[Round 1: Rum Nitty]
This a no brainer
We got Rum mothafuckin' Nitty...versus Mr. Flea Mason AKA Vaultez Bodega, an easy battle
This nigga dead it only took a week to plan it, that's premeditated
So I'ma see a bigger sentence like reading glasses
Beat you badly
'Til you leakin', pleadin', "no mas papa", speakin' Spanish
I'm literally reeking (Rican) havoc
Clap him, then the bitch get loud
Before Coronavirus, niggas was maskin' up [?]
Slide, and you get bodied, who gon' stop me?
All these funny niggas gettin' addressed; Illuminati
You copy?
A man die for tellin' rap lies
Actin' as if he active, that's only going to get me madder (Matter), like Black Lives
Give you a buck, and two quarters, the gash wide
And go the other way, I switch sides on Cort' (court), it's half time
Ask God, I'm labelled as a threat bangin' for the set
I'm not a game, but before you play me you get stretched
I'm a vet
Your battles don't even make it on the 'net
Bird nigga
Soon as they let him out the vault you're (vulture) waitin' on his death
That's on the set
We slide up peelin' shit
Fired up, get you lined up
The .9 buck limitless
.380 in the ankle holster
I snuck inside this bitch wit' it
If he slip, it's bustin' out the shoe on Cort' (court) like Zion Williamson
Peel his shit
Take a slug out his dome
No love, get did wrong
Cause you the worst with it
And ya rhymes is nursery
It literally seein' they scrub get put on
If you look wrong
We gon' slide about it
No talk, die about it
Diabolic
Our 2 on 2? Math did all the moves, your side was silent
I gotta tell the truth, he was carrying Cort' (Carrey in court); Liar, Liar
I'll line you, that lesbian get stretched
I'll hit her head up wit' a TEC
It'll be brain particles all messy on the set
You walk up and see Fit bits (FitBits) everywhere you step
Reset! Game is over
Gun butt, face is swollen
Whip it, make it crack; baking soda
Rob 'em, take Cort' (court) paper
It was over a 100 yards; restrainin' order
I'll smoke him, you better haul ass
It's all bad
I'm at ya neck when I address you, then I get dawg (dog) tagged
If dude play? His skull cracked
Face open, we can view inside Cort' (court), that's 2K on broadcast
You better call Math, cause you done gave me a reason now
Squeezing rounds
Through the scope I get my point across here (crosshair)
It ain't shit we gotta speak about
Easy route, bag you up like a reefer ounce
You know, O.Z. him, take the Rican out
You see what we about
No rappin' beef, we let actions speak
I slide with the Locs, and on the set I'ma die with the The Crows like Brandon Lee
Crip Street, you get pressed like six reps
I put some money on ya head and you get stretched
I have Cort' (half court) shot by a fan, give him a big check
This west
You can't keep it real yourself
Suicide or I'll do the job, you decide [Round 1: Cortez]
Ain't no fuckin' crowd in the building today
It's just me and you Nitty
Ain't shit you can do wit' me
.4-4 bulldog barkin' and the roof Nitty
Desert Eagle
See this bird, flew wit' me
So fuck whatever coffin (coughing) he got just know I'm immune Nitty (immunity)
Fool wit' me
I'm in tune but I'm too litty, keep a tool wit' me
But, deuce deuces are too risky
Move Nitty
This Big(g) K go Boom, Nitty
Duu duu right through Nitty, you're through Nitty
With two blickies...I keep these sticks together
And the only thing that the doc can't stick together is you Nitty
Who is he?
Huh? Someone they gassed up?
It's nothin' to blast punks, I up it and blast one
What's in this tummy tucked is cuttin' his abs up
[?], I got somethin' dumb in the can' Rum
Brooklyn, yeah, my savages are starvin'
Ya battlin' a marksman, I'ma tag 'em then I'ma chalk 'em
Run in his crib, BAOW, get clapped in ya apartment
Yeah, stairway to Heaven, you get it? The ladders do the walkin'
Yeah, voice for the hood, the ratchets do the talkin'
Lux, SM2, I'm carryin' a coffin
Yeah, who is he? The Gun Line King nigga?
He got the blick and the pipe? That's cool
My clip been itchin' to snipe boy it's lit for the night
I put the grip to his wife, the triggers ignite
Now there's a dead body over the gun line like Biscuit in Life
I blast ministers, hit 'em for spite
Then administers and make sure the doc can't administer life
Boy I am givin' you light
They scream, "Black Lives Matter"
Yeah, then they said, "All Lives Matter"
So I had to cop the MAC like a picture with Ice
Scratch that
"All Lives Matter", y'all get it?
