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Correct Mr. Wavy Vs. Chef Trez Lyrics
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Correct Mr. Wavy Vs. Chef Trez
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[Round 1: Mr. Wavy] My attitude like, “None of these niggas fuckin’ wit’ me” These lil’ rappers they throwin’ ain’t really nothin’ to me Chef Trez...ayo, Smack, tell me what this about Wait, so this is the mission that niggas dishin’ out? So smokin’ you is gon’ get Brizz to come outta that hole I’m tryna fish him out? They brought me back to work in the DMV I guess it’s Ls I’m gon’ be givin’ out Chef Trez, you know you lost It’s no remorse, I’m goin’ off Hammer on me, it ain’t to hold ‘em off or show it off They squad up, my arm up: I’m like a know-it-all Head shot: push his shit back like a holding call What’s up? Stop talkin’ ‘bout the work you be pushin’! See, these niggas be they own flaws They’ll tell you who drive they own cars Who the connect, where they meetin’, who done sold hard That’s when you mask up wit’ the- Don’t matter, just know the chrome large I hit Trez, then come off the plug like the phone charged Straight menace He gon’ run to Tay Roc like, “Yo, they stole the coke, the bag, weed, straight finished All the weight lost (loss): Dre Dennis” You gon’ have to explain to Tay Roc for eight minutes! We both in V.A., but you ain’t safe in it Silencer, meet my freak bitch: she put her face in it And when they together, it don’t matter what time they snappin’ Close-range, he wouldn’t even know a sound was happenin’ ‘Cause the shit sound like...exactly - no crowd reaction! I’m back in this SHIT, nigga! Now we gon’ turn up! You a Writer? Well, I’m here to put that pen under Make ya men wonder, why, you a bench-runner Nigga ain’t been hotter than ten summers Pussy nigga wouldn’t bend rubber! The Chef? If you serve shells, it’s to end hunger If I serve shells, it’s to hit you, and leave ya mens under! ‘Cause this here? A fence-jumper This four ain’t no PIN number Fuck yo’ drive! ‘Cause the clip I’m holdin’ longer than a VIN number! You don’t do enough! Always talkin’ “he keep his toolie tucked” Fuck outta here! Nigga rockin’ the Lil Uzi cut! I’m suited up, ‘cause niggas actin’ like this a plate for me No, I’m suited up, you gon’ look like Drake to me I’m suited up, ‘cause this ain’t about who could hold a gun the tightest This about the Chef thinkin’ I was a plate Now you gon’ fuck around and catch a stomach virus! DMV, I’m pickin’ up where I left off! No, we in the DMV When I’m pickin’ up, whoever left? Off! ‘Cause it’s no games wit’chu! I don’t care if his lil’ gang wit’chu! I’m where the soldiers be No mask on, niggas know it’s me I walk up, Trez get the free smoke like stolen weed Social media had you 3-0’ing me? Let’s go and see Blade to his chest, I hold it down like I’m tryna reload the feed Who hoein’ me? All these dark-skin niggas wit’ oversized clothes: these niggas Jodeci! Automatic for the static Oh, they rollin’ deep? Well, you can’t dodge this big bitch forever: Professor Oglevee! It’s no chinks in my armor, but let me vent somethin’ See, when I first came, I had a PG when a PG really meant somethin’! My own style, own slogan Every battle, I’d invent somethin’! Rookies vs. Vets, my “zombie” line had the event buggin’! Summer Madness my first year - they can’t prevent nothin’ The crowd turned on me - that was corny - but I don’t resent nothin’ ‘Cause that shit made me the man I am! They ain’t prevent nothin’ But Chef Trez, you don’t present nothin’ You got your story wrong He just went to Cave Gang to get his glory on I did my thing better without the group: I’m like Omarion! Fuck is shorty on!? Man, it’s nothin’ that y’all tellin’ me Weaponry, I’ll be over the Top - BOW! - of this street (Streetz) nigga Now it’s him spittin’: it’s not Born Legacy That’s Round 1, y’all know I