[Round 1: Tay Roc] Lately, I'm the one that these fans wanna doubt You in the way; you shoulda just let this man run his route Dan wanted clout Hands comin' out Boy, I will punch the last bitta teeth outcha grandmother mouth Punk-ass pussy! Niggas pay you at a low number Prolly 'cause you dress like you rap... no wonder You talk like you so gutter You a whole sucker I'll make you spit in ya hand and slap ya own mother Whole summer Black handle but the slide release chrome color Surf, he into Cuban chokers; I like throat-cutters I will smack ya bitch wit' a pistol; her dome rupture Put her face in front of a mag; she won't make a Voguе cover This is not a dream What you, some kinda fiеnd? When God made you, he needed a beard, some freckles, and a lima bean I make a violent scene Demonic as Constantine Ya momma scream I make Myers head bust through a wall like Halloween Whoever gettin' involved gon' be sippin' through straws Fuck around, y'all gon see D (CD) on a shirt—nah, not Christian Dior This nigga's a fraud You pissin' me off I ain't religious; I was just raised to take my problems and give it to God We wouldn't take you on a mission at all You give me Tre-from-Boyz-N-the-Hood vibes: you wouldn't get in the car I got a devilish two-step and I cha-cha with this chopper; we just tryna see if Dan's in (Dancing) With The Stars You got the simplest bars Ya shit isn't hard Nigga, I could've said, "Nah." And you wouldn'ta even been on the card Gun Bar King! I don't know Bar God Matter fact, you ever been hit by a crowbar, Go—? Close y'all eyes I promise, if you don't keep it rap, fam' I will open-hand/back-hand slap Dan Gat sprayin' Then I dumps da metal in a trash can I could bring ya ghost out on the stage from what I pack, ma— Speakina Pac-Man, we brought chopper rounds You let Rex take twelve K? It would've been ghosts everywhere if we had to chase a Dot around I'll leave ya head wrapped like an Afghan and you hospitalized You prolly hear them words, "Head wrap." and feel sick (Sikh) inside That head wrap symbolize all them rounds you couldn't memorize Eazy-E ain't the only nigga from the West that got Real sick (Sikh) and died If we got action, I'm not rappin' Glocks clappin' That tranny angle fake, played out, and did not happen You think it's a joke; I'm not laughin' It's in the game and you can die over that like John Madden I will slide past him My mask only show the eyes I hop out the van, plottin' on Dan; Cobra Kai Picture this cornball in a Rolls Royce; I'll be so surprised Then I'd leave Danny Phantom shot up wit' a ghost inside Flowers on his grave; he'll be lyin' in a hearse If a problem arose (a rose) on the thirtieth, you'll be dyin' on the first I put two on ya, have 'em cryin' in the church Show up to the funeral like, "Shut up! Fuck Dan! D lyin' (dandelion) in the dirt!" I'll squeeze the butt of this seventeen; shit barely is legal We like when we see the funeral home buryin' people This man really evil I carry an Eagle This bird cold as The Penguin and you dead if you ain't Danny DeVito Dan is finito! Go 'head, rap 'bout how I'm not the best Scream, "Yikes!" until ya veins poppin' out ya neck 'Cause for this, I told Beas, "I want a thirty thousand dollar check." Yeah! You ten years older than me and you get paid twenty-five thousand dollars less I am not impressed Tell Dan, "Settle this shit" or it's banana clips Ya damn melon get hit This Glock is handheld wit' a switch He ran, fell, and he tripped All that bass in ya voice; I bet this make Dan yell (Danielle) like a bitch Don't think you safe just 'cause Geechi and 'em here I will smack Daniel Nitty can't save you In fronta Rum, I'll hop out that 'burban (bourban) and Jack Daniel Crack Daniel with the black handle Dead this nigga Make him bite the curb; use my Jordans to behead this nigga I will stomp till it split; make ya shit look like a Pez dispenser I will wreck this nigga You know what I don't like 'bout ya raps, pussy? The parallel part Two twin Eagles wit' a parallel arc We'll pull up on his block; fuck the parallel talk "Surf, get him! Eazy, watch him! Chess, parallel park!" You be rappin' 'bout a parallel universe; don't even got a car to parallel park Youse a pussy nigga! Rap, nigga! Light bars