Yeah that's a nice flip
But why cop the MAC? You wouldn't like the ice pick
He's lifeless, goodbye bitch
Left with a red bottom, I spike shit
The nickel here is priceless
Tool fully, ain't shit you could do for fully
Cause I steams shit, ain't shit you could do for me
Let the heater bang, my livin' is trife
[?] and I keep a blade, pickin' (pick in) a fight; school bully
Y'all don't mettle with dudes, the metal and Uz'
The 30 clip make black crack 'til his melanin ooze
I give you everything
Boy I'm in a generous mood
And even if I Chi Ali ya whole V.I.P.'s will get this whole section removed
Boy, I'm just checkin' for proof that the instruments can ring and sound off, you was never in tune
Boy, do not play wit' us
I'll pop 'til the Glock's staining us
I'm all about a money bag (Moneybagg) Yo until I knock Meghan up
Shots break him up
So much blood that a mop can't wake it up
And then I toast to his death
A bunch of rappers in black suits, his funeral lookin' like the Roc Nation [?], do not play wit' us
N.O.M.E. X? I deserve a plate, I'm talkin' mad cream
Don't y'all get it? Y'all was sleepin'
So I served you a wake (awake) on Caffeine
Yeah boy, that's mean
Yeah, and I will level ya shit because I'm better with grips
He came down with somethin'?
Cool, but he never was sick
The clip 'bout a foot long as my measuring stick
So when I let it go "click" you can finally Crip Walk in Heaven with Nip'
Bitch
I'm the most underrated, underhanded I oversaw
But being overlooked creates a pen that's overall
I'm trained to go to war, exposing flaws is protocol
I'm doin' the favor cause even in quarantine I open doors[Round 2: Rum Nitty]
Aye, I'm 'bout to do my shit once more than send him up Lord
Cause he don't want war
Got a couple of 'em fresh up out the gun store
If I let it lick wit' (liquid) these two pounds ya done for
Fluid leakin' out him
Lose like 32 ounces just from one Cort' (quart)
You look, just like my plug Cort'
He used to send the package right through
We was trappin' white too
And that whip, I had hard to sell, like a salvage title
I don't like you
There's nothing else to say to niggas
Don't play wit' killers, K's will hit 'em
With brute force
Bah bah, I'll do you two Cort' (court) in one spot, that's Staple Center
This clip'll lake a (Laker) nigga
I wish you would stunt, get a push front
Dome shot him
We smoke apples out a wood blunt
I caught you lackin' on ya avenue
You ain't even see me or look once
Dummy, I had to drop on you in traffic like The Good Son
Don't look dumb, you know my style
No little shit, big grip
.40 Cal', slide up on his house, Ruger torch
And this shit get to boomin' Cort' (Boom in court), soon as I point 'em out
It's goin' down
Who want that smoke? Let me see
I'm only supportin' my people right now, so I gotta black own...everything
Let it ring
You 'bout to get all the smoke
And take so many punches the fans yellin'
(Get off the ropes)
I'm 'bout to 30 piece ole' boy I'm so sure
I'm locked in, and every bar got a spin to it, like a vault door
Check the scoreboard
Warlord
Fuckin' wit' the kid is suicide
You ever seen a TEC 9 (Tech-9) before Cort' (court)? It's your choice
That nigga O-Red did you the worst nigga
You got served wit' it and left hurt injured
You was supposed to grab the stick, flash and air O (arrow), that's a turn signal
Bird bitch you
You ain't in style, this my shit now
That's known fact, the GOAT back like Jim Brown
The silencer will make you sit down
I reach, you hear it whistle, then I walk off Cort' (court); the fifth foul
I'm lit now
And yo' shit? Isn't lastin'
Lift the Magnum
Shoot the bitch you grew up wit'
Bullet go through (threw) her Fit; temper tantrum
This is madness
Whatchu think I pack a pole for?
You know me, stop the battle, if we gotta scrap, I ain't rappin' no more
Ya man run up, then I'm clappin' old boy
Empty more than half on old boy
And that's when (win) the Final Four come out the ladder on Cort' (court)
I end your life wit' it, with a Russian chop'
I'll let eight (ate) out the wooden stock like it's termites in it
You heard right nigga
Ya melon will split
Put a shell in ya shit
Keep talkin', I'll take you out Cort' (court) like you held in contempt
Bitch, you can't keep it real yourself
Rap nigga[Round 2: Cortez]
He said, "revolve like a vault door"...so I put the grip in his face
But when that barrel spin like a revolving door, you get it
With each combo this nigga safe
I told y'all, really man
I told you, right now I'm from Brooklyn, and boy, I don't rock wit' frauds
Honestly, ya Eyes Wide Shut you died shocked in awe
Smack I told, I copped the .4
A Desi, a mop for war
My stock is up that makes sense, bodega, I got a lot in store
What's poppin' dawg?
