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Correct Arsonal Vs Calicoe Lyrics
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Correct Arsonal Vs Calicoe
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[Round 1: Calicoe] On the real, Smack, you finally had the battle in Detroit Somebody about to get killed, Smack I told niggas they was good if they came through But to keep it real, Smack Only thing I told my goons is don't kill Smack See, I'm supposed to put them goons around Randy But fuck it, Darrell can get it, ‘cause I know he can't stand me I can improvise, pull out that swami, or I can slam him But this clip is gon' feel like a hit from Laron Landry See, fuck Darrell, because he staging an actor Tsu Surf number one in Jersey, he just play as his back-up But either one of them niggas get tough I'ma start waving the clapper They think I'm good, but I don't throw bottles I'm jumpin' in this crowd, like I play for the Packers Aye, where Shotgun Suge at? It's crazy that he ain't come with y'all ‘Cause every nigga in this crowd was waiting to gun him off I'll smack everybody in your house From your brother, sister, mother, dog And the way I keep hittin' his daughter You would think I was his son-in-law Bitch nigga, always talkin' like you clap lead Arsonal Da Rebel – one of the reasons that rap dead Come to me on some coked-up shit And you'll get a cracked head You in Detroit, them Jersey niggas'll find you in the trap dead I hustle every fuckin' day so I can stack bread You a snitch, you probably get on a case and attach feds But when that MAC spread it's gon' hit back-head And if you don't die, you better lay down and act dead Aye, but I doubt if he survive the poppin' and pointin' ‘Cause after I give him these shots I'm following up, like a doctor's appointment So be a good patient and sit still, before these clips spill And I can show you it can get real, now that's how a Crip feel And for not taking this battle as a big deal You gon' end up battlin' in the Proving Grounds against Big Will You in Detroit, you ain't got protection now Chopper knock your section down Grab him by his neck and drown Hitman, out here we don't wait 'til the second round Landslide, we been in the streets, I know you heard of that I'm from Brightmoor where them young niggas'll serve you at Or I can get my Joy Rd niggas to get you murdered, scrap Tryin' to get a double cheeseburger from the Murder Mac My Schoolcraft niggas will catch him at Universal And my Dexter niggas, they do torture before they merk you And that ain't even half of the niggas in Detroit that I fuck with In other words, I ain't one of them niggas to be fucked with I even got some Mexicans out in Southwest that'll cut shit And some Vice Lords ridin', that's Qleen Paper and Luck, bitch So once that black and gold rags Wrap they black and crome mags You a Grape Street Crip, right? It'll crack his whole crab Hold on, no disrespect to the Crips though I just hate niggas that's fakin' ‘Cause it's real Crips in the building that'll give him a violation Back in the day I heard you was a look-out man Now, I ain't sayin' when niggas put in work you actually looked out, man, but when it was beef and they grabbed burners They was like, "Look out, man!" So do your job and watch out before I bring Glock's out If anybody say one word they get knocked out They got me and my nigga Big T battlin' Crips The URL feel like a league I'm 'bout to drop out Because the only reason we over C's Is ‘cause Lux and Mook was in a lock out I know y'all tired of me speakin' on Lux and Mook But fuck them fruits! Any battle rapper that purposely puts themselves below them is a dumb-ass nigga Plus them niggas broke I got more money than them bum-ass niggas Last time I saw Lux at a battle he was talkin' lame Bummy as fuck, smokin' a square And when he left he caught the train So I guess everything he say ain't slick ‘Cause we was in a whip So the fastest way to Harlem ain't the A train, bitch! Landslide! [Round 1: Arsonal] All the tough talk, save it, ‘cause that really isn't you Me being away from home That's regular, this shit really isn't new. You told Math your pops actually killed niggas, right? So either you dry-snitching on Daddy or that really isn't true And he like Martin and Eddie Murphy He doing life for a murder that he really didn't do Nigga, once again I'm here, I'm in another nigga's state On another nigga's stage, up in another nigga's face I went to Canada just to disrespect another nigga's race Machette blade across you rib Detach your stomach from your waist Wait, you told Ill, niggas is scared to battle in Detroit Because of the murder rate This look like we in mothafuckin' Detroit And right now I feel like I own the place You remind me of the Cowboys quarterback with your 9 ‘Cause you ain't throwin' straight And you'd rather run from niggas instead of lettin' bullets fly Same mistake Tony