, click*) My Smith fuckin’ up: “J.R., what the fuck you doin’!?” Don’t come for me unless you sent fo’ Yeah, he the Chef, but your restaurant don’t got the “A” in the window Lemme talk to him See, rebuttalin’ is clever...but it don’t make you better That’s why your stats missin’ All he do is he’ll flip another nigga profile of work onsite You kinda catfishin’ Sometimes the rebuttal be fire, but sometimes the shit be ass I’m not gon’ pretend, dude See, they might not boo ‘cause they not tryin’ to offend you You only get reaction ‘cause your freestyle be off the top, just like the name of the venue O-Red said your- He said your verses be better than- No, he said your rebuttals be better than your verses… See, this why I’m your worst dream Your style unique, but sometimes, you gotta expose things See, they may temporarily be blinded by the bullshit But after a while, they gon’ all see right through you: you a smokescreen Fuck you mean? This a walk-up head tap ‘Cause you was hype off of that Chess match But dead that, ‘cause South Park was the last time we saw a Chef black - facts! Wait, wait, wait, but before I get in my zone quick and unload clips I think It’d be dope if I rebuttal my own shit Like, y’all remember South Park, right? It had Kenny, Cartman, Kyle, and I think Stan on it… No - can he dip? ‘Cause what’s in my cart? Man, a .50-cal’ wit’ the stand on it In URL, stop thinkin’ that you hard Prep and Ryda both beat you - stop thinkin’ that you God JC crossed you out like the logo of a Lincoln on a car Trez went to work with Rum and got fucked up The Chef shouldn’t have been drinkin’ on the job! Y’all want bars? Keep it real I know, I know, old Trez fans is like, “Yo, Wavy bringin’ up old battles-” I’ll tell you what’s the deal Y’all watch football? Then you know the drill ‘Cause it’s like a quarterback versus a quarterback See, we both goin’ head-to-head But the stats was all determined how you did against the niggas in the field FIRE, nigga! I’m on my bully! Brooklyn shit, nigga, my mind dangled I’ll bring a tres-cinco-siete to Trez: we speakin’ bilingual! He in parentheses, multiply: we doin’ times tables Try to dip, I fire sticks: I couldn’t find cable! Body shot! Body drop! But a face shot will change how God made you Y’all star ain’t gon’ be the same after the shot: he got Kawhi angles I’ll flame you, but I move smart See, I defend wit’ honor Heart cold, empty monster Who actin’? I ain’t win any Oscars You Blood? Well, your loved one will get a red box Maybe ya aunt, ya mama Wait - a red box is Aunt Jemima Look, I handle Llamas and send the drama to end the karma Have the Chef surrounded: reservations at Benihana’s! Usually, it’s middle fingers up: fuck what you believe If y’all the X-Men, you’d be Jubilee - who disagree? That weapon I state? Close to my mid Wess’ (Midwest): Tennessee Think I’m gon’ lighten up behind these rounds? I ain’t DJ Kid Capri I’m in the streets Monopoly game board: keep a piece .38, do the Spinaroonie: Booker T! Look at me! Look at me! Look at me, nigga! Look at me! I can tell you wanna clone shit But I think it’d be dope if I rebuttal my own shit Now remember this last Survivor Series? Now this guy can relate But you gon’ dig it, sucka He gon’ die to escape I did the Spinaroonie, then waved a 5 in his face! You told Chess, “Without the Chef cookin’, ain’t nobody eatin’ in this shit” ...No, that’s what them Cave niggas told you before you got done wit’ the clique I see it now Ave was like, “You a Chef? Mu’fucka, bring that plate right back I want a steal, well-done - nigga, straight like that!” Brizz heard him, too He was like, “Oh, so you a Chef, huh?” Trez like, “Of course, five” He said, “I want an omelet, toast...but I like mines a little on the dark side.” You know Tay Roc heard this nigga, right? “If you cookin’ for the Cave, my nigga, it better be dead nice! I want a cheeseburger wit’ no pickles, nigga - THAT’S LIGHT!” Chef Trez, he ran to the kitchen That nigga’s so eager to flame He like, “Damn, if they fuck wit’ me, I’mma be gang gang gang I ain’t gotta battle none of them niggas! ALL my enemies changed!” “Yo, where the fuck my food!?” Trez came back wit’ all three of them thangs! He lookin’ at me like, “He not NIIIICE!” He’s sayin’ a bunch of things that ME NO LIIIIKE! Niggas ampin’ you up to go go and fight Too bad you ain’t gon’ be Champion of the Night That’s Round 2, y’all know I came to chalk him out I’ll look him