Yeah, I'm still here with the steel here but the goons is real near
We built bricks, yeah, cause off bricks we built here
But y'all gassin' the Gun Line King and that's real clear
Y'all put this Crip on Cort' (court) and he a shooter?
Yeah, in a wheelchair
It's real here nigga{chokes}It's real here nigga so fuck it they all dead
Yeah, you gettin' judged with the hammer dawg so fuck what the law says
Big MAC's, the .4 spread
I'm good in your hood
All the ese's in the west still stand with Cortez
The .4 spread, baow, the layup son
I'll clap you in a coma- they scream, "Wake up punk."
Body bag, the body mass? It could take up trunks
Yeah you was bustin' them clips 'til he struggled with Clips
How you a Crip but couldn't lace up Chuck?
What?!
These niggas, keep givin' me no names, that's why I'm fuckin' cursed
So I catch 'em traffic, it's road rage
Yeah nigga, die young forever, I'm holdin' a full gauge
And if Rum in the barrel, baow, he won't age
Brooklyn, I ain't frontin' for nothin', if I black out, ya soul will (solar) eclipse under the sun
I told you, these clippers ain't cuttin' it son
Yeah it's nothin' to pull it, now jump in front of a bullet since you always the one jumpin' the gun
Matter-of-fact you fucked Ebony?
Say word, you in love wit' her son?
You're 5'6" she's 6'5"- yo what's up wit' you Rum?
I mean damn, I put money on both they heads, I'm drummin' for fun
Prohibition, I put a band on hustlin' (Hustle &) Rum
Crews get left wet, I got the rifle with power
I got a gift for ya bitch too
Baow, even ya bride'll (bridle) get showered
Boy, it's on sight for this coward
Cause I'm with the shits, big guns, get Pop Smoke in the crib like the Crips did son
And I'm spottin' every move like a Fitbit run
And my hand cocked (Hancock) so play hero, I'll make a movie when the Smith lift Rum
Yeah nigga, bitch front
That's nothin', they all get a coffin when the .4 get to talkin'
Man, and it's quick to pick up Rum, I had a long day at the office
Boy I'll off this, the .4-5th, I'm in love with the piece and I'm dumpin' the heat
Smack, it's a cancel culture, ain't nobody in here fuckin' with me
Yeah if Rum on the creep, yeah I have to attack
See I can scrap, that's facts but I ain't grabbin' no straps
Fist fights get mixed right like I mastered the track
I'm talkin' you vs. Saga, all that flaggin' is cap
Facts
Me lose to Cornell, how?
Talkin' hammers
It ain't enough to get Cor' nailed down
Pounds, I blast for certain and I clap a person
Don't y'all get it?
I'm head huntin' and I'm stuffin' the bird like a taxidermist
Scoliosis, yeah I'm crooked to the bone
This fool? Get everything without lookin' in the phone
If I burn money, it's gonna put you in the hole
And since an election year, fuck it keep lookin' at the poles (polls)
Cause I'm the most underrated, underhanded I oversaw
And being overlooked creates a pen that's overall
I'm trained to go to war, exposing flaws is protocol
And I'm doin' the favor cause even in quarantine I open doors[Round 3: Rum Nitty]
Aye, I'm finna cause hell
Get to trippin'
Pull this 25 flippin'
Cort'll (quarter) land on his head like I called "tails"
I told Smack, "Whoever you go and get me they gon' fail
Pick 'em out. And since this the name I got. I get Cor' nailed (Cornell)
The boy killed
I mastered this
Bitch stop, it's like you robbin' hip hop
But you can't rap a lick
But a loss to me not the baddest shit
You still gon' be able to build with this little L; it's an Allen Wrench
I'm cappin', it's the worst way to lose
It's gonna be obituaries with ya face on it and shirts made for you
You gon' get murked, play it cool
And I'll lay Fit out next to Cortez like I'm hype for my first day of school
Make a move
Believe me I'll squeeze
Load up the mil' (meal), then let it all out, it's a Bulimia thing
Get ya shit blew (blue) for the record like, Jesus Is King
Then I let this pump air for you; a breathing machine
I mean, if you get brave, you get slayed
Switchblade ya ribcage
Spike Cort' (court) side like a Knick game
This bitch lame
Fuck I get you for?
Pure disrespect
I should've turned down the check like a Newport
This some shit I'll slide through on your crew for
With a tray (tre)
Where I buck fifty 'em all, and finish my food, Cort' (court)
I'm 'bout to do you foul now
I got somethin', that you can' hear when it's lettin' out rounds
Then I got this one tool (1-2), loud as an Avocado countdown
Bow down or make way
He said, "Nigga you ain't safe."
