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Correct T-Top Vs. Iron Solomon Lyrics
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Correct T-Top Vs. Iron Solomon
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[Round 1: T-Top] They told me I can’t come to London and rap about drugs! Let’s get that understood! I say, “Why not? I know how to rock everywhere just like a hustler should!” Even if London was sober - nigga, I’m from the ‘hood! As long as real niggas in the building, then I’m fuckin’ good! Aye, and as long as y’all got some bad bitches, then I’m fuckin’ good! It’s T-Top versus Iron Solomon The rules changed, I’m hopin’ this time you follow ‘em You move wrong, I will knock Iron out of it! Or flame the metal: I’m tryna make Iron out of him! I’m doubtin’ him Sorry, but I gotta offend you The whole culture is tired of bein’ tolerant wit’ you You Jewish, right? So you should feel this line when it hits you: I’ll be the first to put one in Solomon temple! Like, do I gotta convince you? Bitch, a hollow will split you! I give him 9, then take it back like the size didn’t fit you! Nah, that line was too simple ‘Cause, see, I ride wit’ the pistol Whip him, then bring it back like I’m drivin’ a rental! Nigga! Nigga! Nigga! BITCH! BITCH! BITCH! Dawg, I can supply what you into Weight, dimes, or the nickels One sniff’ll open your mind like you tryna be liberal! I’m a trapper, I done touched a lot of cash, Iron Dope-slinger, I even cooked inside a cast-iron We seen the movie You barely made it in that Bodied cast, Iron Well, when I’m shootin’ clips, they gotta make his body cast iron! I’ll blast Iron! Bitch nigga, you better call your team Two cannons blackin’ on Iron Man like the War Machine! He said he comin’ with that big poppa? It was all a dream ‘Cause they ain’t know Iron got pressed, ‘til they saw the steam! I’m from the ‘Quay, where niggas keep the two-tone clappin’ You could get an extra five years for school-zone trappin’ Where a fuck nigga will die if he lose those habits! And they’ll YouTube your murder if the news don’t grab it But you a faggot, ‘cause you been scared of Webster Hall since your last bang-up The embarrassment cost more than what Smack paid ya You had your- Facts! You had your bitch in the building: a hat-hanger He took his boo off the stage like a bad singer They told him, “Battle Tay Roc” He said, “The Black Ranger? They love every bar he spit! I’ll be in mad danger! I’ll pass, player! Just gimme my cash later” Shoulda known a Jewish man would be scared of a gas chamber BOW! Shoot him straight in his mouth I heard he talk the talk I told Smack I need me a killer, so this is all your fault I asked for du-rags & Timbs: New York, New York! They gave me Broadway & films: “New York, New York”! Aye, I walk the walk, you the drive-thru kind Bitch, I be posted outside like the drive-thru sign Shotgun, barrel longer than the drive-thru line And I gotta keep it low like the drive-thru time! We palm biscuits! I’ll shoot up his car if his broad in it I run down on both y’all like, “Be calm, bitches.” If I detect her (detector) goin’ off like the alarm trippin’ I’ll still hang her (hanger) in a cast like my arm itchin’! We war different, but it’s the same old mission I know the weight of a skull when the brains go missin’! It ain’t all about gunplay when we claim my victim ‘Cause where I’m from, we like to play a game called “Get Him!” (GET HIM!) You old “Why Smack always play me to the back”-ass nigga! (GET HIM!) You old “Beasley, they smokin’ in they room” ready to rat-ass nigga! (GET HIM!) You old “I’m not a racist - my sister’s boyfriend is Black”-ass nigga! (GET HIM!) Well, I’ll kill YOU, YO’ SISTER AND BLACK-ASS, NIGGA! (GET HIM!) We spark heaters! I’m still in the ‘hood wit’ the raw diesel! Everything you done in life, it was all legal! My guns think I don’t love ‘em no more, they all evil Well, shout out Nina, Tre, and my Midget MAC I can’t forget about the small people! I’m like a barber when it come to these guns, I tape ‘em up I put one against the grain: it ain’t a cut This battle like a one-night stand: strange as (strangers) fuck! Think Hernandez ‘Cause last time, Aaron caught a body, but this time, I’ll make him hang it up I wish you asleep right now, I’ll wake him up Bulldog under the pit: let’s make a mutt! The knife poke him slow in the stomach: it’s makin’ love That’s a Hawk (hug), and it’s back together: they makin’ up I’m at his son birthday