dead in his face and ask him, “Fuck is you talkin’ ‘bout?” Wavy [Round 2: Chef Trez] I say...I was on the job, right Doin’ what I do, goin’ through some shit, but my mental like, “Don’t let it stop you.” My nigga Ave like, “Make my shit straight. Like. That.” I said, “Aight, my nigga, I got you.” Tay Roc said, “Nigga…” “Aight, my nigga, I got you.” Brizz say- “Aight, my nigga, I got you.” So I’m in the workspace and they tellin’ me to never be lackin’ ‘Cause a nigga might come in, and niggas be actin’ savage So if a nigga rob me while I’m makin’ all three of them thangs, it’d be his worst day And I was drinkin’ on the job - Chef keep the .40 in the workplace I say, you supposed to be top-tier at this point, Wavy! I know the fact that you stuck in the same spot got you goin’ crazy You got a nice movement, but your career dead, and you can’t fight through it ‘Cause your biggest moment is bein’ a zombie, so it’s impossible to bring life to it I’ll get this man a coffin Spin his block wit’ the hammer sparkin’ The arm out the window, Wav’ (wave), like I seen family walkin’ I can’t stand the talkin’, but let me get the feel dawg is violent I’mma drop the situation...wit’ ya jaw behind it! You tired bitch! Beat Shine fast-rappin’ ass, and think you at the top of the chain, nigga? Well, I got a K spittin’ wit’ rapid-fire Let’s see if the outcome be the same, nigga! You was on big stages It don’t bother you that you here? It’s crazy you made noise beatin’ Twork, but he the one that added volume to (Volume 2) his career You wasn’t wildin’ out! You wasn’t wit’ us on every stage fightin’ ‘til the vets started dyin’ out You was dyin’ out, in Bed-Stuy, hidin’ out Well, for all that runnin’, get shot in the leg You wasn’t ridin’ out But think he savage I’ll put a big cap to a goon knee (Gooonie): he’ll take the Ryda route Just leave the venue before you get your life damaged In real situations, he might panic You better bolt (boat) Let that sink in, Wav’ (wave), like the Titanic This sucka done! Niggas always backin’ out on you, makin’ you have to reschedule, you fuckin’ bum If I back out on you in a battle, they’ll never be able to book you for another one! You can’t write wit’ me Or post on the block for a night wit’ me, servin’ nice sticky When you bag it up, it look like you handin’ out Rice Krispies See, I played ball and ran the streets And wit’ that same line, exactly why I played point guard ‘Cause I could make calls for the trap and go for the steel (steal) at the same time You told Twork, “Two K’s (2K), horizontal view: niggas playin’ on broadcast” Aw, you play 2K, too? Well, I got two K’s, too They work best when you aim down on a nigga: we in 2K view! I’m doin’ dawg tragic I’m strapped up, plain .9 wit’ the sparks blastin’ Nobody gon’ jeopardize my career (MyCareer), plus I doubt you part savage Online, he mean, but run in-person, get caught lackin’ Won’t even make it off his feet before the shot get released, like the Park laggin’! Aye, that bucket hat Chef? They used to like those days And that’s what you gettin’ now, you ‘bout to die on stage Remember that small gun, nigga? Yeah, mine gon’ spray But you don’t see the heat, just hear it when it go off: it’s micro, Wav’ (microwave) I’ll come to where he stay- (*Suddenly, a scuffle breaks out off-camera at the back of the venue, and everybody looks at where the fight is happening to try and stop the situation. A brief pause in the action*) Aye, now that shit threw me off Yo... I say, nigga, I had this shit painted perfectly Yo, I said, I had this shit crafted perfectly, but niggas sabotagin’ the fuckin’ picture All that fightin’ in the crowd, whatever, dawg, y’all some sucka niggas Now, Smack, I’m sorry this shit had to happen You know I’m fuckin’ wit’ ya But when you punch like this, it usually got influence on other niggas! Yo, I say, I’ll come to where you stay, snatchin’ ya shit Killin’ ya mom, dad, bitch, dog, even the cat in ya crib Leave out, but remember I forgot to shoot Joseph, so I backtrack to that bitch Since I forgot the Wav’ (to wave), it’s only right I come back wit’ the fif’ You crazy if you try and scrap He wanna fade me, ‘til he the one I spray the .9 at He had heart ‘til I left Wavy lyin’ (line) flat! He ain’t really made for this life Directin’ the church, Lord You ever cause pain to niggas for real? Well, I hurt more Gang shit, fuck your beliefs We could have a turf war Shotgun shells hittin’ Wav’ (wave): look like a surfboard! Look, Wavy, I’mma lose my cool if you lie in another line You ain’t clutchin’ .9’s or hittin’ licks You give off a frontin’ vibe You don’t know about wearin’ winter clothes in the summertime Hat, mask, long sleeves and gloves: look like a fuckin’ mime Time [Round 3: Mr. Wavy] Spit Dat Heat, Writer’s Bloque, Bullpen… Now you Cave Gang Chef Trez should be yo’ slave name Spit Dat Heat where you was knockin’ at Writer’s Bloque is where you locked in at Bullpen, you coulda been on top of that Now you Cave Ga-? We gotta put a stop to that See, ‘cause you Blood don’t mean you gotta be everywhere what’s (wuz) poppin’ at But I guess he think this his season end (seasoning) But, Trez, everything I do, I move around wit’ ingredients Like my whip the color of paprika My honey know I’m touchin’ a lot of state cheese So bae seal (basil) her mouth and don’t say things She just there to get that onion powdered and then bae (bay) leave But chill, he (chili) on that powder But yet, niggas done rolled the dice on him I understand you the Chef, but let me mix up these words, but sprinkle spice on ‘em Like, you’ll get kidnapped, you and your bae sealed (basil) for about 100 hours BOW! The soul of your bae (bay) leave when that pap reek her (paprika) But don’t think I ain’t got nothin’ louder ‘Cause if the guard lick (garlic) a shot, then Trez leave wit’ that onion powdered You’se a fuckin’ coward, and you don’t really be ready to ride Real beef, you can’t sleep knowin’ your opps is alive You be official, paranoia, it be all in your mind Niggas think that you cool, niggas think that you fine But fuck that, ‘cause you about to be a victim of mine You stare like you got heart, but to me, his vision is blind Your style not intimidatin’, I see it all in your vibes Hazel contacts, yo, Trez - lightin’ up wit’ them eyes ‘Cause a face problem, niggas’ll straight rob him Pull out a grip, you got a .8 problem Hammer over your eyebrows like a fitted wit’ a gray bottom He from Golden State? Warrior? Man, I’ll make this shit hotter than South Beach Catch you out East, this face shot final BOW! Now the Chef got a real reason to lose that mouthpiece! I’m the wrong man, wit’ a long can Hammer everywhere that I go like I’m a Thor fan He step and get hit wit’ the left...I used the wrong hand But I still gave him somethin’ for nothin’: nigga, this God’s Plan! Act like you Tarzan! Come swing through my ‘hood like you that guy! MAC fly! Stomach shot, he feel it in his gut like a bad vibe! Keep calm, don’t act shy You Blood-bang, you that guy I’ll hit five wit’ a four-fif’: sound like a cap size Headshot: I changed his cap size! Blood all over the body: nigga got baptized! We don’t do subs, I’m really at (@) guys Since Brizz ain’t wanna jump in the ring, I had to attack five They thought you was trash! I ain’t look at you like no wack guy So before y’all label me an Undertaker, don’t hold this body over my head ‘cause this his Last Ride! Finish him! ‘Cause niggas tried to forget Wav’ Well, I’m back, sharp as a switchblade Get brave I’m Wild n’ Out wit’ a Cannon, but I ain’t Nick age Yo, P, I could’ve took that bread and not showed up, like I used one of my sick days Four promotions! Another promotion! Nigga, the fif’ (fifth) raised! I’m strapped in!... Nah, nigga, I already clapped him! The pool stick is back in The kickback made me backspin I rewind: backspin Moonwalk: Mike Jackson! My bro still shootin’ - he fuck around and clap him! ‘Cause I don’t even feel the need to write for this nigga! I’m not gon’ hold you, I was tight I had to write for this nigga If you was hungry, I wouldn’t share a bite wit’ this nigga Domino’s pizza: he wouldn’t give a slice to this nigga! Fuck that! I’ll probably give a slice to this nigga! Look at your kicks - I don’t even like the Nikes on this nigga! If he was gettin’ jumped, extra leg work I’ll exercise-bike on this nigga! Swear to God, I will break every Constitutional right on this nigga! ‘Cause I swear to God, he be leadin’ the people! You said some shit wit’ some confidence, and I swear they believed you! You said, “AR in the pants leg” and you walk regular ‘cause you used to it AR in his PANTS- AR in them pants legs! And you walk regular ‘cause you used to it AR in the- Where was you goin’? Who you had beef wit’!? You was walkin’ reg- S-so niggas ain’t peep shit? See, that combat? Niggas don’t really be on that! I respond back! Don’t