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Correct JC Vs. Chilla Jones Lyrics
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Correct JC Vs. Chilla Jones
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[Round 1: JC] I used to say it was hard to look at a nigga And tell who capable of aimin' the chrome But if we both said we sparkin' That's like Martin: they all know you playin', Jerome And I know where you stayin', Jerome I'm a cash crook, I can get your stash took You don't want your apple in your lap, then when I air MAC's, book I mean, image ain't everything, right? But you nowhere close to tough What you got, a couple schemes and some slow it downs? Nigga, you rap slow enough See, you the type we can tell frontin', I got Hell crumplin' This Training Day, I see anything or smell somethin' We clappin' birds like Denzel comin' So nigga, talk or sit the fuck down if you ain't tryna get involved ‘Cause I will drop this fag with one shot 'til the chin chilla soft Now wait, we all heard Ciddy say that, right? He said it ‘cause a chinchilla's soft I said it ‘cause the chin on Chilla's soft and we all know Chilla's soft Nobody feelin' Chilla, but Chilla feel he the realest out ‘Cause he spit filler, but that shot to Chilla chin Gonna knock the filling outta Chilla mouth Let's pop it, see, you gotta convince these real niggas that you a real nigga and the best way to do that… be real, nigga So let me guess, you got rocks to move? You sell it? You on the block with tools? Armed with Glocks to shoot? Stop it! For profit you seem like you would drop some dudes' Names in this game, try to tell Them knuckles leave him balled up like when Sonic boost Or I could make a phone call, get this lame fag murked Bang metal like a train crash I bang mags, let that thang blast Hit niggas and the clip bigger if I aim bad See, in my own eyes I done noticed the top spot get rusty So I'm cocky, ‘cause ain't enough niggas to stop me, trust me Plus you do minimal damage, b I mean damn, it's me, the fans'll see Beef? I'll let hammers speak We all know Boston can't handle heat So once that chrome spit, his dome split I'm a boss, ten'll leave his bean baked in a box since he homesick Now, why every time a nigga gets close to another nigga He gets certified for actin' tough? But what about that other nigga that don't budge ‘Cause he already know the nigga actin' tough? I'ma tell this fag actor once: get out of line, pass or bump I'ma react with the fastest punch They ain't gon' have no choice but to turn this bitch from Smack to Snuff – you just lost round 1 [Round 1: Chilla Jones] I rap depressin' and lack aggression, right? Simple Well, I punch nice as Kimbo Homie, you wanna bet? It's curtains I'll bring pain if you try and win dough You couldn't duck these bars and now your life's in limbo See, my men so un-fucking-stoppable That when I tell 'em bring heat to the crib he in it's nothin' tropical The topic though, I belong in every top five But since you close to the Motor City, I'll show you I got drive My shorty hood with junk in her trunk, the flair concealed With a silence to muffle her sound, so break if she air the steel So don't bump her, look near her grill And forget her number, tryna ask'll offend her more than starin' will She get a tonic and gin, then when it's gone and expired I'll spoil her with the D, Cal, 'til she's exhausted and tired You rep Pontiac on that G shit, but you don't own a gun, liar So I'ma give this G six for y'all thinkin' that son fire And here's why you ain't a punchliner ‘Cause versus Time Bomb you said: "When I come around That jazz go out the window, nigga, I'm Uncle Phil." But usin' bars like that against me, and you'll be done for From what I've seen, Jazz be gettin' thrown out the front door So why would you say window? Well, this reason makes the best sense You from the Glove, right? So you never seen fresh prints He stepped tense, what it is then, G? I'm real too Them slimes keep one mag, get scum bagged with that steal too So act filthy rich or talk grimy they'll kill you That's for a stack, dirty, so imagine what a mil do See, children created the rules, I'm a straight threat You beat Raw, now they thinkin' you ill? Well, I'm the AIDS test I'm on my Bean Town shit, cover his eyes To squeeze the pump on his tongue like Dee Brown kicks Let's cut the clown shit Carter, you'll do anything for big bills Vince in his prime: he want a fast break to win mils But I heard you down with Battle America, no promo But for a belt and some kicks, he'll do what ever sin say, like a dojo Boston! [Round 2: JC] I hate all your fuckin' schemes Let me slow it down… I hate all your fuckin' schemes You do exactly what I think you gon’ do, y'all just took another hit Feel how y'all want to about Chilla I just think y'all booked another bitch ‘Cause when they want a nigga to kill I'm the crook they come and get ‘Cause like that ho