[Round 1: Swervoo]
I said…is Swerv’ done rappin’, or URL got him shelved?
That’s what y’all was guessin’
It ain’t nothin’ but erratic energy to send y’all a message
It ain’t about bars
Y’all like shit that’s right under y’all nose, and that’s the only reason y’all accept him
N***a, grab a weapon
‘Cause your death, I’m finna book it
Where I’m from, ain’t no attachments on the gun
It’s standard button, and you just push it
It’s the 7.62s, so as far as the piece, in the DMV
It don’t matter if it’s old, Franchise…it’s the Bullets!
I’mma pull it!
If y’all brave, tell Smack, “Take full cover” (?), then I’ll stay
Wit’ one 12, ‘bout to catch a rapper in Florida, it’s Rod Wave
Muzzle the gun, I came to let the chrome off where y’all stay
With a silencer, and this bitch tone soft as Sade
AK, it get to hackin’ at limbs in broad day!
Now the athlete fucked up on one leg
He done ruined a parlay!
Let y’all play, we gon’ drive down your one-way
You try to box instead? We gon’ lift SIGs
This mothafuckin’ car might not be reversible, but the clip is
You gon’ get his, we gon’ kill the n***a
Shattered organs, I’m talkin’ nothin’ but ribs and liver
Leave the soccer player body on your doorstep
I know it was unexpected, but here’s the kicker!
I don’t fear the n***a, we endure pressure
Since a youngin, we had toy guns way before seven
Losin’ loved ones growin’ up
To see another day, only if the Lord let ‘em
Brought more TECs in
I sold ghost guns, but didn’t feel bad, ‘cause once you buy it, it’s your weapon
I just needed to get paid, then the machine made (maid): it’s George Jetson
I learned more lessons
Selling stolen shoes for rock, leavin’ ‘em folded and planted
Way before Illuminati, n***as was gettin’ they soles (souls) took for granite (granted)
I mean this
I was a robber, you played soccer, so peep this
If it was any foul play in the field, both our rewards was free kicks!
And I mean this!
All of it’s mistaken!
I’m ‘bout to leave all these whores in the basement
Extra 20 in the clip, and boy, I’mma blaze it
Leave the athlete on front of the pro mag’: it’s Sports Illustrated
I get to bombin’!
After you, it’s the rest of yo’ crew, I’m finna harm ‘em
I’m a sick n***a
See nothin’ but food in Every Fuckin’ Bar, it’s Jeffrey Dahmer
Grab the arm, and then I crash
I’m talkin’, bullets hit the glass
I’mma need the best lawyer in the world, ‘cause Every Fuckin’ Bar passed!
See Danny Myers, I’mma spaz!
Rum tried to get away ‘cause he dashed
Now it’s Men in Black
I walk up on you like, “Ay-ay, you seen the Alien?”
FLASH!
That’s for my past!
But you see, bro, we came from the bottom not seein’ hope
My grandfather tellin’ me he put me in his will, the last time that he spoke
In the house it was weed smoke
Only had one game system, couldn’t even cope
My Nintendo stopped workin’ is when I realized that we (Wii) broke
And it’s Murrland
[Round 1: Franchise]
No Lackin’!
We got Franchise on NOME
You know that I’m steppin’
I’m the only reason you on this card, that’s not even a question
So just think about it:
Before all the sports that you mentioned
A soccer player giving you the shot, Swerv’...it’s David Beckham!
I’m ‘bout to up it in seconds
(*click-click*)
They said the contract was 2:30, n***a
I showed up wit’ .357s
Ain’t no survivors
White sheets wit’ the shells inside ya
I’m talkin’ Swerv’ in the coroner’s (corners) like Pinky’s driver
I up the hammer…
BOW! Then body Swerv’: it’s a belly dancer
Your stock would hardly gain
If I ain’t give you this shot, it would never change
I’m the only reason you on NOME, my n***a
Stop the games
It’s apparent (a parent) why they picked you: Bronny James!
I peel shit!
(Wake up!)
It’s apparent (a parent) why I picked you: Bronny James!
I peel shit!
I break buildings down, my n***a, I’m a killswitch
Might even label me a bomb threat…like Real Sikh!
I up it and wave it!
Clap it and bang it!
This shit can go down at any minute: Anthony Davis!
I left the whole scene litty
(WHAT!? It’s already over!)
I left the whole scene litty
I caught his bitch at the crib, cracked her head on the floor, she tried to flee quickly
She fell to the ground, then got stomped in the tile (towel) like P. Diddy!
You said you could sell speed to a State Trooper?
