[Round 1: Mr. Wavy]
My attitude like, “None of these n***as 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 n***as 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 n***as 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, n***a!
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
N***a ain’t been hotter than ten summers
Pussy n***a 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!
N***a rockin’ the Lil Uzi cut!
I’m suited up, ‘cause n***as 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, n***as 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 n***as wit’ oversized clothes: these n***as 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) n***a
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 n***a wild when rappin’
But I’m a real street n***a, n***a
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 n***a I stick a blade through, the arm
Movin’ left and right, I’ll let it wave through
Intestines, liver, kidney, the n***a 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 n***a 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 n***as 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?
N***a, 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
N***a, 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!
N***a, 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 n***a .9
It’s gettin’ tragic for you
Bitch-made n***a, 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
N***a, I don’t give that Nike check and the rose where you stand at
N***a, 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
N***a, fuck it
I say, n***a, I’m goin’ wit’ the basketball shit, and this n***a 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 n***a 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 n***a 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 n***as in the field
FIRE, n***a!
I’m on my bully!
Brooklyn shit, n***a, 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, n***a!
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 n***as 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 - n***a, 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 n***a, right?
“If you cookin’ for the Cave, my n***a, it better be dead nice!
I want a cheeseburger wit’ no pickles, n***a - THAT’S LIGHT!”
Chef Trez, he ran to the kitchen
That n***a’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 n***as! 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!
N***as 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 n***a Ave like, “Make my shit straight. Like. That.”
I said, “Aight, my n***a, I got you.”
Tay Roc said, “N***a…”
“Aight, my n***a, I got you.”
Brizz say-
“Aight, my n***a, I got you.”
So I’m in the workspace and they tellin’ me to never be lackin’
‘Cause a n***a might come in, and n***as be actin’ savage
So if a n***a 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, n***a?
Well, I got a K spittin’ wit’ rapid-fire
Let’s see if the outcome be the same, n***a!
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!
N***as 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: n***as playin’ on broadcast”
Aw, you play 2K, too?
Well, I got two K’s, too
They work best when you aim down on a n***a: 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, n***a? 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, n***a, I had this shit painted perfectly
Yo, I said, I had this shit crafted perfectly, but n***as sabotagin’ the fuckin’ picture
All that fightin’ in the crowd, whatever, dawg, y’all some sucka n***as
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 n***as!
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 n***as 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, n***as 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
N***as think that you cool, n***as 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, n***as’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’: n***a, 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: n***a 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 n***as 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! N***a, the fif’ (fifth) raised!
I’m strapped in!...
Nah, n***a, 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 n***a!
I’m not gon’ hold you, I was tight I had to write for this n***a
If you was hungry, I wouldn’t share a bite wit’ this n***a
Domino’s pizza: he wouldn’t give a slice to this n***a!
Fuck that! I’ll probably give a slice to this n***a!
Look at your kicks - I don’t even like the Nikes on this n***a!
If he was gettin’ jumped, extra leg work
I’ll exercise-bike on this n***a!
Swear to God, I will break every Constitutional right on this n***a!
‘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 n***as ain’t peep shit?
See, that combat? N***as 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, n***a!
But nobody could tell ‘cause I was walkin’ like a crippled n***a
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, n***a

[Round 3: Chef Trez]
That n***a 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 n***a - 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 n***a, "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 n***as 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 n***a, 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!
N***a, 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 n***a 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!
N***a, 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" - n***a, quit lyin'!
He only had two fire bars his whole career
Y'all n***as 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
N***a, time