[Round 1: Danny Myers] That shit you did yesterday? Fucked up, disrespectful Nigga had the streets chatterin' We gon' calm that down so all my niggas rolled up... For a piece (peace) gatherin'! This freestyle shit somethin' you ain't able to do Yesterday, I was gon' flip that bitch but this where I turn the tables on you (Nigga!) You just said you get paid more than me—cool! Who you finessin'? Yesterday, all that rah-rah shit—who you was testin'? Bitch, I will knock the white off yo' teeth then look at Nunu expression (Ayy! Ayy! Ayy, bitch nigga! Ayy!) From close range or back here, I'm a shell-cooker The shot just like his shoes: a twelve-footer (I am the GOAT, nigga! Ayy!) Tay Roc, you think you scarin' us talkin' 'bout squarin' up? Okay, fair enough Y'all gon see me throw Roc(k) against the window (Like I ain't tryna wake her parents up) Our differences are glarin', bruh This nigga ducked me; I was not hurt For six years, I let the pot stir Couldn't even tell Vicky I was gettin' Roc(k) I'm tryna trigger you, not her (Don't look so startled.) Glock burst Head shot Berettas'll fly The shit I'll do to Donte, even the Devil May Cry I'll level this guy It's not a game; get his chest slammed in Uppercut then I left-hand him I'll beat his ass even though I carry the baby like Death Stranding I'm from the West, damn it! In South Central, no one was good I'll drag this nigga for Miles; morale is (Morales) low in the hood Let's get this understood Ain't no almost-fight wit' me—you touch me, I'll let a dozen out Ya homies gon' be pourin' out Brandy 'cause 'Almost Doesn't Count' You know what the fuck I'm 'bout? (Ayy!) I handle mine Each one-a my mans inclined To stomp you the fuck out for fake-talkin' like pantomimes They drag you to the back room, kickin' and stompin', hands is flyin' That's when I walk through the door like, "Stop! ... Hammer time!" (Don't look so startled! Ayy!) This part of a grand design I'll rip his teeth out; told my man, "Hand me the pliers." Smack, ya shooter is gettin' fucked up by Danny The Myers I'm from a family of riders You keep a gun? Bitch, ain't nobody scared to go to war witchu Nigga, my birthday is next week and God blessed me wit' a 42 (.40 too) This nigga be gettin' emotional every time that tranny shit get spoken up Mr. Gun Bars, tongue out, on the bed, legs opened up To stop them rumors, went and got himself a girlfriend—joke's on us First time he met Caution, he did a double take, said, "You not a boy but close enough." Let's put this in focus, bruh We know that you gay You gettin' cut and slayed Wesley Snipes been showed us the vampire's a fuckin' Blade I'm from a higher order Knights of the Templar; our bloodline is Myers' aura My allure'll Prove you can't fuck with this type of scorcher Fire torture Won't survive it unless you got riot armor Hawk him down with Ks Ultraviolet rays sight distorter Strike the eye of Horus We can be in a gunfight in Georgia You'll slide across to Florida Shots'll take you outside where the original land like diaspora You gon' die in horror Won't get a chance to hear the coffin music He gon' say, "That's light!" then a voice says, "Yes, son. Now walk into it." God done proved it His own losses fueled by the foolish thoughts of humans I ain't the only one wit' parallels used in rap View the facts It's funny how you the Gun Bar King but yo' bitch the one that use the straps You was the face of the league; we had different views wit' Smack I was into traffickin' cheese but it turns out youse the rat I'll shoot you in fronta yo' bitch; peace is what I'm not gon' brang her Lock on the banger She tried to cover her eyes before cops could pop the question She had Roc(k) on her finger Can y'all imagine pieces of his brain on her wedding finger from his damaged cranium? All those that doubted the GOAT; now, the man is flamin' him? Do you believe in a Parallel Universe? (I do!) When we first heard them rumors, it put our heads in mania Then he became Dracula and that nigga's from Transylvania I wanna believe that you a gangsta But it's hard for me to get convinced That you grippin' clips wit' pistol grips When you're a vampiric thug that sucks blood outta niggas' dicks (Ayy, bitch!) I lost to Real Sikh but I got you—I know it's burnin' his soul Any time God takes an L, it turns into "gold" I'm from a permanent mode Get murdered in cold... blood! On the spot, God I don't tote the Glock .9 Get hit with that same shit that popped outta RoboCop thigh I got local block ties My demeanor'll ruin him I got people in every neighborhood from 55 and up like a senior community It ain't a thing you can do wit' me Shots spread Clip fulla hot heads I ain't lettin' offa the trigger until you drop dead They booked me versus Ave, they knew This ain't the first time I reverse-engineered a Roc(k) to get the block fed We don't always need big guns (Cookin' this dumb-ass nigga! Ayy!) I'ma thirty you first then I'm comin' for Tsu How that sound, Wave (soundwave)? Even the thirty-two hurts (hertz) You in the dirt and you on the ground with this shit This dumb-ass nigga got another two rounds of this shit (Yikes!)