make I got all bars, no jokes You gon' think this prison after the job done I sit back and reflect on all the damage that I've done I took tack on a little person, Conceited never grew to see 5'1" Calicoe wouldn't throw a bullet on Madden 12 Forth and long outta no shotgun You, X-Factor and Miles, you dirty muthafuckas Y'all the new Chauncey, Sheed and Tayshaun Don't get me wrong, y'all three of Detroit's best ever That niggas is scared to take on But once my shank drawn I'll cut him from ear to ear, get my shave on And he'll be Rip Hamilton of the crew Before battle he'll have to put his fuckin' face on Nigga, I sit back and observe with a blunt and some popcorn My niggas O-Red and Surf got that Ruger cocked My nigga Suge got that shotgun We in that 2004 Indiana Pacers state of mind I'm Ron Artest, I got that Glock drawn Let one of these niggas act up And everybody in the crowd gettin' popped on I will Shang Tsung this nigga, snatch his soul out his body fast You probly mad, ‘cause my bitch body Buffie The Body bad I'm Rocky fast, Jason hockey mask with a Nazi flag One shotty blast'll probably knock the tumor outta Monty ass I came, I saw, I conquered this nigga I Super Nintendo spread gun Contra'd this nigga I even tried Hulkamania leg droppin' this nigga I told him eight words made Aye Verb Man, I hit him with every shell in my clip Then brought another box for this nigga Now should I put the gloves on and start boxin' this nigga? Turn into Mook and put imaginary dots on this nigga? Or should I earn my fame like Math and just pop on this nigga Don't worry, Jersey, y'all know I got the drop on this nigga I don't audition to make bands, I fight, I don't shake hands Talk tough, I'll break both the lenses in your Ray Bans Tag my name on your front door, leave the spray can You come out rowdy, you getting stomped With the same Jordan's that nigga Mike had on in Space Jam Then I'ma run in your trap house Snatch the bricks off of the nightstand Put your mother in the headlock under the left Give that bitch a noogie with my right hand Then head to your bedroom Where I'm sure to find your hype man And knife him on some jail shit I'll make the shank out of a Sprite can Now, respect to Bill Collector ‘Cause I feel that he the next to blow Nigga sayin' they got the burner They got the burner out in Mexico Well, Ars, he got the burner and the bullets, and I'm lettin' go I got on OJ glove and I got the burner from Plaxico OJ glove, Plaxico dirty Glock Extended clip stickin' out, so that make it a thirty shot I show up to your house, front door, turn the lock And hit this nigga with a MAC Blacker than the one they buried in Bernie's box Now, whatever happened to when you see me you robbin' me? Obviously you ain't half the man your mommy tried to be Your sister right in front of me, your auntie on the side of me I told all those bitches drop low And suck my balls through these boxer briefs I'll put big balls on your nanny Then shove dick all in your granny, mush Toranio all in the face with the discharge from her panties You ain't tough, mothafucka, I been callin' you candy T-Rex, nigga, you next, I been wantin' you, Randy I already know how you feel, Smack Why you won't have the battle in Newark? ‘Cause everybody gon' get killed, Smack You and Beasley fuck around and get pealed back But I can't control three thousand Blood and Grape Street Crip niggas with steal MAC's – nigga, that's real rap [Round 2: Calicoe] Didn't y'all just hear this mothafucka In this round say he don't shake hands? I'll smack your bitch-ass Then turn around and smack your bitch ass We ain't always gotta talk gangsta 'bout how we let a clip blast Let's talk about your bitch had gave us head 'til whiplash Or, we can talk about how you say you get cash But you only got them dirty-ass dreadlocks in a rubber band Nigga, your whole life is only worth a couple grand This is what Wale would look like If Rick Ross ain't give him another chance Nigga, your flow is as played out as the running man I'll show up to his house, no mask, gun in hand Empty bottle in the other, actin' like a drunken man Somebody pullin' up, I say: "Oh shit, that's his man!" I could've let a clip fly But the neighbors would've seen the barrel sparkin' So I pistol-whip the window, broke the glass; Darryl Dawkins Jumped in his daughter in the back seat as I clutch the fo' Look at him, let the Glock blow, touched his soul Looked back, I could've let the fucker go, but fuck the ho Put the car on cruse control On Tucker Rode and tucked and rolled But let him owe me and not pay up I don't wanna see no new clothes I don't wanna see you shoppin' with no new hoes You can't run forever, nigga, you still gotta do shows So he gon' end up like Kobe; even if he change his number he still can get ate with these two fours Hold on, I say eight, two, fours His number was 8, now it's 24—however, eight is two fours What you about, 