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Correct JC Vs. Rum Nitty Lyrics
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Correct JC Vs. Rum Nitty
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[Round 1: Rum Nitty] It took you 56 battles to finally get your foot inside the door You had all them shots though, my nigga All them shots and you finally made it That’s why they criticize the form And for the record, we was never cool Let’s get it correct So you personally talkin’ ‘bout me leavin’? You can dead it, nigga Simple as that, or a kick behind your head Soon as you put the Bloque in your mouth All that history’s X’d I’m a cool nigga, but I’m still with the shit Mil in the grits I got shots for everybody here in this bitch It’s a gun line in every lyric I spit ‘Cause I’m honestly next to a Tommy, I’m bein’ sincere as it gets I put a beam right here on the stick I gave this SKS dots, now Carter gotta deal with the kicks You see what talkin’ gets you? They think my lines ain’t special ‘Til they lose in the ring ‘Cause the flow on point, this a Sonic level All kinda action Clip long as a Bible chapter Let one ring wit the arm like a tribal pattern Die in fashion Your heart rate on the E.K.G machine tryin’ to flatten Now the God Pen depend on God to get line reaction I let lead cook, your set left shook One shot give ya top the T-Top Chef Trez push Let it bang Arizona heat, put one in your mind soon (monsoon) as the desert rang (rain) I keep a stainless, but if I don’t shoot you I’mma noose you If you don’t get the pound I leave you hangin’ Nah fuck that Bring two bangers, point ‘em ya way (Yaweh) Then yes, you a (Yeshua) be missin’ J like the Hebrew language You bitchmade, timid I walk up on ya whip then raise wit it Then put the five on the glass like a inmate visit Big gauge grippin’ I come after the Bloque wavin’ one like Dikembe did it I’m dishin’ shots out You know I been wit the joint, by the leg where this located (dislocated) You get hyper? Extended pop out I’m in yo city wit a rocket I hit Michigan and pop it If Rum run in the Yak, a prohibition couldn’t stop it You get the heavy chop Off the chain wit it Draggin’ a piece through J hood since I left da block Get ya momma, uncle, auntie popped Shootin’ wit two arms But shit a get ugly for him when his granny shot Then Danny knock And Danja get the cannon (Kannon) You know the story Then after I turn up in J’s spot, I’mma .40 40 Catch Chilla bitch ass, load the chrome Somethin’ little blew (blue), and traveled through his body Like osmosis, Jones You thought I left the fo’ at home? I keep it loaded in the grey hoodie, I never leave my nose alone I couldn’t coincide witchu bitches Stand on the same side witchu bitches Yo niggas got punches that land Mine don’t even fuck with the cam J, our riders (J.R. Rider) is different Fuck you, you can’t keep it real to yourself Nigga suicide or I’ll do the job, you decide Kill yourself [Round 1: JC] Summer Madness 6 It’s Rum Nitty, versus… You do know you got me all the way fucked up tonight, right!? Every line I’m dumpin’, Rum Absolute respect to your new team, and understand where I’m comin’ from It’s one-on-one Do not jump into a round tonight, unless you will jump in front of one! Because me, I’m willin’ to pull right up Niggas like us don’t like to hear them stories from afar I made a way in (Wayan), got Loc-Dawg'ed, I’m talkin’ empty .40’s in the yard This will not be that great sequel nigga, face it now Buck fifty when they see you with the razor out The scar gon’ haunt you, I’m talkin’ Ray Finkel with the laces out This ain’t just about grabbin’ weapons We don’t tolerate shit jumpin’: that’s the message Now it’s like, who boy is this? He food, poisonin’ And ever since you been wit' Homi they done had a staff (staph) infection If we both great at what we do, then why do I leave Earth and they give you sky limits? That’s ‘cause I’m different I mean, we both gifted, but when you bring that gift to JC, be wise wit' it Because you all do it, you bite, and don’t even know the author I mean, you might’ve sharpened the kick like Logan daughter But y’all reincarnations of the last Jew Hopeless wit' it And off that, you are as innocent as...O.J You see where I’m goin’ wit' it? His bars? The verdict and that trial? No conviction! All that for nothin’ Every time somebody mention “crip” you gotta throw a C up Well, if you wanna talk doin’ some bars, don’t try to hold that shit until now Lettin’ them give you