One of the coldest on this main stage
Aye, aye nigga K flame, brain stain
And now a miss sticks (mystics) sparks on Cort' (court); it's a WNBA game
You can't hang if you won't clap nothin'
And that little bit of respect you do get...is because you Math woman
Act dumb and I'm loadin' up cannons
You know I'm gon' blam
So take cover pussy...cause you soft Cor' (core), you just don't show it on cam'
Nigga, don't fuck wit' me
I done had enough really
You got about 10 seconds to evacuate the building or you gettin' stuck, feel me?
'Bout the time I count to six, Cort'll (quarter) get a buck fifty
Or hear a loud roar
Got ya partners pickin' your body off the ground Cor'
You should've seen ya dawg (dog) face when they was draggin' ya body
They did you foul Cor' (Falkor)
You can't keep it real yourself
Ah yeah...you killed yaself[Round 3: Cortez]
That last round was ass
He choked
So fuck it y'all gassin' this diva
You got ya little bitch witchu?
I'll drag her and beat her
You jump in? I'm clappin' the heater
No clue on when this couple went out; Anwar & Rita
See how I can come off the top? That's proof that I'm flat out better than y'all dudes
I'm never been soft too
I'm from Brooklyn, nigga
I inherited hard too
You a legend? You've been reppin', I get it
He spark tools? So I gotta get this fake pussy sent (scent)
Get it? Erykah Badu
Nigga we spot crews then shot crews, I'm reckless when the TEC's appear
Don't you get it? A hole in ya chest blow through, now that's central air
Yeah, I done left my peers, dead for years and end careers
Now the only thing left, in the end (Indian) was a Trail Of Tears
Yeah, nigga, more homi's
All sloppy with bullets in your body
Fuck a news report, the only report is an autopsy
You reppin' two crews?
Yeah that's cool, I'm catchin' more bodies
Geechi, Top, Saga- makes sense you're my fourth Homi
Get it?
Dawg copy, what type of action you on?
You a Crip? You do drive bys? You clappin' the chrome?
Yeah that's cool
I do a drill and I miss? I'm spinnin' back on the block, yeah nigga the static is on
I'm comin' back for the 4th Quarter; Patrick Mahomes
Yeah boy, what type of status you on?
I align them triggers
Big MACs, click clack, I'm online for killers
Got me lickin' at Blood, try me killer
Fist of Fury, boy I done boxed Wilder niggas
You shaky, please boy, you crazy wit' a drum
But I'm raisin' wit' a gun
Your whole delivery it shows that how you shaky wit' a gun
Nitty, you a bum, everyday we flex
Paralyzed from the waist down, I got crazy texts
He gon' rehab for months, everyday be stressed
For this Crip to walk again it took baby steps
Step boy, cause I know you a fraud aye
Don't y'all get it?
If Flea get ticked then my dawg (dog) spray
You butchered Conceited's whole style; all day
You need Machines and West Side Gun(n)'s to do it Con' way (Conway)
Dawg wait, this act's a façade
I'll get a battle rapper washed and start scrappin' dawg
Run out bullets? Gun Line King? Stash the rod
And be the first nigga swingin'; Jackie Rob'
Nigga, MAC round blast, pat down fags
Y'all whole delivery, I'll air out ya background fast
Boy! Trolley trains, [?] shit bags, the cap gon' blast
Trolley train, I still gotta track down Ave
Yeah boy, if I doubled these (D's) bitch you know, that's I'm O'fficial, Rum
I won't quit 'til her shirt say RIP wit' you Rum
You was lit until I split a Crip into son
Had a Phoenix with ya body found into sun
And the remains were found by who? His two sons
Boy, I'm talkin' 'bout used guns
I pull up he way to visit, and any day you get it
Don't y'all get it?
I plot with guns, I'm spottin' Rum
Watchin' Rum, yeah I'm babysittin'
Yeah the .80 kickin'
I drilled this nerd
Don't y'all get it?
Half Moon clip, steel (still) get curved
Boy, ya leg twitchin' and you move, I drilled this herb
And all it took was one shot Rum and it killed the nerve
Of this bitch ass, fuck the chit chat
Skip that, you lettin' the Sig' clap?
Like them fake gold fronts it's big cap
My fist crack? Jawbones bloody, ya shit black
My blick blap
Stomach wounds gettin' covered with big tats
Stomach shot, baow, the doctor can't staple ya skin back
So I gotta stitch ya then add a zipper to sit flat on ya six pack
Quit that
I'm the most underrated, underhanded I oversaw
And being overlooked creates a pen that's overall
I'm trained to go to war, exposing flaws is protocol
And I'm doin' the favor cause even in quarantine I open doors

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