be lyin’ (lion) on the arm like a LeBron tat’ But fuck it, since y’all jackin’ that, fuck it, I might as well do a lil’ some of my own shit I got a rocket launcher in my pants leg… My back pocket, I got a missile, nigga! But nobody could tell ‘cause I was walkin’ like a crippled nigga That’s Round 3, y’all know I came to chalk him out I’ll look him dead in his face and ask him, “Fuck is you talkin’ ‘bout?” Wavy, nigga [Round 3: Chef Trez] That nigga Wavy called me, I was like, “Yo, what’s good, my brotha?” He like, “Nah...Bed-Stuy in the building, you ugly mu’fucka… Where. Is you. Going!?” “To see your mother The AR in my pants, my nigga - it’s a rubber” (*laughs*) We on that funny shit, right? [Mr. Wavy] I ain’t hear what he said, I ain’t get that (*chuckles*) [Chef Trez] Aye, I said, you been irrelevant your whole career What happened, clown? I thought you woulda graduated after John and Shine You know, got your cap and gown But it seems your last battle got you big-headed like you snappin' Wow! Another Cardi B: the Twork (twerk) got bitches thinkin' they rappers now But you don't get no shine, to be true, scrap Hell, we almost forgot that you rap When Beasley called and said, "You got Wavy," I almost asked the nigga, "Who that?" See, I peep flaws You rarely in the field for real, if I can recall You pussy, too Don't seem like a shooter, or the type that's wit' the street brawl You'll get pistol-whipped, then catch bullets You think it's sweet, dawg? Get the handle, shot, then celebration: we playin' street ball! He don't get what I'm sayin'? He think he gon' murk the Chef? I talked to Roc, see, he said, "You gon' kill him? Are you certain?" Yes So you X'd out Leave where you at or all (Adderall) your niggas could merge wit' death I got the .30 and they itchin' for the peel (pill): that's a Percocet! You a fuckin' comedian! All on the funny lines! But when I grab a MAC (Mac) wit' the ray (Deray) on it and start dumpin' mine Hit the cats (Katt) wit' you, then let shots Rock your heart (Hart), let's see who's the funny guy! Bitch nigga, stop actin' All that cappin' won't work, clown When you was gettin' off your school bus, I was sellin' my first ounce Ya don't know what pain like I'll aim right, I bet it hurt now Leg shot, neck shot, he tried to run...but could only do the Twork bounce! When it come to not sayin' shit, you one hell of a guy Even though you only had one fire moment, they still lettin' him try Well, I'm reckless, my weapon'll fly Another fella to die First it was arm wave, then the deuce: "Hello, goodbye." It's "Shotgun in the pants leg, he walkin' like a zombie wit' it." Well, a shotgun'll pump his bitch stomach Now she walkin' like a mummy wit' it! Nigga, I don't get the clown! Against Twork, you kept yellin', "I'm in the Town!" Well, when you get boxed, let's see if you that hype when you in the ground! I'll spin his block like a PG battler ready to spit a round Stop Snoopin' - Baby Boy'll see dawg (Dogg) wit' the window down But Champion...where y'all at? Champion, y'all act like 'cause a nigga don't battle often, he automatically gon' kill stuff But do y'all not know that when you leave shit sittin' on the shelf, it builds dust? Or if a machine don't get put to use, it builds rust? But he a star and got bars? Them pair of lies (paralyze) the reason he losin' his real touch! Nigga, fuck Champion! I don't fool wit' them clowns I'll TEC Tech, put a .9 to Blac, and sit a few of them down! Talkin' 'bout "he got more fire moments than me" - nigga, quit lyin'! He only had two fire bars his whole career Y'all niggas dick-ridin'! Fuck Wavy! I'll have the weapon flyin' I'll give you the metal (medal) for puttin' on a show You can be Champion of the Night for a second time! You speak vicious But once again, just up here actin' wit' weak writtens Well, if performance is all you need, then I see why they believe in it But I thought I was gon' get a dangerous Wav' (wave), that make ships sink in it Instead, I'm up here havin' fun wit' Wav' (wave): this shit a beach visit! 30-love! I'm a killer to you! Dirty snub: wit' the nose, I got some pickin' to do! Against Shine, talkin' 'bout "pullin' the race card" Fuck that - debit and credit I got a perfect score on my face card! Dawg, I will kill you in real life Nah, you ain't worth the pain Who am I kiddin'? Burst his brains Have Joseph sprayed out Now it's Wavy through the city: I caused a hurricane Nigga, time