holiday heart, then we gotta hear a nigga bitch through a round Naw! NAW! Bonnie and Clyde, I throw a shot Then a nigga bitch threw a round I strike the iron while it’s hot The silencers music to ears Damn near musical chairs...'cause soon as it get silent, niggas drop And this new wave, it’s a lot of niggas rappin’ ‘bout cartoons, Nitty I like burners! I don’t got shit to say about anime (Anna Mae): I’m Ike Turner! But every bar, he gon’ bring my family harm Wit these king size…candy bars You really gon’ walk over me? You need to stay off the grass, please Like, like...Stanley yard ‘Cause that ain’t nothin’ but dirt any damn way I know, ‘nother Friday line, right? And I told y’all I would like to be done But it’s too easy to make a punch bowl and you know you gotta spike it wit Rum I done changed the whole style for this nigga But not only ‘cause y’all miss shit Instead of takin’a slit wrist I took a big risk And made every step count, like a Fitbit Well, it’s a new sheriff in this bitch Why? ‘Cause I’m back and deadly I don’t pull cards, I pull up And ya’ll niggas have them ready Nigga, chest shot, big revolver More than one go through Now his core openin’ up, like Tez in The Untold Truth Pull your heart out ‘Cause everybody get on this stage wit' war stories You niggas is awful Got shots and let it burn like Usher? Yeah, well, when these ratchets talk, they gon’ literally cost you It’s certain niggas that move real presidential with this shit That’s me I’m that cold, and Powell (Colin Powell) just another nigga in the mix I’ve been crazy, and you’ve never warred wit a nigga who pen crazy But I’ve been fightin’ And no matter how much crack you stuff when that pen lightin’ They only know you for the punch I get ‘em drugged through a setup, I’m indictin’ And of course, I heard all your past callouts And I didn’t wanna be the one to say it was lame But nobody else heard it You see how that placement done change? I mean, that was live, but I’m more 2K So remember how you got your face in the game It’s bodybags at every battle, make sure your homie found one But do not jump in that bitch yet, ‘cause this is only round one [Round 2: Rum Nitty] A casket what you catch I pull up on your set y’all get y’all a strap You’ll hear it barkin’ from the whip like animal neglect Then I left dawg in Pontiac If I catch you playin’, its reverends prayin’, and heaven’s waitin’ Then J get some type of engine wit him, like Hector laced it Somethin’ heavy wavin’ It hit, then it push back the block (Bloque), we on Tekken playin’ I put the steel up to cuz Let it give J the fire (Jada Fire): your whole career gettin’ fucked! Let’s get it poppin’ I leave a nigga from the Bloque (block) shot wit his wig out I been the wildest If a nigga try me, it’s gon’ get you bodied Behind the mic, I dead dancers: you a Thriller zombie My nigga Murda was pushin’ you all across frontstage You wouldn’t say shit Stood there lookin’ like a shy nigga when he bump J We all for trouble, load up let off a couple Get dropped from the grip, easy as carpal tunnel Knockin’ pieces of your body off when a hollow spark This .50 sick, it can make all things fall apart They said I was sittin’ on bars, I had to laugh Nothin’ old, I keep a current flow with the pen, this is Alcatraz Niggas know that I’m ridin’ Suppress the gun so the .40 is quiet The nigga died…and had a moment of silence Try me, play and it’s a homi Smooth Criminal, you know I took the angle for a body Stop it Ain’t no bitch nigga gon’ play me ‘Cause it’ll be a wrap (rap) Wit two arms behind his back, like the old JC Nigga, play then you’ll get stretched, you from the gang then throw your set You vicelord, right? Well I put you under the five, and bang it to the left That one a let you down If you thought this “vice” verse a (vice versa) kill me its gon’ be the other way around But niggas tellin’ me, I get all my bars from acting scenes y’all But my rounds is live, you think cause it's from a movie, you gon’ die That’s what Brandon Lee thought I don’t understand ‘em Same scenario You cannot criticize the stance if the punch is landin’ Beam on it so I aim better He try to run, then this a take a nigga back, it’s a slavecatcher But who killed you is the main question ‘Cause I ain’t show my face, and kept my mouth zipped I’m a Bape sweater Gang member, give a fuck who came witcha Black twelve, red both sides of J, I flu game niggas And lil Tay Tay flatline told me, he brought a bag out for you South Central