[Round 1: Rum Nitty]
Kill switch!
We got Rum muthafuckin' Nitty versus...Sukhwinder Singh
AKA Real Sikh
Fuck a status quo
Fans tellin' me I can't do nothin' with Real Sikh, I gotta up the antidote
All headshots hit his turban, bust his cantaloupe
Get Real (w)rap every round, from a Calico(e)
My talent shows, we got a different skill set
I give a fuck about how many biggity biggity siggity similes you got, you still wack
From one of my punchlines, a n***a get killed Smack
But that's the difference between the metaphor (and Real rap)
I'm still strapped, I'll let a shot fire
You're Indeed LinkedIn with a Monster like a job finder
Ya dawg dyin'
They gon' say I got Real Sikh (sick) and lost my mind, like Alzheimers
Think you gon' knock me off my throne? Then y'all bias
This n***a Singh can't stop the reign; Lamar Silas
You not slidin'
On the set you a clown
You probably been liftin' weights since you was kid back in your country just flexin' around
I can imagine Real Sikh husky, as a youth in Asia (euthanasia), now watch a vet' put him down
Pull up now, up the burner, knock off that fuckin' turban
Cause you done had that (w)rap up a whole year like Uncle Murda
Pull up Suburban
Effortlessly, checkin' my reach
It come from under the seat like a pullout couch, you better (bed'll) retreat
Let it release
If I was Real Sikh (sick), I would take off, like medical leave
Leave you dead in the street
Please don't try me or we can box
One swing will drop ya, they won't even stop it
Three piece proper, these will knock him
Get his fuckin' wig cracked, punchin' Real (w)rap like Geechi Gotti
He stole Dizaster's style, he's a copy
He should die 'cause that's what all that bitin' get you Sikh (sick)
You ever seen a zombie?
Re-design it!
I can switch up the flow when I want, cause I got tons
I can really tap into different pockets, like Shotgun
I heat up every time I'm in question
Try some, get you in the view (interview) and give you wings like Hot Ones
You ain't pop none
You just be rappity rappin'
I'm talkin' packin' a MAC in the back of the Acura rappin'
You'll get clapped with a Magnum, in (end) Real life, it can actually happen
Sternum shot, now Singh (sing) hole in his chest, like the National Anthem
Why we havin' this battle?
Dawg will get John Doe'd
This between me and you, ain't nobody else involved in this convo
You should get popped with a hollow
Cause I heard my name was in Real Sikh (sick) mouth...now we can talk mono e mono
Glock blow
Kill yaself
[Round 1: Real Sikh]
I saiiiid
You about to get the effect of all the PTSD that been in Sikh thoughts
I'm talkin' big brawls
Seein' an eye (I) get stomped out like Pixar
Split jaws, hollow tip scars
To think of the shit hard
I seen events that can make a Hitman emotional, like this card
Plottin' with the homie how to get this kill pulled off
Gotta do political news so it don't look wrong
Heard the immigrants was eatin' the pets, I said, "Good call"
I'll give The Alien a Bulldog
I haven't talked to God in a while, I don't why we stop
Led me to killin' Nitty, I'll get 25 years tops
Gotta see the fam' in visitation before I find peace God
It'll register behind the glass like a Chinese spot
Come on puncher, play the Knock Out game
With my first right, one swing
And you're out, no third strike
Shoot with a purpose it ain't nothin' to learn twice
I only this bitch when I'm clocked in, it's my work wife
Silencer, shhhh, it's heard like church mice
Heater against your brain 'til ya scalp looks like burnt rice
Said, "he's small", so what? I'll bury him to dirt height
Six feet, I'll show The Alien what the Earth like
Real disrespect to the turban? You stop breathin'
When the doctor gettin' your head wrapped, we got even
Crack your racist joke I crack a smile while I'm squeezin'
Call me "Ahki from the store", and I'ma hold the chop cheesin'
Punchers I ain't impressed by
Except we confusing shadow boxin' with air strikes
Then don't disrespect mine
Think I just speed up my flow? You missin' what I let fly
And you confusin' all this fast ass rappin' with a TEC-9 (Tech-N9ne)
So make fun of my style and how it seems so fast
I'ma biggity biggity beat yo' ass
What you 4th Quarter Nit'? Til your coordinates are found
Like, "Where the cash at?" And no talkin' is allowed
Don't wanna get a round from the auto, simmer down
Be subordinate, I'll let the sub order Nit' around
I ain't even gotta snuff Rum
Open hand slump son
He'll get Smack'ed with two fingers, "What's up son?"