on Don't Be A Menace I be cookin' up some shit Now, y'all don't even know who y'all steppin' to You realize I can do anything y'all come up with? Better too He wifed a bitch off Facebook, now I bet you gon’ regret it too ‘Cause she just tryna get poked So she'll net work 'til we all get effin' blue Now, look, y'all get that ‘Cause the F icon is in a blue box, right? That's how I'll do it We all know his type, this faggot will keep goin' Like, "I hit her on Twitter Got at his BM through a DM and that bird blew Now regardless of how black plan it We mob, nigga, violate my space And he gon' always have to watch his back like Tom picture See, that's Chilla The Boston battle scene is the worst thing poppin' You play for the worst team and you the third string option You gettin' your ass whooped And everybody on the first team watchin' Bitch, we clap hammers here Batman premiere: that clip release got at least thirteen droppin' Now, I watch URL often, so I know your quotes And you told Cash death come in threes So that's exactly what I hope you wrote See, these niggas let anybody approach 'em We approach with toast, send him home to coach 'Til the dock off the rivers, hope them hoes can float There won't be shit left to disclose your ghost, hit plenty more Them actin' bitch gon’ need Demi Moore to disclose your ghost Look, death come in threes Now, Demi Moore got two movies: Disclosure and Ghost Get it, disclose your ghost? Moral of the story is, get this close you're ghost It's an honor for you to meet me, I'm the next problem Run in your crib, pop your mom: I'm your step father Drop Jones in this ring, remind him of when he met Tarver I'm a new nigga, fresh lines But not one nigga ahead cut like me: I got the best barber You tryna graduate, but I make that test harder Goin' bar for bar for respect I kill niggas, that lead pop, Red Foxx: I'm puttin' arms to his chest Now, the fans can make it a classic But the rest of you and your mans debatin' ‘Cause you see-through, I seen you, sacrificial laminated I said, you see-through, I seen you as a sacrificial lamb and ate it [Round 2: Chilla Jones] You can do what I can do, that's your idea of clownin' Chilla? Well, I can do what you can do But I don't have room in my rounds for filler You cocky, but let's admit it, your brain is really gone, cuz You thinkin' you can stop me, bro? He must be on drugs Think about it, he hopin' his career gon' blow with Smack The first battle we seen from him he was smokin' crack Eventually he had Raw and he was dope with that But coke is back, these lines got 'em tryna keep they nose intact You just sour ‘cause Factor got a lot more respect for me Well, since you feelin' yourself, I gotta kill you for X to see I clap shots, so when you reach Heaven You can rep your team in the skies like a mascot Cats thought I'd give this coward a chance, I tell my guys pull Close range, tower in France: you'll get an eye full But speakin' of France, your ex is from Paris They shoulda told you 'bout your last wife We used to record her, shit, we made a flick last night She keep a tube of K, why? She the take-it-in-the-ass type She's a French whore and, trust me, whoever bag pipes Off the base you be mad hype, they like, "Be calm, bro!" But you didn't, so they banned yo' ass From goin' where the bong go Steal a P and O or dub sacks and watch that war begin If we don't get our loot, then we shootin' up that Accord he in I snuck that 40 in, we drum sets, firin' I'll punch through son chest, hit his organs and get violent 'Til there's bruises on this square and he loses all type of air Then when they pronounce him dead it'll be music to my ears But if he survive, I grab the knife and poke some holes in his top While he in that hospital bed, then his pulse gonna stop They sayin', "Breathe! Breathe!" but he froze in a shock Like a Celtics player, now you gettin' coached by the doc Stop! See this? This the try-me face, get your life erased Pencil style, like a stencil how your body trace If I peek inside that Jeep you drive and I see papes I'ma follow you with that chopper like a high-speed chase I need space for JC, right? Mr. Ain't Lose a Round? Against Mr. Jump to Top Tier From the Proving Grounds? You understandin'? What I fire I call Mariah What I carry gon’ get you broke up if I dump the cannon [Round 3: JC] In my first two rounds I showed y'all It was easy to do what they do, that's how the game go But what type of nigga would I be If I ain't give you the nigga you paid for? I been too nice Hopefully your supporters can keep you clothed and fed It's my turn to spit, that permanent casket close his bed What, y'all thought there was more to this? Honestly? This boring bitch Boy, we 'bout to send this bitch back packin' on some Dora shit What, you gon’ flip and spazz out? Bitch, don't try us There's four niggas in each car with about six mo' riders We heavy armed, like Precious, extend