5'9"? I don't even matter, he's still from Grind Time I'm crushin' all y'all Grapes until y'all fine wine When I was battlin' Shotgun Suge Your bitch-ass needed some pom-poms Tried to walk up on some gangsta shit When he heard me pursuin' his name But he fell back quick when he seen Mo' Dirty doin' the same But we was strapped in NY with a few of them thangs Ever since Surf been hot You only worth being a coach pursuin' the game I wish Conceited was here to slow that down I said that since Surf been hot You only worth being a coach, put Suh in the game My hand will cock and he'll be as worthless as the Lions D line without Vanden Bosch or Suh in the game I mean, lately niggas been draggin' you through the dirt They got the Rebel lookin' like a horseshoe in the game You can snort coke, pop pills, sip lean, whatever you off You a Crip with bandanas on your head That's gon' get it blew off I know he lookin' like, "Damn, that's too tragic." So from here on we just gon' call it that Blue Magic I already killed Shotgun, that's two caskets Verb and T got y'all other Grapes makin' a fruit basket I swear to God I told Yung Ill that I had a Glock 9 But now I got a chopper, man, when these shots flyin' You'll be on your block dyin' and leave you with a hot spine The bullet's so big, when I shoot the bitch it can stop time Aye, Jay Rawstein—and I'm not lyin'! I swear to God when I'm standin' with the K Any nigga can get it if they standin' in the way I pull out, bang, and start damagin' your face You a Crip, I ain't a Blood, but just to disrespect you Read flag in your face, nigga, I'm challengin' your play [Round 2: Arsonal] I'm tired of niggas talkin' this Grind Time/URL shit to me My one Smack battle Got the most YouTube views in URL history How is it that I only battled on URL one time And got a million views in five months You could do that shit sometimes Me, myself, I prefer bars over punchlines Like slugs slide through son's spine As soon as you cross than gunline Yo' punk-ass daddy did one crime, one time Now he only get an hour worth of sunshine You want yo' cornbread lil nigga While he standin' on that lunch line Now, I just caught two bodies and I got off twice Smack, fuck the time clock in none stop I got all night Told you, when I catch him I'ma beat his ass live on sight Video-chat, make your mother watch it live on Skype You got a Skyper Riffle, right? What the fuck is that? I got a Glock, but the Gauge better It's bigger, it's made better You think that bitch you pulled on stage at Summer Madness is hotter than suede leather? I mean, her body was made clever I forgot he a lame, never did he realize That bitch voice ain't no higher than Swave Sevah's You fuckin' these dirty bitches Nigga, I'ma tell your mama on you I'ma visit your dad in jail And tell him I'ma pull the llama on you He gon' get mad, hit the glass, look down at his dick And say: "I should've threw a condom on you ‘Cause what you shot out and named Toranio grew up to be pussy, now them real niggas is ridin' on you." Grandmama in a wheelchair This where my disrespectful shit need to stop ‘Cause I don't give a fuck if that bitch pigeon-toed And her knees are knocked I'ma sit that chair in front of fifty steps And give her thirty seconds to reach the top I don't need a watch, I'ma jump in the G ride Light a blunt, bleed the block I come back and she ain't half way up the stairs I'm chokin' that bitch until her breathing stops And I wish yo' punk-ass daddy was there so he could watch When the fuck he coming home, nigga? You gettin' all this battle money, when the hell you bailin' Dad out? I know he got a phone, nigga Text him, tell him he gettin' bad-mouthed Tell him, on his release date I'ma wait at the gate Slowly pull this flag out, and hit that nigga harder than the nigga that knocked Joey Jihad out Now, you said you wanted to fight at a Smack event, right? I'm in your state, you say you got the drop on me I'm all up in your face, so all you gotta do is pop on me Math did it to Dose and instantly he got his name up Let Toranio try that with Darrell I guarantee he don't have the same luck ‘Cause I'ma see it comin' Looked at my coach, he signaled change up So I audible the formation, you know I start to rearrange stuff I even put a man in motion so that other nigga can't rush Then threw a bullet at Cal And since you playin' safety, that means you can't bust Now, what you know about 50 big in a shoebox? And shootin' at cops like midget did off that roof top? I'm in too deep… aye, God, pass me the ooh wop He 'bout to get Jam Master Jay'd, Biggie and 2Pac'd Thats two shots, from a new Glock I knock legs out of tube socks I swear to God I wish death upon the nigga That got Big L and Big Proof popped Rest in peace, Proof, ock! You ain't nothin' like dude You a animated cartoon, like a version of Boondocks I run in the dinner, one in your head While you flickin' through the