Dumbstruck
When I let a shotgun buck
My people got gas stations, where you think I got this pump from?
One gun, fire on both sides; 1-1
They all want a battle rap spirit 'til the become one
You're done done
Ran out of bullets then I cut son
Chainsaw blade with ya name on it, Rum Rum
I'm talkin' Mike Myers shit
The iron grip
The fire stick
Die wit' it
Mind gets split
Eyes and then your sides get ripped
The final hit
Shoot out the plate inside ya hip
Perfect way to go for an Alien; flyin' disc
Find a ditch
I'm killin' anyone that you bookin' now
You ain't gon' get it 'til Nitty's stuck with a bullet round
No stretcher, you gotta pick him up and push him out
Then you'll understand what I'm sayin'
I mean, you pickin' up what I'm puttin' down
I heard that Jews control the weather with the paper they make
I had to bank on a long nose, makin' it rain
Now I'm bookin' a 12, a kill from me to you
Now you better be duckin' (duck in) a shell like Filipino food
.9 millimeter too for them Sikh bars you wrote
Soon as you start your slogan, you gon' get all the smoke
And take so many-
You won't finish off the quote
Just Sikh's one .9, (6-1-9), and I'm spinnin' off the ropes
Jersey!
[Round 1: Rum Nitty]
I ain't pushin' no mo' peace
I'd rather find where n***as live at
Pull up on they street
Get to droppin' shells when bullets get released
I ain't say nothin' about you workin' under a 7-11 company
Cause I'd rather put you under sheets (Sheetz)
You will get hurt, try it
N***as be actin' like killers in they round, til you swerve by 'em
Burst fire
Stomach shot, you will see Singh (sing) with his organs out, it's a church choir
You the worst liar
You better get down fast, you ain't gotta wait for ya boy
I'm straight to the point, like an inbound pass
This bitch down bad
You gonna let a chopper off? Please
Your people can't even cut their hair off, your ponytail prolly five feet
Fuck yo' religion, I'll sit you in a barbershop seat
Remove the wrap and get Real Sikh (sick) with the trimmers (tremors) like Muhammad Ali
Jab!
You'll be the one to get E.T. started; Spielberg
Jab!
Through this 30 you gon' see the light, it's a Real perk
Jab!
Let it hit you dead in the stomach, like a still birth
Overhead!
You'll never see India again like Lil Durk
I'm still hurt
I done seen too much pain
You can fuck around and make a movie about my life, I grew up untamed
But fuck fame
The only time I ever shot a motion picture, was at the gun range
We want change, but this is how we livin'
I was really cookin' dope, in and out the kitchen
Got the Pyrex and dropped powder in it
Then whip it 'til it turn hard, it's no power steering
I get pissed and (piston) get to trippin', you gonna go far
That's all it takes for Sikh's (six) cylinder to get blown; don't start
I always showed heart
But when it got physical, I stood tall
With my back against the wall; it's a growth chart
Pole spark, big heat finna clap
Give me a reason to squeeze this .50 up, I've been fiendin' for that
16 in the strap
If I hold it right, 'Between Me & You' like Ja Rule
It'll hit Singh in (singin') his (w)rap
You know what I hate though?
When they tell me I'm fuckin' up the battles cause I got short rounds
When I'm just rappin' the time amount I was paid fo'
It's not my fault they wanna rap all day long
That's on them, that's they law
But y'all wanna find someone to put the blame on, I become Houdini
A scapegoat (escape G.O.A.T.)
Case closed
I told Troy I'ma trip
Shoot you dead in the face, destroy y'all event
He waitin' for his god to save him while his blood pourin' and shit
I think Jesus somewhere takin' a day off
Cause the Lord's callin' Sikh (called in sick)
Bitch!
