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Correct Charlie Clips Vs. B Magic Lyrics
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Correct Charlie Clips Vs. B Magic
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[Round 1: Charlie Clips] So they call you B Muthafuckin' Magic But your real name is June; I just wanted to get it clear So y'all got me battling a nigga named June While we end June; on so many levels, this battle isn't fair ‘Cause if I squeeze ratchets It'll be magic the way June disappear I'll slap the shit out of you every day in July I'm trying to knock June into a different year I dare you to walk through my hood Let's say, around June, tryin' to say hi Them goons on the corner Cold as December, you better say bye I brought a four, named her April, I hold that bitch yay high Squeeze April, a bullet march in June, and then he may die I said, June, May, March… whatever, I know it's extra scary How I come up with these schemes But I need another month to make it legendary I should walk you to the roof and make you leap Yeah, but that ain't necessary I'll do anything to make black history; that's February Wait, did y'all get that? Did y'all get that? Black History, leap year, like when you extend February Show y'all what a queer he is, like he was born in February The deuce'll give him one, like it was trying to begin February But the two-two'll give him eight Like it was trying to end February I said, nigga, your name June, that gotta make you mad, Magic You named after a month you wasn't even born in That's so sad, Magic I'll run in your house while you fucking your bitch Load up that mag, Magic You'll die while doing that trick; now, that's bad magic Your style ain't been hot since Shaq was in Orlando That's why you ass, Magic They know you gon' die, your whole career You've been known to pass, Magic These labels giving you no looks, ‘cause you trash, Magic Oh, you sick? Well, nigga, it's hard to tell You're like the last Magic Your career is ass backwards You started out spitting that heat, dog You was the man in the Proving Grounds Now your career is on a see-saw The only nigga he bodied was Rosenberg After that, he took a detour So I got a question, why y'all on Magic johnson If all he could do is beat Raw? But now y'all wanna give him Charlie Clips Well, this a bodybag y'all can blame on me See, he was riding, y'all had him gassed, but now his tank on E I got a new TEC, no duet, but it sing on key I'll rock him, like Sean Carter, and put a ring on B Magic, I like you, but you should recycle ‘Cause every battle is the same trash You got these fans under your wing, but this the plane crash You put in all that work against Tay Tay, with your lame ass And then let the Roc get rid of you; you Dame Dash With this .40, I aim, blast; that's a caliber These bullets large, you should dodge; that's a Challenger I give 'em 30, you ain't even know it; that's a silencer It'll put June in a box; that's a calendar I said, these bullets'll go through everybody In your house when that tool flare They'll start off in your bitch But they'll end in June, like a school year If they happen to survive, then I'm picking up another tool Shoot him first, now they start in June, like summer school Whoa, look, that was ahh, but peep this one I got a shooter named Twiz, right? He nice with that canon Peep the way my G roll I tell him edit your life, then he giving you tubes; no VEVO I tell him cameo, he give a face shot, you get a peephole So if Magic acting tough, these clips'll make B roll Aye, look, I'm not an oldhead I just like to make the young feel wack I'm on my shit, this the flow that made Verb chill, Smack They saying Ill on drugs, if that's a one real fact Then these cocaine lines should bring Yung Ill back [Round 1: B Magic] I said yo, I will pop on a mark ‘cause my set go Jump around and get beat fast like techno When I re-release these two threes, it ain't retro Walk in the place with the blazer on me, like it's dress code TEC's blow, jump and cap a nigga: step show Get blunt objects across your mouth: let's smoke I got something in store for you, dog: Petco A liter of blood will run out him, like Death Row I said yo, Magic hands on, like a palm reader No stunting, I'm upfront with it, like the line leader Grab the .40, smacking a magazine with it, like Don Diva Hop out the crowd with the steel, like John Cena Clips, these rounds don't come with a timekeeper What I carry'll leave him red, I'm in my prime Yes, Carey, leave him red, prom – my rhymes deeper Chilla Jones strapped in C4; I'm a bomb schemer Look, I'm at your crib strapped, chillin' with your boo, we in Ash Kash lovin' it, she damn near moved me in Heard the front door open, Charlie and his hooligans Dump at 'em, he ain't get a chance to guess what room we in My bad, I ain't tryin' to force it I spit sick, something magic Think I had a fuel card how I grab a pump and flash it And it stretch marks, like card girls at Summer Madness And I ain't tryin' to settle down when I'm dumpin' ratchets What, this ain't going how you planned, nigga? Let's say you argue with a Calico, like Hanz, nigga You can get your whole team homi'ed, like Amzilla Wouldn't make it to the AM with a transmitter See, with them Disney-ass bars; good luck, Charlie! Factz said, "I heard you had Boosie," I said, "Fuck Charlie!" I'll put some shells into Clips if he need the slugs We'll come with open arms, like he need a hug See a thug, understand, my peeps, we deep Clip'll take the steel and pass, like CP3 If the first strap don't make this nigga see we G I'll bring out another bad creation, like B.B.D Catch up, homie, I'm leaving you, you gon' need this work It's a wrap in front of these caps, like T and Surf I mean, this iron'll do more than crease your shirt These clips just right for you, like DNA when he need a verse I say, so Beas' told me that Charlie Clips wanna fight The nigga you said who smoked feet? You know who you calling, right? Yeah, Magic, but chill, this always been a part of Harlem life Remember? Quick even did it in Harlem Nights Set it up, hung up, thought of some mean shit Like Clips gon' come before the Smack, like DreamWish You better take cover with the sweeper, like Teen Witch Or you'll be done 'fore the third round on some Qleen shit Okay, so you Charlie Clips who bars is piff and very potent Well, now you looking at a nigga who do heavy smokin' Steady loc'n, run shit; Jesse Owens He got wheezy after a hook, like Kelly Rowland
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