[Intro: Tonedeff and (Substantial)]
I’m just fucking with you (Word up). Check it out. Yo. It’s on the one, one, two (What?). It’s Tonedeff, y’all (Word up). Extended F@mm in the grill. Check it out, yo (Yo, Tonedeff, yo). Check it, yo

[Verse 1: Tonedeff]
I am one of the illest to rock on Fat Beats, but battling kids is
Making me feel like Carl Lewis at a handicapped track meet
Don’t open your mouth, dun, on the cracked teeth of a back beast
I could rap three times as hard and still come off as half the athlete
Battle me? You practically can’t even fax me
You winning would be like finding Danny Glover in the back of a cab seat
Can’t believe you that weak. You mad sweet
‘Cause, even if you’re an atheist, you’re in need of a Priest like Maxi
“Let the power of Christ compel you!” I pack
A lyrical flow so deep, even Noah couldn’t survive the deluge
Parks don’t even get the swing of things. I don’t know
What borough you from, but you’ll get cancelled like The King of Queens
I’m bringing things in more Powers than Austin
I’m a monster when I use flour to soften emcees and devour them often
Shower losses on you half-assed babies, you smell me?
You’re a wack Bastard, yelling, “Get in my belly!"
At the top of your lungs, mocking me comes at a price
When you bite my lines, I’m shocking the gums, chopping thumbs off
So you can’t hold your dick to piss again. I’ll slap a stamp
With the back of your corny ass and overnight you back to Switzerland
I’ll envelop you for every instance
You reach for a sandwich or every fucking time your tummy itches
You’re softer than twenty bitches when you cover dubs
You’re more pussy than the smell of a gynecologist rubber gloves
[Verse 2: PackFM]
It’s outrageous the way I stay ripping up these stages
I’ll spit shit so sick, you cats wish you were contagious
I’ll spread it like The Plague is, will vibe to silent pages
You stay kicking that fake shit, trying to blame it on The Matrix
You so wack, you’ll even leave a thief screaming, “I can’t take it!”
I get Biz like Mark. I’m catching wreck. You catching vapors
Don’t play with my yoyo. Fast-paced to slow mo
Invest like Sunoco off an eight-bar promo
Tryna battle us? Oh no. That’s not proper etiquette
You know Dominion be the "Fuck You I Rhyme Better" kids
Pass me a sedative. Rhymes are mad sick
With no hands, I’ll throw [tangents?] at catch mitts
Last kid tried to match with, got struck like a matchstick
And I ain’t see him hit the ground—medics came and got him that quick
We stretch like elastic disc and we snap back
Think you got punchlines? The truth is you getting laughed at
I’m a class act and a tough one to follow
Heard your rhyme. You suck and it’s obvious that you swallow
‘Cause you ain’t spitting. You need to turn it down a smidgeon
N***as said that you was def/deaf—they must’ve meant that you don’t listen
And if you’re not a singer, then stop all that rifting
‘Cause you hitting ‘bout as hard as three kittens wearing mittens

[Verse 3: Substantial]
One of the illest emcees this side the Mississippi
Bust rhymes in your grills, leave you traumatized and sticky
Real competition come and go like a quickie
Strictly ripping microphones for the love of it
Giving you my all, but you only catching some of it
Walking on solid ground and we’re the ones up under it
Providing stability our responsibility
Even with bronchitis, n***as wouldn’t sound ill to me
Eat an emcee like chicken wing, fried heart
Make a atheist scream, “Oh my God!”
Got dealt a bad hand trying to pull my card
N***as act hard—like Bruce Willis, they’ll Die Hard
I’ll be the last standing, catch wreck like crash-landings
Put in work like blue collars ‘cause rhyming is demanding
That’s why I’ll spit like my life hangs in the balance
For my suburb herbs and my n***as in ghetto housing
Fuck a pale horse—beware of the black stallion
Y’all played like gold-plated dollar-sign medallions
My superb flow go from zero to turbo. What can I
Say? We here to stay like the slang term “yo”
[Verse 4: Rok One]
Check it. I’ll get loose with more juice than Tropicana
Cock the hammer, squeeze off, drop the grammar
When I rock the crowd, make sure you got your cameras
I got this on lock like chain gangs and cotton planters
If the question is skills, Rok’s the answer, remedy
Radiate like chemotherapy to stop the cancer
Of this bitch-rapper propaganda. Son, watch your manners
I’m putting heads to rest and tell your crew to rock pajamas, sucker
Showing my skill, I’ll just go for the kill. Rappers
Should be mountain climbers—they’re so over-the-hill
I’ll permeate your skin. Everything I drop is toxic verbally
I’ll chop kids like ejection seats in helicopter cockpits
Even though I’m not a known rapper, I’m a microphone master
And half of y’all couldn’t catch wreck if it was thrown at ya
Get your bones fractured, face on a milk carton
Play the comic, bro. Your time is up like Phil Hartman
Military drill sergeant disciplining your team
I could turn a bunch of crack junkies into marines
It’s been in my genes to be a lyrical skill machine
Lights, camera, action, but fuck the silver screen

[Verse 5: Ocean]
We saw her at
The same time. You mad ‘cause I respond faster
She’s feeling me, so you’s a nonfactor
You think it’s hot now? Wait until it’s all mastered
I’ve got DJs waiting just to jump up on lackers
I’ll squeeze trash emcees until my palm fractures
The pain made me go and get a garbage compacter
[?] and I get together. We build like contractors
The joy that it brings you that is way beyond laughter
We do the science, work the angles like protractors
I try to feel these other rap cats, but they’re all actors
I hope they’re not posing for me, poor bastards
Running around, Tree-Top-clueless with no tactics
I’m trying to figure out ways for us to blow faster
Without the cocaine, the same old game
So y’all are here, losing y’all heads like Ichabod Crane
So I ain’t leaving until y’all sick of my name
I got scientists out here, picking my brain
My mind’s, in time, more powerful than my frame
Ten to one, you’ll always see with a fly dame
Y’all motherfuckers ain’t feeling my pain
One