[Round 2: Real Sikh]
I know you haunted by that Wal-Mart shit
Bodied Rum
You was probably clockin' in thinkin' that your life not enough
Felt like killin' yaself when you was stockin' all them boxes up
Like, "I gotta do this job or suici-" that's where you got it from
Suicide or you do the job?
That's ain't the only options I get
There's suicide AND you would die if there's a bomb on my chest
Said he ain't from here, he wanna be an accepted citizen
Heard The Alien need papers, here's a death certificate
Said he want a fade, he'll run away though, sent to Jesus
A 100 spray, ya under halos, you're split to pieces
Currency exchange rate when the K go
Mexican chop, turn the 4th Quarter into 20 pesos
Dangerous in the field
If I'm aimin' I'ma kill
Flippin' names?
Better update the names up in ya will
Hit his head, blood rushin' in his cranium, it's filled
Brain swellin' now he's lookin' like an alien for real
We both fans of Hov, at least a different amount
Two different Jay-Z albums that we speakin' about
You had .22 two's if it's a Reasonable Doubt
I got four .44's that'll even it out
Gun spark for them gun bars, earn ya karma
Medics tryin' to save you, they workin' harder
Turn this arm up
Family Feud, I'll bring it to ya team or your first responder
I'll take a drink with Smack after your ceilin' get chopped
Then ask for the lime that's distilling the shot
For you? We gonna get two Henny's to the stage
I got one Rum with a fresh peel on the top
Read ya Bible chapter for closure
Rifle sat on the shoulder
Let it sing over you talkin' like Michael Jackson wit' Oprah
Get active I'll coach ya, I'll put heavy muscle on
Bring ya battle rap group, bet my strength is double y'all
I bring my girl on the squat rack, then I'm gettin' Hustle tossed
I could throw you, lift the rest of them on the bench with just an arm
Then rep 100 strong
I'll do a workout with the weight with each member of ya squad
On Every Fuccin' Bar
E.F.B
I already killed Magic
Made Danny quit, he stopped performin'
One rounder with JC
And I got three if Gotti want it
God'll call him
Bullet will find ya heart inside ya body armor
Clip curve look like the "S" on Dasani water
Sayonara
Dyin' by tomorrow, really mobbin' on him
Tommy on him
Double drum singin', Dolly Parton
Shot and caught a kill
Catch another when I spot a target
Tesla robot, the machine got a body on it
You copy everything that works
Even when you spit your words, your wrists are curved
Twist and turn
Know you got that shit from Twork
First you reppin' Crip then merge
The 4th Quarter, Writer's Bloque, Team Homi, E.F.B. with Got', every clique you heard
I got here by my lonely, hit this stage on different terms
The only Sikh battle rapper to ever exist, it's a gift and curse
But I rep my religion first
You had to grab the nose runnin' to be comin' down with somethin'
Bitch, I've been Sikh (sick) since birth
Jersey!

[Round 3: Rum Nitty]
This shit right here gon' set the round
I used to really fight big n***as like you, punch they head around
So let's go head, make a bet that I'll knock you the fuck out
Like Stizz, just put the Fetti down
I'm adamant
They asked me how I've been doin' this for so long and still stay passionate
I do it for my family, shit
If it wasn't for n***as like Loaded Lux, Murda Mook and Cassidy, I wouldn't even battle Sikh
You, think it's all about rappin' Sikh
Nah, it's about never fallin' off, ten years, top puncher, no average shit
It's about dealin' with health issues, but never no-showin' cause they'd rather see you battle Sikh (sick)
Now that's what's sick
You would let them sit you in the trap
Real talk I don't even like ya style, I barely even listen, that's a fact
If you tempt me you'll get clapped
I get to pullin' the sticks out like it's a bag of Reggie and dump a Nickle in the wrap
We really liftin' straps
We let clips off, I don't even have to lift a finger, I got a shooter that'll clip dawg
I'll put you in a blunt if you get me pissed off
If you try, Sikh'll (tricycle) get rolled up, like Jigsaw
This bitch soft
You ain't been on no drills
Cause I'm a lil' n***a I'm supposed to be scared of him cause he's built?
