[Round 1: XT]
My rep is dangerous like some powdered coke fronts
You're a softie on wax like some sourdough lumps
Yo you need to take a shower, I smell your powerful funk
You cower seeing us, your quarter-hour seems up
For me it took a snorted bump, a courted slut, divorce and drugs
To force the fuzz to forage this fudge
Look, it's the black Forrest Gump
You beating me? But tell me who here didn't
I'm on a two-year mission to prove that your shit's written
And if I fucking lose, this crowd will know that you're still just a two-bit dipshit
And I think Grind Time would wanna choose this drugged-out misfit
Over your Run's House mixes sounding like Jojo's twin, bitch
I come to Oakland, then I maul with my moniker
But you all on my balls acting like a hall monitor
I called up your mom to come over, 'cause I promised her
This is trailer park trash, versus some barely-known cat
You would need a Jheri curl track, and without that I would doubt that you ever looked black
Yo, Grind Time

[Round 1: D-Lor]
Nobody considers me a fresh Cali rhymer
Until I get on stage, and put him in a Death Valley Driver
Fuck the battle bars, I'll end your breath
I'm out for the Dragon Star on a ninja quest
I'll cook ya' mom some crystal meth, then tell that bitch to kiss the chef
But fuck this bitch emcee, let's get to me
About how I enjoy the simple things like, spitting heat, and slapping the fuck out of this brittle geek
See, back when we was up in Pop Warner and Little League
XT was in the rink, practicing his triple deke
And that's just to show you that I'm better with mine, watch the veteran shine
See X is such a sensitive guy, and I ain't letting it slide
He likes to give head, to all the men in his ride
The only time he feels pussy, is getting in touch with his feminine side
You can't spit in my eyes, you're just a worthless human
Living a life with absolutely no purpose to it
You think you styling on me? You can't merc' me stupid
[Round 2: XT]
D-Lor, you're just a faggot that's blabbering
I'm sure you've paid dues playing Magic: The Gathering
The crowd here's the truth, this is a catalyst and battery
You need to go back to mathematics and practicing
'Cause all that dick-riding he does is not taken as flattery
Yo, I fucking leave you scarred and hurting when I feed you brain blows
It's like battling fucking LeVar Burton from Reading Rainbow
Having a star's bankroll, fucking, this numbnuts should be grateful, asking to be badly strangled
You're ashy and you're mangled
I'll turn your hat into a halo and make you daddy's little angel
See, it's a mystery to me, how a bitch turning tricks on Christmas Eve high on speed
Could have skipped a gene and misconceived so at birth you came out looking like Mr. T and the missing link
Sorry, but beating me's a distant dream
You need to stick to things for witless geeks, like being clean and, counting sheep
Yo, I smoke an ounce a week while you pout and squeak with sound that's bleak
Look around the streets D-Lor, your rhymes put the Town to sleep
Yo-

[Round 2: D-Lor]
You think you beating me? Lots of luck
My squad is tough, stopping us is harder than stalling up an armored truck
Homie, you probably rap about how I count sheep and rep Vacaville
But, you're so pussy you're Vagisil
Actually, you're not really rapping ill
Yo, I'm coming back and I'll fucking slash his grill like a slasher film
'Cause that's how I do it 'cause I got the hatchet still
Homie, nobody thinks this guy is rhyming
He acts like he lived a life of violence
Like he lived in, Pelican Bay or, Riker's Island
When the truth is, you're about as nice at rhyming, as Miley Cyrus
Plus, he listens to the Dave Matthews Band, and They Might Be Giants
So how the fuck can this kid get hype? He's never witnessed strife
He used to throw fits and cry, when his daddy went on a business flight
You from Sacramento? Well, let me get this right
When I fist his dyke, her clit gets like, the Christmas lights, in Citrus Heights
[Round 3: XT]
But look, D-Lor is from middle-class Vacaville, that's a place where little-ass faggots chill and zero to no crack is dealt
You watch Heroes with your boyfriend while you two applicate the Vagisil
You know how I know he's pussy? 'Cause he drinks chamomile and reads Danielle Steel
Fucking somebody get this guy out of the closet
I'm gunning for hot chicks, he's giving hummers in bathrooms at Hot Topic's
Look, his alias in chatrooms is Hot For Cock Chocolate
Homie, your 'Frisco cap
Take that off remove your shirt, you would be on Castro asking where the fuck's the disco at
Yo, nice dance, you hop and fiddle
Yo, your rhymes sound like a topping riddle, yo, bob my hibble
Yo, 'cause you eat kibble, yo this is a rhyme that's ending
Yo, you ain't fucking hardcore you soft like Splenda
Yo I use you like a fake sedative, yo, all of your relatives will know that I'm ten years logically ahead of them
Yo I'm not saying you're fucking, not dope at battling
But you and me have done this nine times and, I don't know if you've ever won
Yo, 'cause I kill it son

[Round 3: D-Lor]
Yo, on the real, I think this kid's scared
I'm about to smack him and watch his bitch hair turn whiter than Ric Flair's
Whoo
Homie, you think you the cock of the walk, with provocative talk?
This right here, is meant to get your posse to stop and think, "Possibly not"
Yo, I'll put you in a triangle choke, and knock out ya' oxygen box
And leave your esophagus blocked till all consciousness stops
You were arrested for petty crime, and larcenous plots
So how he gonna escape me, when he can't even evade the cops on his block?
I'm at the spot at the top, with a massive mental
You see him mobbing in his family's Pinto, fronting like, "I crashed the Benzo"
See, that's a rental
For me, getting money is actually simple
For you, getting cash is the definition of accidental
You ain't a rapper, you some standard-issue, sacrificial faggot with bad enough luck to have me rap against you