Great move
I hustle, I used to sell food
N***a, I could sell pussy to J2!
(No Lackin’!)
The feds was tryna charge me for PCP, n***a
You don’t know what type of time I was on
I was on the run for cycling wet
Sound like a triathlon
I’m ‘bout to check dawg!
We had crack, weed, and fentanyl
But blew up off the white girl: that’s a sex doll
He got shot in his center
Drive-by, I’ll pull a Heckler
Skrrt off…scott-free like Kylie Jenner!
I’m ‘bout action!
I’m ‘bout action!
I’m ‘bout action! Chrome clappin’!
Two words…
You don’t know who you messin’ wit’
I’m ‘bout to check a bitch
I’ll let it spit with another clip
Code word “bumper cars” (What that mean?)
I hit Swerv’ with the rubber grip!
I’m testin’ ya heart!
I’ll break ya fuckin’ neck, then set it apart
Crack, snap, then (*pop*) like ASMR
We hit the family roots!
GPS, we try to find addys
Cousins, uncles, grandmas, even shot aunties
They’ll carry (Carrie) your mom and bury (Barry) your son: it’s a white family
Remember my intersection? Smith & Wesson?
I’m ‘bout to tell you about the rest of the block
We used to mess wit’ the opps at the Mexican spot
Forever was hot, some shit I never forgot
We hit that block with hundreds of shots
You know what we called that intersection, n***a!?
Heckler & Koch!
These rounds was perfectly crafted ‘cause you ain’t as great
Imagine Travis Kelce and Swift having a baby
Tailor (Taylor)-made!
I up a K, a bullet stuck in your fuckin’ plate
The surgery took hours, half a day
They spent hella time on your chest: Flavor Flav!
I’m ‘bout action, chrome-
Time, n***a
[Round 2: Swervoo]
I said…
Lately, I been on solo missions, ‘cause that’s just often best
You n***as run wit’ a crew, or a crowd, ‘cause y’all cause a threat
I’m wit’ KMM, you wit’ EFB
So that’s why we all gon’ step
‘Cause we know it’s a risk of one of us taking on Franchise alone
So that’s why we all in vest (invest)
I’mma put this all to rest ‘cause bro so basic!
It’s the same shit wit’chu! It’s all about the placement
First you tell us what they do, and then insert a close reference
It’s like a job application
The shit’s sickenin’ to me!
Your whole style is Above the Rim
‘Cause you make a round outta nothin’ like Tom Sheppard, and the shit is just weak
Or you say some gangsta shit like Birdie, and then it’s a Flip on the streets
I don’t get it!
To me, it was just all propaganda
You say some shit that sound good, then it’s just constant pander
Like, I could do it - we was runnin’ armed wit’ hammers
Sellin’ so much, uh, work, n***as started askin’
You just said you from a intersection called Smith & Wesson?
Well, that’s somethin’ that y’all would fathom
We stretched work and we had guns on my block
You know what my intersection was called?
N***a, Arm & Hammer!
One call I answered
Not one of my part of my life gone steady
My uncle died off water
I wish he woulda stuck on reggie
The funeral home gave us 50 percent off
‘Cause he smoked so much PCP, he did half of the work already!
That’s why it was constant wit’ the stuff!
Lean, suboxone wasn’t enough
I mean, work was in the floor so the profit wasn’t gettin’ touched
It started in the mattress, then eventually thrown in the tile (towel)
But we was never giving up
I mean, yo’ content usually a little sus
You talked to Yunus like you tough
Wit’ me, I don’t give a fuck
I done been pallbearer for fallen homie, after fallen homie, after fa-
And it seemed I had enough
You could never talk to me like no virgin
You know how many BOXES I done touched!?
He gettin’ plucked, and he just know they on
I done had n***as in the courtroom losin’ they freedom, and they know it’s gone
The judge asked my man, “What drove you to do something so sick?”
He said, “A stolen car”
I’ll grab a AR!
And I’m like, “Fuck it. Now his fam’ got nothin’- got no memories of his soccer games ‘cause he ain’t tuck it.”
And the last thing his mother seen him kick was the bucket!
I’m like, “Fuck it!”
(*Swervoo chokes, paces, tries to remember his next bar, and cuts his round short*)
[Round 2: Franchise]
Your career been in the same state
Kelz your manager?
She’s always drunk, and that can lead to great mistakes
How the fuck she gon’ push your career if she’s always intoxicated and makes mistakes?
Every event, it’s a different bottle, and that’s why your career's been stuck in place
‘Cause she’s just under the influence of Rum like Elijah Strait!
We gon’ talk freely!