they tried to give J rock (Roc), and it backfired on you I pull a piece he pray “please” You know how niggas talk to God when they dyin’, right? Well in that situation is where I’ll be leavin’ (believe in) JC Fuck you You can’t keep it real to yourself Nigga suicide or I’ll do the job, you decide [Round 2: JC] This whole punch, setup, delivery shit y’all do, not impressive It predates y’all, that’s why the lane small They all talk about the same killin’ I can make killin’ sound better than Nate Dogg Rest in peace to a real one Because that’s one life I’m sure we could glady exchange for this one by sunlight I go AWOL (a wall), you don’t make it past, I’m Trump-like I make the call, it’s a done deal, ain’t no helpin’ receivers Relatives either Shit if I holla “Gram” (hologram) you gon’ need Coachella to see her We will never be the same, you take your throwaways you post ‘em on Twitter Where nobody check for it I take my throwaways and make somebody (some body) a throwaway ‘cause I get a check for it Today of all days, you can expect the madness Weapon blastin’, get all of ‘em smoked Old school wit the stick like Atari remotes But that just mean I’m pressed for action You called me out often, damn near askin’ for a feature But in complete fan mode, every jab was from the bleachers And I’m like, “Well, this ain’t Good Burger, but everything I send bad And that drive ain’t the same when you crash into the teacher” Nigga, you be wit a different team every visit So the next time you switch sides I’mma be waitin’ for the shot, just cherry-pickin’ The shit you do, ain’t even killin’, it’s barely crime Two niggas, two nickels, each, change the paradigm (pair of dime) Now you gotta shoot, rock his roof Mouth open, shit spillin’ out The choppa put him in his place like real estate And that’s not a punch, it will flip a house Yes, I brought somethin’ in this bitch that could leave him on the floor But it might sound arrogant And that’s ‘cause they ain’t check my ego (eagle) at the door Headshot All the way up until 2017 I’ve been killin’ plenty Liftin’ arms without lendin’ any And what’s worse, I got the vision to run this shit ‘til 2020 (20/20) That throwaway you posted on Twitter, what’s that? Trash, at it’s best I couldn’t even wait to hear what trash was next They knew this Michigan nigga was sick when he left But that’s why me comin’ back to play was such a magic step Oh, but I’m not here to pass Roc I’m ballhoggin’, I want the last shot Got all his people clogged in the Camry, ridin’ down the street And just hear a ratchet singin’, and I’m talkin’ all in the family What makes it worse, the fuckin’ timin’ Dicaprio in Shutters Island, how my patience (patients) work This, is a illegitimate stepson Who left the Bloque for Homi and couldn’t catch one But that’s why I spark y’all And what a coincidence The moonwalker’s arm strong (Armstrong) Nigga, kneel (Neil), because son can shoot But the pops louder than Lavar Ball One time he was apart of all these crews, just like flashin’ Jumped ship one too many times, now he need a life jacket That’s it, I’m done y’all [Round 3: Rum Nitty] Most of your best performances is when you battle your teammates That’s when all of your bars hit I get it It’s easier to land punches against somebody you spar wit Makes sense, but then you stay snappin’ on amateurs, debate this When the last time we seen J black (Jayblac) on a champion? Your soul liftin’, one in the dome hit him Now Carter can’t feel his face, and got no ceiling Hit yo city, pour wit me, dome kickin’ Takin’ a whole family out in Pontiac, I’m road trippin’ Your shit oozin’ if I snuff you A cracked head expose inside of Carter, that’s Pookie with the buckle Fuck you, I don’t feel his style I mean, I understand wit the pen he wise (Pennywise), but he still a clown You get it (It) now? Simmer down, I don’t feel a clown Your whole side get hit, no choir shit when I fire sticks Big round, make a ultra sound (ultrasound) inside this bitch They talk but duck me And for the record, you’ll get the .50, thinkin’ Con a punch wit me Dome shot, you fallin’ on your face If you anticipated me droppin’ Carter, sorry for (4) the wait He throw up a gang, I’ll lay somethin’ I guess since you doin’ all this actin’ out I should raid (charade) somethin’ Trey dumpin’, I don’t play wit no marks This a grown man bodyin’ (body in) a bitch, like when Baby Boy start Right in, put your G to sleep, and he’ll go clean to sleep They’ll have to ice JC whole face, now