jukebox Fuck this battle! Fuck this ring! I got my gwap, right? And right in front of the camera I got that inferred spotlight You think you beatin' Math mean you made it to the top, right? Beatin' Math gon' get you The Harold treatment at the stop light And all the bloggin' back and forth and the small talk That'll get you cut quicker than playin' Spades havin' all hearts Gun in my stash box, it zoom as soon as the car starts Nigga, I ride with that 9 iron, but I don't own a golf cart You got that DNA dirty-nigga swag, and everybody knows You smell me? I know X-Factor do, he got everybody nose Y'all niggas been filthy since overalls and a snotty nose Them chucks, them kicks Wouldn't be fly in a dojo in karate clothes Now let me ask you somethin': Have you ever been on MTV Hive? Have you ever been on MTV U? Even though I lost that competition My video in rotation right now on MTV 2 Do you got 40 Worldstar videos and a iPhone app? No? No? Then you somebody nobody really knows Nigga, I'm all the above, I get all of the love Off my name alone yo' bitch wanna suck my balls in the club And I'ma tell you again, I already know how you feel, Smack I know why you won't have the battle in Newark ‘Cause everybody might get killed, Smack You and Beasley fuck around and get pealed back But I can't control three-thousand Blood And Grape Street Crip niggas with steal MAC's Hater pivot winner travel, that's real rap That's why he's still in Detroit, ‘cause that's where he's still at [Round 3: Calicoe] I just saw you shakin' when Trick Trick offended you, nigga But you ain't peep on how I control three-thousand mothafuckas, ‘cause I'm a general, nigga You claim you can beat me You say words when you play with your pee pee You got a brother named Bee Bee and a sister named Gee Gee Whose pussy smells like seafood and pizza from Cici's That's the type of shit he rap about But I'll say some shit, like, all of your fun can stop today When I cock this K, pop and spray And leave him in a scope, like Dr. Dre Everything he talk about, it bores me I told y'all I'm a regulator And he can end up like Nate Dogg if we warrin', G If cash is up, I blast the pup, you fags is fucked Blast and leave nothin' but ashes, now that's corrupt In other words, if he snoopin' on my dogs while we all rounded That only get him a couple strays And leave your dogs pounded You talk about that video you got? We all clowned it You put the link up on your Twitter, that's how we all found it I mean, I've heard of MTV Jams, shit, I've even heard of MTV 2 But your shit came out on MTV U I mean, I'm not even sure if that's somethin' MTV do What the fuck? You went out and made your own MTV crew? Oh, that's why they callin' it MTV U But fuck the jokes, if it's beef I bring a riot through Anybody talkin' that dumb shit, then they dyin' too I thought Big T was the only one reppin' the Quiet crew Then you battled a nigga named Holla and he silenced you I mean, I say it's a difference between metaphors and real rap You one of them niggas who ain't got metaphors or real rap I'm one of them niggas who throw they metaphors in a real rap That's why I'm in the streets With them metal four's—and I still rap Why you go down to New Orleans? Did you get a promotion on that bus driver shit? Or did you just get stuck in New Orleans On some typical bus driver shit? Well, I got a clip that don't discriminate It even bust drivers, bitch! So even if you ridin' with Shotgun, y'all ghost-ridin' the whip Toe side to hip, so even if he decide to dip I decide to trip and they'll find him on the Eastside and clipped So if he got the bricks And he don't bring 'em back, like they retro The day after they do it he gettin' clipped; he a metro Your bill due, kill who? Don't even start, bro I'll catch you on your block and run your pockets like a narko Y'all be dressed in all that fuckin' purple But your skin the color of charcoal Since she love the color purple I'ma beat him I'm Harpo Be smart, bro, you niggas should've took the way out He should know he can die now if I take this K out I said, he should know that he can die now if i take this K out Aye, he the type of nigga that'll try to play me And I'll let the shit play out Then a half an hour later he'll be tied up in one of they house That clip hangin' like a fat ass, J-Lo You never know what's poppin' out of this toaster; Eggo When lead flyin' he makin headlines, they know Drake, I said when lead flyin' he makin headlines They know, they know, they know I'll get this Grape popped and capped twisted; he a fego You already know how I feel, Smack You finally had the battle in Detroit Ain't nobody gettin' killed, Smack I told you I'm a man of my word, I'm real, Smack Did you see I just had Uncle Trick Trick to chill, Smack? After a nigga battle me I make him feel wack, ‘cause its a difference between metaphors and real rap; Landslide!!! [Round 3: Arsonal] You a bitch-ass