party like, “Nigga, say what’s up” Gave lil’ man a Sig' (cig’), then blew the DJ like Player’s Club Give me a sinus, open his chest like Vaporub ‘Cause this stick to his roof be makin’ the neighbors fussed! Concrete, nigga [Round 1: Iron Solomon] Yo, London, what’s up? What’s up, y’all? It’s a good-ass crowd, y’all I fuck wit’ y’all, man, I fuck wit’ y’all Now...I don’t know if out in London, y’all say “Pause” or not But we gon’ all agree it’s an awkward spot when Beasley calls you to offer Top Nobody wanna take this plate! It gotta be force-fed You say “No thanks”, you might wake up with a horse head in your bed! I’ll take the battle, but I need more bread Triple the digits, cop me 63 tickets Fly out my mom, my kid, and my missus, then y’all can bring him to England See what I did for my minion? It’s me puttin’ T (tee) on like him when he’s swimmin’! Ladies! Don’t we both look great? Overweight, fried food fillin’ most our plates Whatever diet we on gettin’ 3-0'd...no debate! And I’m a handsome mu’fucka, but forget my groupies More different colors of princess cut on him than 6ix9ine jewelry I mean, the big guy’s boobies make women’s insides woozy Just picturin’ (picture in) the head like a mid-flight movie! Just look at him, right? Picture the type of woman he’d wife… BLECCH! No WAY you gettin’ pussy tonight! Give your second half to any jezzie hooker you’d like She might give you the box, but she gon’ put up a fight! But if we box, it’d be like as if we’d golf ‘Cause the very first time Iron swing, T (tee) off! You’ll catch a beat down One slap to T crown He’ll be stumblin’ on stage like Smack between rounds! Top terrified, see the fear inside his scary eyes He’s wonderin’ where to hide I’ll hunt & kill him and wear the hide Or whatever Top thinkin’ he got, I could top that Put the same bullet Lincoln got in Top hat! This Michelin Man gettin' dunked- Or I could do like you when you add cutter to the tan butter Except when man choppin’ up grams, it’s your dad’s mother! Then T-T-T gettin’ stuck like a bad stutter! Then this Michelin Man gettin’ dunked in the back of a truck A big round for T-Top head like an African ankh Or I could bury him somewhere that no one gon’ see In Homerton, B Cause of death? Unknown-T! WHAT’S UP!? WHAT’S UP!? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOOD!?! I’m the OG Creator, the bees and the birds I’m on the best comeback since Jesus returned That’s why I’m heated I ain’t get to eat the feast I deserve But when they bring out the cracker, you know T (tea) gettin’ SERVED! You get these chances handed to you, wit’ your fans standin’ behind you I earn mine by bein’ a man, standin’ on my two NWX, whatever rap circle’s around him Park Lyfe, Darkside - I’ll rap circles around ‘em This ain’t Battle of the Night, it ain’t a challenge or a fight This a flight, and a trip to see the Palace with my wife Book a champ like me for the talent and the hype Book a chump like you just to balance out the price! I’m the steak and potatoes, you the salad on the side You can’t digest it, ‘cause you’ve never had a salad in your life! Melvin, you’ve been sendin’ for me since you came out the house With all of that “King, King…” Bitch, keep my name out your mouth! What’s up!? [Round 2: T-Top] I said, yo Did y’all know Jewish people circumcise their kids with they mouth? Now that’s some nasty shit I just booked this battle to say you’se a nasty bitch! Now when his wife give him head, he say, “I remember when my dad did this” Just the thought of yo’ family photos would have me sick! And that ain’t it - all bullshit aside, Solomon You lost to Math, but then Mook is where you died, Solomon You ain’t even apologize for leavin’ SMACK Now that’s mind-bogglin’ ‘Cause you’ll put your son dick in your mouth, but now you got a problem pride-swallowin’ See, you gotta respect the laws, or I’mma start disbarrin’ him I’m the leader of the New School, it’s not for arguin’ He seen the fans’ Mount Rushmore, and it stopped his confidence ‘Cause the real legends never made a spot for Solomon! I got a box for Solomon, a whole plot for Solomon Sendin’ out head shots, and it’s not for modelin’ I’m lookin’ for the room that the doctor got him in To break his nose bone ‘til the snot come out of it! You not a snorter? Well, try heroin, I got it fo’ ya I’ll put a White boy on smack (SMACK) and shock The Culture Have him front page of the paper: I’ll promote ya Or die with a Sig’ (cig’) in your mouth: I’ll (Al) Capone ya! I’m on ya! This ain’t gon’ go the way that you think, Aaron Head shots, I’m hittin’ his yarmulke when that thing airin’ Take DNA belt off his shoulders and spank Aaron Or put the .44 to his back: I’ll Hank Aaron! Let’s rank Aaron, but dawg ain’t competin’ on the list If it wasn’t for Organik, his career would be ceasin’ to exist I could front you work, but if you plan on leavin’ with the bricks I’ll use an arm over my paper like, “Ain’t nobody cheatin’ off my shit!” Or I’ll beat him wit’ the blikk! Nigga, I got an iron piece Somebody tell Iron “Please” ‘fore I give it to Iron niece The irony’s he get a leg shot right through Iron knees And now they both stuck together: look like they Siamese Big cap! Leave him curled on the side like a Hasidic Jew Or buck-fifty (*swoo*) His face bubble up like acidic juice! Big shark! You couldn’t survive in the kiddie pool! They thought Iron bars could stop the Bear like a city zoo Wait, I gotta work on performance Lemme switch the groove Got me snappin’ wit’ the arms out: this a Shiggy move! He thinkin’ ‘cause he from New York, that nigga Biggie smooth Well, if you ain’t married to Faith, then they’ll be missin’ you! I hit the Jew On the real, you had a chance to glow We expected yo’ fans to grow Some of us couldn’t stand you, tho’ But there you go, makin’ us sick, lettin’ yo’ tantrum show Now I gotta ‘url (Earl) every time they sayin’ this man a GOAT (Manigault) I would crack jokes about him havin’ one nut, but I ain’t know if he could handle those And plus, everybody done said it, it’s like a damaged wrote Damn it, bro! I guess it’s somethin’ them niggas can’t let go ‘Cause after all this time, that one ball still gettin’ shade like LiAngelo What’chu gon’ tell us, Iron? One of the nurses did it? It was a birth decision? Or was Daddy goin’ too hard on that circumcision? See, every time you mention that lil’ malfunction, he gets bothered He gon’ rebuttal like, “Keep my nuts outta your mouth!” You need to tell that to your father! Aye, you better respect a real G! ‘Cause the Heckler’s still mean! You can run if you want, I’mma let him build speed Them Berettas will squeeze, I bet he’d feel these I’ll put the toast to Iron like a ghetto grilled cheese! Nigga, yo’ career will only take you as far as the gas go You Premium, but it sound like ‘93 with that wack flow I ain’t even bring a pump wit’ me to jack bro We could tell by Aaron attire (airin’ a tire) he flat-broke I ain’t even wanna face this square like the rag cold! You fightin’ just to stay on this land like Smash Bros.! I don’t care if you was far away, or that close I’mma find a way to fry some shit like Black folks! Concrete, nigga [Round 2: Iron Solomon] These comic authors who can’t find the right words to scribe Make it a black-and-white issue like Spy vs. Spy But we need every race in this room for our culture to function And my contribution to it ain’t an open discussion From my home where I come from, to gettin’ flown into London It’s way past sport (passport) to me to keep upholdin’ these Customs! In front of White crowds, I black out With Black crowds, I light it up You blind if you can’t see that, light or dark, I adjust So brighten up You couldn’t be as good as me in your dreams All that “me being White” noise just gon’ put ‘em to sleep! Like they swallowed an Ambien I’m a God in this pantheon! You got ‘em bored (boar’d) to death, King: Robert Baratheon! With coke lord stories that are more so folklore Big man say the same thing every show: Hodor! We get it! You cookin’ butter, feedin’ glass dick to your hooker mother But you rappin’ ‘bout cuttin’ cookies so long that it’s cookie-cutter! Like that bottom row of golden teeth? Now that’s a style that no one’s seen… I mean, aside from you, Shine, Roc, Math, Ill- That’s so unique Now every line that’s comin’ from this coward’s lips is counterfeit And every time he smiles, we see somebody else’s style he bit! See, Big Top’s content been like a carnival lately More lyin’ (lion) in the ring with the Bear than Barnum & Bailey With your bars, you a dealer, gram hustler, mass murderer But in your videos, you be dressed like the Hamburglar! In your song, you a Don, livin’ the lap of luxury But you look like you never had a meal without plastic cutlery You not a criminal mastermind, cookin’ pure snow You might have had a couple of scraps (Skrapz) with 9s (Nines), but took the Church Road! THE FUCK IS GOOD!? See, my people sold E and