mo' fire The wrong turn, then Yak all in your backseat: I'm Pinky limo driver Glocks out, car jack, hop out, take me to this bitch set I'm tryna get his whole strip wet He was cruisin' till his ship wrecked Hit me, you gon’ get hit next Stomp him but leave him choices Timberland or Nike? Face the tree or get chin checked? And won't no nigga miss him ‘Cause he not sick, ignore all this nigga's symptoms I catch Chilla chillin' That fifth clap, boy, that bitch kick back like it's chillin' with him I hope you and your bitch get a sweet start I'ma off your main bitch, I got street smarts ‘Cause I'm a street star like the Walk of Fame Hawk the brain, you'll catch a shell for nothin' You can tell he frontin' That long nose could prob'ly shoot Homer head out the barrel of it All this real shit, that ain't you You ain't make money, it made you, and you let it change you ‘Cause to get ahead you flip and tell, that's what change do I will get this boy chalked, snatch him and his boy heart When that TEC scream, leave a wet scene ‘Cause like Seth Green I make toys talk Massachusetts, that's my destination, his Boston home Took him out on that same pillow he was talkin' on But it was witnesses outside, we had to plug a few screams It's nothin' new, it's actually become a comfortable thing See, it's niggas with switchblades, you get cut if you seen I edit the whole block, extend a few clips just to cut a few scenes You a bitch, that's why we laugh, cousin Every nigga out my class stuntin', that's somethin' This nigga front, like Rosa Park we send him back bustin' You thought you was winnin'? Never I'm a sore loser: I lose, you leave sore, these niggas with whatever I'm Tim T with that shotgun, but my precision better Or I call my nigga Beasy And that twelve will let loose one pump like Cinderella Now, let me let y'all know how this tragedy ends I wanna go get drunk, and I asked Norbes if we could do this battle, we not on PG so don't ask me again And I never feel like I lost But unless it's a clear 3-0 body bag no one actually wins Now, as far as this nigga, I'm deletin' his number You Tom-Myspace-swag-having-ass nigga This does not mean we automatically friends [Round 3: Chilla Jones] The total be two K's, we handle MAC's well and clap heat So when C air a round What I'm aimin' will leave your baby face on that black street But you like battle rap silk ‘Cause them bars you be spittin' soft Soon as I sat in the chair to write, this nigga lost They persuade you to get caught in this trap, no gettin' off I will dent him for nothin', I'm cut from a different cloth See, this a loss you shoulda planned for But we all know you're good with defeat We all seen you on the dance floor But before I say "Fuck JC!" and everything he stand for Let's talk about what else them letters JC could stand for Jones chillin', Jordans clean, takin' shots of Jose Cuervo He's a joke ‘cause he be just crumpin' like a motherfuckin' weirdo If he jump crump, try to shoot me with heaters He gettin' jigged, chopped, jugular cut With a blade in his back, now he Julius Caesar But let's be precise, you ain't like Caesar to be the type The fans think you walk on water, I guess you Jesus Christ That's what you sellin'? Well, we don't buy bull We're just to real to pay – you datin' Jaz? Well, even if you and that virgin marry, I still feel you gay Your heater outside, my scouts ride Before that firearm'll get in, I'll impale you, J So cross me with that hammer I'll spin Julian in reverse and nail you, J That's crucifixion; if you knew religion, you'd get the lesson But since I got you here, my nigga, I got a big confession I'm the one your chick is pressin', she be out here dick hoppin' Every Sunday she hit me and we get shit poppin' I scream when she go nuts on my jimmy without her lips stoppin' She a dairy queen, that's why I got her in my whip toppin' That clip poppin', one word and watch them goons begin To shoot and rob Julian for every fuckin' jewel he in I hate callin' you Julian, it doesn't fit you truly So I ain't callin' you Julian, I'ma call you Julie Now, as far as battle rap, in the Bean I'm the king If you took my crown, Julie, you'd be queen of the ring But them dwellers and misfits ain't with all that jazz, Julie With that .40 I'm precise with better aim than a QB Bullets ring, if they miss murk up the hall Better hustle or they abusin' you See, you're a star with the heart to flow But I know you fear a funeral Remorse is rare and unusual, against hood policies I came to turn your sorry-ass gang into a pile of G's So where you from? Wait, J. Dilla and Proof state? Well, I'ma son you here Let me reverse that and run through clear I hear you, son, but state proof that you a dealer, J They get weight from you, where? I had it backwards and ran them words back fuckin' bezerk So tell M. Ciddy that's how you punch in reverse!
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