nigga, let me tell you why you a bitch ass nigga ‘Cause you think you a heavyweight ‘Cause you just beat a bitch-ass nigga You only Smack new frontman ‘Cause Hitman dissed that nigga and said fuck URL ‘Cause Holla ain't no kiss-ass nigga I'ma break it down right now, this round is so fuckin' true Every Smack event the main event was never fuckin' you I only accepted this battle ‘cause me, Smack, Beasley, Chico and Norbs all signed a contract Saying I'm gettin' paid off of every fuckin' view, true I know I wasn't suppose to say that But fuck it, not ‘cause you deserve it Not ‘cause you just surfaced Think deep, you stupid little mothafucka! It's a plot behind my purpose You ain't hot, you just all know He gettin' gwap behind your service; I was like jackpot as soon as we decided to sign that dotted-line in cursive Don't ever question my gangsta, nigga I'm Crip, what you thought? I can't help that if I'm Grape Street Crip in New Jersey I'm Grape Street Crip in New York If I'm Grape Street Crip in Cali, I'm Grape Street Crip in Detroit I'll come to your family reunion And all your folks can get pitched with a fork But today I got some red rags, I brought some Piru damu's That's ready to leave your blood in a bayou Machete line, and that'll be all you can get; no Ken or Ryu Just a hospital bed with a pissy cup beside you Hit you with all lefts, I swear to God I'll put my right hand on the Bible I chalk you out without the blackboard Your life is on fast-forward, you wanted it So you got this ass-whoopin, ‘cause you asked for it I'll slap the shit out of you with the same intensity as LeBron slappin' somebody shit up against the backboard Now, you ungreatful mothafucka, you should learn to say "Thank you, Ars, for this million views I'ma earn today And to show my appreciation Here's some ounces for you to burn away." I came to Detroit, I'm thinkin' that's the type of shit I'm expecting for you to turn and say I'ma turn away, burn a J, and say "Alright, alright, alright, mothafucka, now you gon' learn today." Now, you was suppose to wake up this morning Brush your teeth and take your vitamins Put on your suit and tie and search to see who is hirin' On every job application it's a box for occupation Yours will read on Loaded's dick Tryin' to bring Lux out of his retirement I don't think that's cool though And I also think you know me and Lux in the league you wouldn't even make it to, Juco Remember ICE gave Rex a.k.a. Tango some FaceTime with a two blow? Well, I'ma do the same shit to you, bro And broadcast it on Oovoo No, not Oovoo, Smack, I'm searchin for a new show Nigga, my Spanish fans love you too Send this battle to Telemundo! Make sure they close-caption the lyrics ‘Cause I'ma get on the mic, Joe Jackson his parents Bury his body, snatch out his soul I'm even toe-taggin' your spirit Now, last Smack, no joking, I fucked you up on some G shit Now I'ma do it again in your city And call it the beat-yo-ass-in-the-D mix Then I'ma break the alphabet down for you Nigga, on some street shit, like… Aye, b, I'll rock your bitch boat until she sea sick My DE don't play no f-ing games, on some G shit I'll rob you while you getting H I steal your J's on some thief shit I let off that K, twistin' up a L on some sweet shit Then think about M's while I'm headed back to NO On some fuckin' Master P shit Quick Q, ask then, who are you? A fraud geek walking around with that S on your chest that stand for small feet I got big guns, choppers on deck, with long beats I got Cali dro with the real Calico tucked under that long T So if you even think about a victory or a W I'ma X you out, why? To let them fuckin' Z's hover you I'll put you to sleep, nigga, my bars really trouble you And being Ars just for a day is somethin' you'd love to do That was an alphabetical order slaughter My shooter starvin', they'll kill your daughter daughters For a plate of steak and a quart of water You old lame-ass nigga, Toranio-is-his-name-ass nigga Type-to-get-a-nose-ring-ass nigga Young Calicoe defines fake-ass nigga Type-to-let-Math-touch-all-on-his-face-ass nigga I'll break every bone in your jaw And make sure you never eat again I swear to God, I'm done with the written now I'm just off the top, I don't ever need a pen Didn't you just die last round? Now you want your ass beat again You like who, what, where, why you really need a win You wouldn't impress me if you had elven kidneys And said to me Heaven sent me Had as much money as Floyd Maywhether And all of Ray J's seven Bentley's These niggas in this crowd would be stupid to bet against me My bars go way over most niggas heads It dougie, it funny they never get me You already know how I feel, Smack I finally came to Detroit, ‘cause I wasn't gon' get killed, Smack But it's a difference between metaphors and real rap Calicoe, you still a little pup, nigga—so chill, scrap!
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