he a Jesus piece I run up on Loaded untucked and gun butt If he go under the ladder, Lux gettin’ fucked up But if that match is too much to ask then you gassin’ ‘Cause facts is, I ain’t earn my respect, I snatched it I grip a big desert, that shit’ll make a rider (Writer) book, off top like Karrine Steffans It’s an adrenaline rush, lettin’ off shots, no audition But I really get stoked (Chris Stokes) when the arm pop He wanna die though, I pull a special-made custom auto Then I raise iron like Cus D’Amato I said what strap you peel wit? I get at you, real shit If I send you the pound, your whole pack get aired out, like I vacuum sealed it Trap talk, you know nothin’ ‘bout it But you do be snappin’ on ‘em I can’t lie, he’s unbelievable But you not believable that’s your problem Bitch ass nigga, do somethin’ I ain’t even have a bar right there, I just wanted to prove somethin’ Who want it? You gon die in the long race This TEC, Pineapple Express, get fired across J Fuck you You can’t keep it real to yourself Nigga suicide or I’ll do the job, you decide My fault [Round 3: JC] Dome shots, won’t shit survive If it do, it’ll leave a nigga blind Shit, he gon have to feel for you And every nigga in the field for you gon’ have to sympathize I’m talkin’ open arms, like when I’m cleanin’ my .40 Put Rum down when I’m squeezin’ my 40 You niggas basic, nigga face it Whatchu took, E? (Tookie) The last time a crip got a shot from the Terminator he didn’t make it Smack, wussup? I know this ain’t addin’ up But that’s because Summer Madness 3 you don’t want nobody else to assume doin’ the math (Math Hoffa) for you And I understand that, so this all me And witout y’all I’m askin’ Rob Kardashian, I’ll leave and get rid of the bag for you But I need a clear mind after this, ‘cause now I’m in every circle And you gotta see me, more than a Everest commercial That lil nigga JC, calm violence Rappin’ like he’s some Kong giant I’m not, but that notebook came from Skull Island It’s that rare, and it ain’t a gimmick But this shit you portrayin’, it ain’t convincin’ I’m savin’ you the hassle, Bobby Boucher before the tackle Change the image Newsflash: Nobody believed, from the way you handle them hammers in them videos, thatchu bustin’ them shots Oooh, you make them guns look worse than Love & Hip Hop Good try nigga, but I’m nice so say goodbye when the five hit ya And snatch your soul like the right picture Change-up (Changeup), ‘cause I don’t think the game’s stuck on the right picture (pitcher) And everything that I throw strike, I’m talkin’ the best shit for the record I couldn’t rest wit no effort And since everything witchu is hit or miss, we gon make sure da mess stick (dometistic) to the record I’m not a caregiver, I just work wit fire like a Airbender And I’m this different Tonight, we shootin’ like we got a problem wit everything And we nitpickin’ (Nit pickin’) Especially, when they tryin’ to kill you too, oh you gotta get closer And make ‘em pass first like Popovich coached them It’s all fundamentals, somethin’ I’m kinda mad you forgot They still tryin’ to figure out a punchline for “after the shot” It’s too small of a scheme So, y’all be limited when y’all pass him his props ‘Cause he only stand tall through a dream But I guess everybody wanna be the king until the balcony shot But that’s why it’s not worth it That’s why niggas criticize the form when…(the shot perfect!) But you, oh you don’t hold the toast? You vapin’, just blowin’ smoke But that’s why we demandin’ the static So cut the fraud shit Ratchet old, but the arms ripped, I’m talkin’ Angela Bassett I changed the game and the rules How can you not acknowledge me? That’s why every time I get in the ring with them, they end up in an octagon wit me And I just tuck the piece, and just say “fuck peace” I don’t even do subliminals I let the sub tweet (subtweet) Like look and listen See I never played roulette, it’s never a bullet missin’ I just untuck, and keep spittin’ Wit part of the piece spinnin’ like Young Buck I don’t care who I’m after You ain’t even safe at home I slide past the hood like Dukes of Hazzard That mean, I like to blast A son flinch, that bitch come lightnin’ fast And we even got somethin’ for the coffin That mean we grab the nose and spray if any sign is (sinus) bad Rum, it is over wit Overdosed from the dopest pen Y’all know I wrote this shit ‘Cause Summer Madness just turned into a eulogy My condolences
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