came to chalk him out I’ll look him dead in his fa- No, let me do me...truly...smooth, see I’ll rebuttal my own shit and have somethin’ rose from this new T (tee)! Bow! Round 1 [Round 1: Chef Trez] I say, yo Salute to the DMV Salute to Wavy, too, that nigga wild when rappin’ But I’m a real street nigga, nigga Like, really, the Cal’ is blastin’ You say it’s on silent like...the crowd reaction? They all focused I’ll BOW! so they look that way, then (*swoosh*)... Real killas get away wit’ a loud distraction See, I’m somethin’- You lookin’ in the sky like don’t none of this shit faze you ‘Til you the nigga I stick a blade through, the arm Movin’ left and right, I’ll let it wave through Intestines, liver, kidney, the nigga Wav’ through Knife to his back: I can even pedal through Wav’ (wave), too! This battle gon’ be somethin’ different You think I’m playin’, right? Say good night! You dead off rip Why would I take you light? You take advice? You should’ve stayed away from this stage, you ain’t as nice You got a push, popped out, then died, but that’s the way of life I wish you would trip! You ain’t never been on no hood shit! Stop the fakin’ Every nigga I know named Joseph was a good kid And yeah, my name is Santrez But in this ring, I slaughter guys So if they put Wav’ (wave) over San’ (sand) That’s only gon’ bring out my darker side! I’m one of the niggas you should run from You all performance, no bars Don’t forget where you come from! You’ll get a head shot and a leg shot wit’ a dum-dum Now you don’t gotta walk like a zombie, you gon’ become one! But how you walk all dumb wit’ it? You think it look slick? Nigga, even wit’ the biggest pants that way, it won’t fit You gotta salt the barrel, or remove the clip, wit’ double socks So when you tuck it in your shoe, the barrel don’t rub against your skin! Is he a killer? Naw! He prob’ly do got guns that can lift us all But these shits’ll shake America Have the country rockin’, like Tim McGraw! Wait, I say- You barely put in work Smack, that’s what y’all lettin’ him do? No promotion, no network, and that’s the way y’all lettin’ him move? Then he say I ain’t as nice as him? Well, shit, to tell him the truth You ain’t had a bar as fire in three years Nigga, you ain’t even better than- Wait, that wasn’t even you! Talkin’ ‘bout you “fathered it” That’s Montana of 300, you stealin’ other artists’ shit Well, for stealin’ from 300, I should off ya shit Catch ya bitch pushin’ ya seat out, give it that Sparta kick! He hella gassed off his Twork win But y’all think this fucker is nice Well, here’s some fuckin’ advice: Keep it rap, before I fuck up ya life Why would I cut him wit’ knives, when I could gun-butt him wit’ 9s? Split through the dark, and have it goin’ against the white meat like Brother Polight You weak, scrap! Name any place in this world you wanna meet at If it’s beef, then the heat clap Gun under his chin Man, all that shit, and the way your name see that I’ll still shoot, barrel spark and flash under the beard I’m bringin’ Mr. T back! My bro called and said, “Chef” I say, “Bless” He said, “Don’t they find treasure in the bottom of the ocean?” I say, “Yes” He say, “So why you battlin’ Joseph? You already ahead a couple steps” ‘Cause you have to pass Wav’ (wave) when you bury that Chess (chest)! But it’s Mr. “Debatable” ‘til I squeeze a K It’s gon’ hit you, or your people’s face Now it’s really debatable, ‘cause I’mma put it to one (2-1) either way! Nigga, you can’t get street wit’ me! If you go to talkin’ wild, you better speak quickly If you beef wit’ me, you’ll get the MAC wit’ the bandanna tied around I’ll do the scene gritty Aim down, wit’ the rag over Wav’ (wave): watch him 360! You ain’t done much You let your shorty twerk on stage, you lil’ dumb fuck? If I let a ratchet show her ass, everybody gon’ witness a gun-butt!
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