You still gettin' killed
They gon' find an unidentified body in the wastelands...it's Real in the field
It is what it is
I'ma do you bad Sikh
A couple people already bodied you and put you in a bag, zip
Now you seein' else in (end) Real life like a Catfish
Clap shit
Don't try us
I'll leave you paralyzed from the neck down, in grown diapers
They can't even put your clothes on, no liar
Every day they gotta put ya (w)rap together for you; it's a ghost writer
I'm a GOAT writer, ask my core fans
Big or small stage, I done really been through wars fam'
Never had the short hand
I feel like I got the blueprint to every room, I'm the floor plan
Bitch you can't keep it real yourself-

[Round 3: Real Sikh]
Rest in peace my dawg Pat Stay
We used to critique lines from battle rap's greats
I be wondering what he think about the battles that happened these past days
Like, when you told Lux, "Worcestershire sauce, you don't even know what's at stake (steak)"
I heard Pat say, "You put sauce on steak, not at steak."
Who thought that was fire?
Y'all thought it was fire?
I should be lettin' that slide?
I guess you be puttin' ketchup at fries
My bad, I'm just Nitpickin'
See, that what your shit missin'
I don't shoot on you, I shoot at you, it hits different
He got heart, he down to fight, so we ain't callin' out his height
It'll be a different battle when he fought about his life
Genius with the punch, 'til he caught a counter right (write)
It'll go from, "How he think of that?" to "He should've thought about it twice."
When you and Twork battled Geechi and Roc I was up in the crowd
My favorite part was when y'all made fun of the style
He sounded exactly like Roc, right? The same lines and gestures
Gun LINE King, your name kinda says it
Soundin' like the Gun BAR King ain't take time perfectin' it
Because your whole career you've been doin' a Tay Roc impression
Yo, why you never check Dizaster for sayin' the N-Word?
I didn't think I would need to
On Summer Madness it was my job to teach him
Crazy, you stood behind him even
He said it loud and proud, you was lookin' down
What you tryin' to find? Your sneakers?
Let Dizaster (disaster) pass without a check, you ain't applied for FEMA
Look at my demeanor
Y'all say I got an old school flow
But as a guest in the culture shouldn't I know where the roots grow?
Be respectin' the culture, showin' my true soul
And reppin' my culture, isn't that how payin' your dues go?
Sit in the lab, pen and a pad, don't use phones
Still box with the pen, I'm creatin' a new note
Get rid of your strength and your hearing when I shoot close
How he gonna control the power in the Volume when he lose both?
You got a battle vaulted cause Footz was rappin' longer
Well today don't try
I see you when people perform close you get them angry eyes
So if I get in his face he'll cry
If you rap too long, he'll complain and whine
How The Alien, don't know how to control space and time?
Just K's and .9's
I respect you stand on your choice
Shoot 'em up, bang bang, then make it land with ya voice
Punches hit, but angles destroy
All these bars about hollow tips but you can't expand on a point
Cause you ain't mastered the craft bruh
You just a master of the punch
Even on beat it sound like you on SMACK and it ain't enough
It all add up to a gun
If you only write a verse when you got a battle comin' up, you not a rapper to me bruh
Yo, remember when, a URL event would and then when you get outside you see a cipher or somethin'
Remember them ciphers?
You ever question why it don't happen anymore?
Cause the money came in and it left them blind
This got gentrified by fake rappers, actors who pretend to rhyme
I don't know if it's an east coast thing
But I was taught to have hella lines set aside, memorized
You might have to rap at any time
That's how it be
That's why I'm out ya league
Cause after this if we go down the street and they found a beat
The only verse you could rap now are these rounds for me
He bleed just like us
When you're shootin' through him you'll see
Said he from another planet, that's stupid to a degree
When you realize he just a man, then you don't lose any sleep
He Clark Kent, The Alien looks super human (superhuman) to me
I'm on that Jersey shit, that goin' all out shit
Real Sikh!
And I'm the problem that you want rounds wit?
You supposed to put in work, but that's wrong now bitch
Cause you can't show up to work when you call out Sikh (sick)!