coke, acid, ‘shrooms, and hustled sensi Me and my dogs sold more buds than Spuds Mackenzie Shit, when I was slingin’ trees, I even did deliveries Bringin’ leaves by the O to your door like Christmas wreaths See, the shit you think is power moves, I could fuck around and do It wasn’t smart to step up here: I had to dumb it down for you A devil with the details, too technical to toy with You keep writin’ trying to sharpen up your pencil, but it’s pointless Been regrettin’ all his choices since the second that the coin flipped I ain’t threatened by these trenches other legends have avoided! SIDE BAR! Volume 3 comin’! Aye Verb, stop runnin’! Surf, how you take five shots and STILL DUCKIN’!? Gotti not the champ! How could Geechi be above me? I leave Earth every battle! He can’t even leave the country! (Fuck outta here! 2-0 already, and I’m not done! I’m not done!) (*Runs the scheme back for the crowd*) Put the gas in the pedal, bring your pad and your pencil Lemme exorcise (exercise) my demons: come and dance with the Devil! Once the battles get settled, Smack, hand me the bread I’ll drop every crumb in my path like Hansel and Gretel! Back to you, Melvin… So you the one who’s finna take down my crown? With all of that “King, King…” BITCH, keep my name out your mouth! [Round 3: T-Top] I said, London, this my closin’ verse! Like, fuck a casket: throw this bastard in the back and just close the hearse! I ain’t come here to make the crowd go berserk I came here just to show y’all work… (Now lemme PUT IT IN!) Now history says King Solomon was the smartest man that ever lived But also one of the most foolish Now that’s so true, it’s gotta be scary to go through it I mean, we seen how you came in the game, so clueless Dope music, but the way that you grinded was so stupid For one second, let’s take away that yo’ folks Jewish And that you had every opportunity to blow, but y’all blew it It’s all ruined And he right: he is in here like a golf student ‘Cause now Iron tryna swing on T (tee) to get his ball movin’! Nah, doofus! I’mma give you the truth! Like if you want some back pay, you better get a masseuse! JC started it, with the shit that he was diggin’ into On how we Africans, but still the original Jews And you knew it, too [Iron Solomon] Facts [T-Top] Yeah, you knew it, too This conversation is nothin’ private We know when you put “-ish” on a word, that mean you somethin’ like it So if I tell y’all I’m Black-ish, I’m undecided You can’t sell a man a story who doesn’t buy it! Y’all tried it, but it’s the logic I don’t agree wit’ Hitler might have been a monster, but he was genius At least y’all niggas got reparations We ain’t receive shit! And now he wantin’ us to be proud of your achievement? Well, if Holla don’t pop, his mama never get the treatment If Roc weren’t hot, that nigga daughters won’t be eatin’ If I wasn’t Top, my auntie probably still be fiendin’! You rap because you want it! We rap because we need it! You cheatin’, ‘cause don’t you and your pops own a successful business in Manhattan? (*Iron shakes his head “No”*) Yes, you do Now, I ain’t hatin’ you for that I’ll let you be great...just be grateful where you at Y’all conduct the marathons and all the races for the track So you left battle rap and started chasin’ you a bag Commendable! Just remember how that plays into the fact On why we clown you for them years that you wasted on your craft Now he playin’ catch-up, ‘cause we replacin’ what he had And the marathons remind him every day he gettin’ lapped! In fact, lemme tell you the reasons why we get on you ‘Cause Hollow took his brand overseas and made tickets move! John John and Ars’ league owners, gettin’ residuals If he found out what Holla cost (Holocaust), he’d be the sickest Jew! So Beasley started ditchin’ you, Poison Pen split on you Sony got rid of you, told you they’re goin’ “digital” Your career been like a handicap bathroom! What, you don’t get it, dude? You got bars inside, but it’s mad room for us to shit on you! I mean, you lyrical, but I paint pictures and make it visible I tell stories beyond bars: I’m like the visit room I mean, we seen his Mook interviews Dude was lookin’ miserable They gave him a lil’ space, then he changed, like a fitting room I’d get confused - a Jewish man doin’ the Devil’s work? Well, I’ll leave his features open like he lookin’ for a second verse Berettas squirt, I’mma make it to where his head’ll burst Or start smackin’ Iron like...like, “Man, this shit