[Round 1: Mike P]
I said we got Mike P versus Rum Nitty...but not really
The plot be thick
So fuck you and all your dick ridin' fans that will vote for you and not even watch the shit
I ain't worried 'bout this battle
Pussy, in a real one I would rock ya shit
You is original, punch pivotal
'Til you Nu Jerzey Twork, Tay Roc(k)ed ya shit
Fuck that bitch
[?] you
Busta move, steal his style
You went from a one-dimensional square to a Rubix Cube
Tit for tat wit' me? That's a foolish move
You got one round, shoot wisely
Don't turn this battle to Russian Roulette rules
First Tay, now you, I'm killin' one Roc(k) with two stones
You ranked high with brass material, but on the inside you're fool's gold
A .45, a .45, I doubled up, then blew those
I blacked out, spilled Nitty blood, I made Rum two (too) toned
And you? Bro, what happened to ya Cassidy battle?
I heard the stage was set and y'all suppose to actually battle
But you ain't true to this league
Cats talk like URL blocked what?
You got zero loyalty to the brand
You flew to Canada chasin' a hot buck
This pussy opened his legs for King Of The Dot and got FUCKED
.9 tucked
Bullets nitpickin' (Nit' picking), they found him worthy
He drove away, I fired shots, entire shots, and tires shot
Leg? Found in jerseys
At the funeral, spottin' every woman in ya family I'm tryin' to pound some birdies
At the eulogy, ya mother tellin' everyone, "Nitty gritty" well now he's six feet, down and dirty
Evil
I would stay on Earth after a rapture blew a .40
Top red (read) like Parappa The Rapper
You want action? Get baked, there'll be a massacre after
The beast barrin' him in a box, I'm an animal, cracker
Fuckin' bull pit targetin' a little bitch barkin'
Full clip cartridge on a bullshit artist
This time is mine, you gon' name flip cause you can't last rhyme for rhyme
All these death stories, in the bio, not only will they read I killed you, I survived
Think P playin'
Sick as me, I let the heat sprayin'
Knuckle up, one punch you buckle up, ya knees cave in
Whole team pussy, I could give a shit what he's sayin'
You gon' live with cartoons in the background like RZA DJ'ing
But I, differ the skills shit between us
Nah, on some ill shit with beans, a mil' lit
Peel shit, BANG
For real trip to Jesus
I got head from ya mom's sister
Her M.O.? P (M.O.P.), that bitch can lick the penis
She allergic to not suckin' my dick, your auntie hits the meanest (antihistamine)
I fake a drug deal with Nitty
16 ounces I lay it down for you
Three for one special, a pound for you, a pound for you, a pound .4 you
I spark blickers, off get ya, parkin' ya, [?]
Rum got me fucked up...there's somethin' 'bout me and dark liquor
Crazy art
Either the 4-5 split 'em or a .380 spark
You a Hustle? Big bullet right in the lady parts
They yell, "Stop shootin' Mike!"
But blame Nitty he made me dark
The kid can't stop clickin' on it; 'Baby Shark'
Nitty!
Keep comin' with that lost mentality
Ya ignorance is leadin' to ya loss in salary
You here, to act like you still a boss and battle me
I'm here, to say none of this shit matters cause I'll fuck you up on a real stage
Time
[Round 1: Rum Nitty]
Is you ready Smack?
We got muthafuckin' Nitty versus Mike Pulice
AKA the Skip Bayless of battle rap
These is facts
I mean cause the n***a will break down ya whole style, he a fool
Tell you what you don't need and need to do
How you supposed to move as an artist in order for you to succeed and really get some views
Like, "Show more personality. Do some vlogs. Interviews
Give the fans a chance to get at dude."
All this advice you be givin' ain't never did shit for you, hater
You like an injured player turned commentator
Cause you got all the answers on how to get to the chip
But he himself has never made it so stop the shit
Cause a one-round Skype battle wit' me to this date, is one of ya biggest accomplishments
I get to rockin' wit' the piece
Watch ya mouth or catch a round from out the Calicoe what you speak
Keep it down don't make a peep
You'll be sleep
This K'll rest one (KRS-One) if I heard the 'Sound Of Da Police' (Pulice)
You bitches weak, I am not y'all
They ain't let me in, I snuck in the side door and put the city on like a cop car
You not hard
You got any type security they knocked off
Hold up, let me make this clearer for Mike (mic), I pop guards
Top dawg and I'm vet respected
Do not try me, you a nobody (no body), The Head Detective
You be dead in seconds
A D.O.A., public service announcement
I ain't worried 'bout nothin', P'll say (PSA)
He get brave? Let off a can'
Put P under a D.E., I made a monogram
My numbers? Would probably go through the roof if I pop you fam'
Shoot him and get views off Pulice (police), like I took his body cam'
You all get bagged, I dog walk you
You gon' need protective custody if I'm on you
But even if you in P.C., P (PCP)
I grab the Sig' (cig') and bomb (embalm') on you
I warned you, I really live this life, I'll put ya shit on ice
A big stage battle, this in the (inner) pocket is why you're goin' under, I put a clip on Mike (mic)
Don't get all hype cause this ain't the match
If this was a battle, in real life? I prolly wouldn't say all that
Compact .380 strap
Serial numbers on the baby scratched
Like cradle cap, you won't make it back
Your whole side get did wrong
I don't even use the fitting room when I be inside the little malls
Cause I'm not the one to try that shit on
They hit my phone, asked for three minutes
I said, "That's too easy. I'm down
This won't be a fair one. I feel like I'm cheatin'. You'll be sleep in a round." (sleepin' around)
To keep it a thou', I'm cold-hearted, don't start him
I point blank, smoke targets
Leave the curb red, line up P with one round, that's no parking
Pole's sparkin', a muhfucka gon' die
I'm the truth with this .357, and you know numbers don't lie
Don't try, we 'bout everything
You let it ring? And we kick shit off in return, I got a special team
This is my era king
I got hard spittin'
Put fear in y'all bitches
Bill Collector choke twice, then I logged off with him
By the time the battle came out, it was a clean round with new bars in it and you still lost n***a
Authentic, I'll really clap you it ain't a joke
Stretch you, cause I ain't finna wrestle you'll get smoked
You white boys like to grab ahold and choke
But see P, our (CPR) style, is to grab the nose and blow
My shooter he on go, tweakin' off the coke grams
One arm grippin' and the 'cane got him lifted cause the choke slam
You ain't got no chance
They take a loss
Every time they put you on, you the Al Kapone brand
Hold up, this a pole tuck
If I get the drop, I stick somethin' on-camera...don't rush