Your career’s been at a stay-easy
She’s so much of a alcoholic, she got y’all battling in a club named Mart-
I’mma stop it here!
All she care about if them tickets go
OSBL, it’s at the do’
She used to snakin’ her client like Tony Bro
How many battles do you get!?
Then she charge you a fee
N***a, 99 percent of your battles be at home, we can see
Why the fuck do they call her "Kelz" if all she does is roam DMV?
N***a, tell me the truth!
N***a, the shit ain’t fun
You and your manager? What kinda shit y’all done?
I could show you 99 Problems, but could you show me why this bitch ain’t one!?
This shit never been enough
N***a, you better smarten up!
‘Cause your career…been on the line like a telemarketer!
It’s straight comas, when I flame on ya
Wit’ the copper, n***a: it’s a slave owner
That was a bad disaster
Bullets go in and out the body, I clapped him after
The coppers go through you, like Jaz The Rapper
I’ll pine-box ya
Remember those last two bars? Every line proper
Those were just copper tips: Crimestoppers!
You ever seen a body at your youngest age?
Shit shook you up for a couple days
Right beside death like a hearing aid!?
I’m bipolar, ain’t no talking to me
Type-a n***a to tie a rope around your neck, then tell you “It’s (k)not what it seems.”
I seen bitches that handle it well
Stuff a brick in their jeans, yeah, bag in itself
A ki’ by the private parts…chastity belt
I used to have work, it’s true
O.T., we served ‘em food
Even trapped in a small town, like Beetlejuice
What that cap about?
On site, Magnum out
As soon as I first seen this pussy
It’s a casting couch
Mano-a-mano if it’s wreck!
We bombin’ on your set
Target with the flesh
The switch work by itself, it’s autocorrect
Brand new gun, I’m chain’ him
Aimin’ it, sprayin’ it
He like, “What kinda metal was that?”
Vibranium!
You bottom-tier in the DMV!
I don’t think that you get the picture
Saflare, Footz, Woosaah - they all better than ya
Jakk’, Drugz. Quban, Ryda - do y’all get it wit’cha?
Ain’t it ironic?
I ain’t even mention Prep yet, and that was already, like, seven n***as!
I’m ‘bout action! Chrome packin’!
Two words…(No Lackin’)

[Round 3: Swervoo]
Like I was saying, the last thing his mother seen him kick was the bucket!
I’m like, “Fu-”
I ain’t gotta tuck it, he gettin’ hit wit’ a cold right
He be out for a whole night
I’ll be damned if he gon’ fight
‘Cause you talk about choppas, and you played soccer
You ain’t use your hands your whole life
N***a, hold tight!
We was born sinners
Evil thoughts since we was children
I mean, it started as imagination, but that’s before we heard the whispers
I don’t believe in second chances, just death and consequences
And I only believe in a Parallel Universe
‘Cause I seen a Franchise tag, but he was no longer wit’ us
See, lately I ain’t been in no rotation
They got me outta town
It’s extra points ‘cause I don’t know no faces
They asked me, “Why you don’t ask blessings from God?”
Tssh, it’s oh-so basic
‘Cause if I prey on you, then send you to Him
I just figured my prayers just gon’ make it
Tell bro, don’t fake it
‘Til your family watchin’ a search party on the news
I just did him oh-so flagrant
Another Black parent gotta see his son missin’ from the TV
And he was found in no remote location
See, y’all playing a game
The lies is ‘cause of y’all, and y’all the ones to blame
See, this n***a pen…was-
This n***a pen used to be great, then shit just up and changed
Now he say shit like, “Paul Walker: Swerv’ death”
See, Franchise ain’t been the same
Play a game! I’ll let a tool spark
Now somebody around you dyin’ ‘cause you talked
Docs approachin’, askin’ “Come and sit and talk to me,” like Lou Rawls
Now you off, and you sittin’ and prayin’, hopin’ that the news fall
But the soccer player just gotta stick through it: it’s foosball!
I’m too off!
You don’t know me
I done sent shooters from East to Midwest
That’s old me
Came back, was straightforward with the (K)nicks, that’s Anunoby
On my right, I passed the .9 to my shooter, that’s Ginobili
But on my right, he done did time
I can’t give the felon (fell in) the chopper…that’s Kobe
See, that’s the old me
See, now we creep on him
We put him in nothin’ but white sheets on him
Go ahead and pick your options
Either the morgue or cremation, so keep talkin’
You can’t make your mind up if you wanna be on that cold table?
Well, I’mma help you sleep on it
I’mma keep bombin’!
Round, bro

[Round 3: Franchise]