don’t never work!” Bruh, don’t be alarmed I’ll ride up soon as the beef is on Drive-by, scope out the window like a peepin’ Tom You’ll get the Swiss (Swizz), or the Pistol On My Side like the Weezy song! Or learn how to watch what you say like a sing-along Nigga! See, it’s a difference between Iron and me This nigga Iron a geek He went from Grind Time to SMACK, now he poppin’ the heat But you are not from the streets I don’t care how much y’all pay him I’m not fakin’, not in the least And that’s the difference… This nigga Iron down to (the) front to make his pockets increase You know, you iron down the front to make your pockets in- I got a Louisville Slugger right now: bitch, I’m breaking dude This bat’ll (battle) go back and forth: that ain’t debatable! I’mma leave his dog wit’ the worms like table food! His homies runnin’ after the bust (bus): they late for school! Concrete, nigga [Round 3: Iron Solomon] Yo, yo, y’all ready to bring it home? So last year, your biggest loss was losin’ to Goodz’s inner thoughts We saw you gettin’ taught what steppin’ to a vet in this ring could cost And that Kenneka bar was light for him His whole style’s a disgrace Always talkin’ ‘bout pedophiles or someone’s child gettin’ raped But you are the weird stranger Not even a decent neighbor Didn’t say shit to defend your Carolina streets (Streetz) from danger Like your struggle bars on Funk Flex you struggled to remember Top felt like Top’s belt...buckled under pressure! See, the fans that you have who relate to yo’ life love you You disrespect them when you treat this stage like a side hustle! So FUCK your junkie mama and the problems in your community If, when he gives you a way out, you squander the opportunity! You ate the food that he fed to you Drank the water he lead you to Smack been hand-feedin’ this Bear like it’s a petting zoo! And everybody is hungry, no one wants to eat slop But when you hunt enough to feed your tummy, the greed stops! You and Eric poured all that money in T pot (teapot) Still, the Bear wanna milk you for honey that Beas’ (bees) got!? Like the company needs Top… Imagine how Roc felt Them couple of cheap shots...should’ve got Top shelved! ‘Cause Melvin...you’re the blueprint for a special sort of stupid Recordin’ music that’s full of stories oozin’ wit’ your delusions Sellin’ sniff the snorters usin’, wagin’ war on corners, shootin’ But never got caught or wounded like some sort of immortal mutant This street legend who formed a union With battle rappers, a supportive movement Just to help him have a conversation ‘bout business wit’ a normal human Boss, what part of you bein’ a conglomerate leader is that? You use cocaine as a crutch You couldn’t lean on his staff? In retrospect, was “Smack, I would like an extra check” The words that you were too much of a coward to have said direct? Gonna write an email? Send a text? Just when we thought we couldn’t have less respect… Airin’ family business out in public like Cadet and Krept! OH, no! But in battle rap, that’s how family man do! I get mad at my son, I’ll run to AngryFan, too And skip the scholars and entrepreneurs, forget the college You can get all of your business knowledge just by callin’ up Hitman Holla Y’all just let bygones be bygones, when you got what you had your eye on! I thought that formin’ a union meant puttin’ you and I on (U-N-I-ON)! But you’re selfish...you’re selfish... ‘Til a couple extra digits, them threats were finished! Yes man, went from “we” (oui) to “I” (aye), like switchin’ from French to English! It’s different! Super different! Now it’s another year with this dummy here, with Smack as the puppeteer And all the moves you make have strings attached ‘cause you’re a puppet-tier Your hands are tied, they get to tell you when, who, what, and where And if there’s a clothing sponsorship, too, they tell you what to wear! Son, let’s get somethin’ clear: I’ve been up in here for 20 years Was doin’ this when there was no money, ‘cause nobody cared! Your little young career is nothin’ near what it takes to make you my fuckin’ peer, you fat little gummy Bear! So yeah, sometimes the game is suspect Ask me ‘bout it: I’ll change the subject ‘Cause business is just business, and real mean don’t complain in public! Melvin, the fuck you gotta say ‘bout it now? “King, King…” BITCH, keep my name out your mouth! That’s a classic, bro! That’s a classic! Can we be friends again?
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