[Round 2: Tay Roc] Ayy, Danny... Daniel... You got twelve kids but that ain't what puzzles me You said ya baby mom took ya twins away when they was two You ain't get 'em back until they was twenty-three? When you seen ya kids after not seein' 'em for twenty-one years, how ya face look? How they find you? Twitter? Poke you on Facebook? How long was you on child support? How that case look? Twelve kids in one apartment—how that place look? I did my homework on this Bar God; I didn't even notice you have a life Found out he's a battle dad... wit' a battle son... and battle wife! Reunited with his kids through battle rap—that was nice! I will make you reunite witcha kids in the afterlife It gets darker Trust me, this round is a shit-starter Fuck a gun bar; when I talk like this, it hits harder Nigga, as far as bein' a parta ya son life, nigga never had a Will—Fresh Prince father I'ma chip armor Scrape the blade; make the shit sharper Let fifteen outta this Raptor—Vince Carter You gon' have a missed son and a missed daughter I drive by on a Friday and wet up the lawn—"Hey, Ms. Parker!" I been smarter Danny don't even respect hisself He was the nigga in school that rode the short bus and got the extra— Check yaself or watch ya head leak fast And ya kids gon' find they father stomped to death—that's a deadbeat dad Pussy! I ain't gotta use fake angles Say, "Thank you!" I walk in ya crib, catch ya daughter like, "Hey, angel!" Then break ankles She get straight strangled With strings from my shoe; I pull laces out—Ray Finkle That broad get hurt One in her stomach could cause a lossa birth I'll knock ya son out; 'fore he wake up, I'ma stomp him first He dizzy, crawlin'; I don't know if his walkin' works He seein' two of hisself; Spider-Man in the multiver— You too slow swingin', pussy! Your timin' all late You'll get slammed on ya face Ya smile and all scraped Everything that hit the tile and all (Tylenol) ache I'm not at all fake This shit'll make body parts break Knock out a rib, eye, meat, and bone—look like a tomahawk steak Tell Dan, "Stop or get everybody in ya fam' rocked. Even ya grams shot for a stack; that's a gram-pop." My can' cocked I will send you to Paradise You and the Eiffel Tower got somethin' in common: y'all both parasites (pair of sights) They tellin' me, "Don't Be A Menace." Boy, I'm 'bout to wig out Like Tre in Dashiki crib, I knock all ya kids out You got a big mouth and look like you tattle-ta How you forty-one years old in battle rap with a son that battle rap? I can't fathom that Here's where Roc expose You got twin kids named Malik and Dominique; that's prolly somethin' nobody knows I'll put ya daughter Dominique in an oven; lock it closed You won't be comin' home to Dominique; he'll be comin' home to Domino's Nigga, ¡vamanos! This shit is fuckin' witcha heart I'll catch ya son Malik out on the East like, "Ayy, son. I wanna talk." Trunk him, take him to Brooklyn, dump him in the park Since Malik is already known for bein' Undercover In New York Fuck this nigga thought? You promised me war Whole time, I got bars 'bout ya kids and... they prolly ain't yours Fuck around, they gon' found Malik skull Laid under a Barbie house; I even flip Dominique dolls (Dawes) Danny, I hate you—true shit You ain't gon' do shit Nigga, as a battle rapper and a father, you are useless I am ruthless All I know is shoot shit I'll introduce your twins to these two twins and make quadruplets Pussy! This hellcat hold fifteen and the shells big And that's enough for you, ya wife, and ya twelve kids Leaves the chamber wit' one more bullet to blast from Chk-chk! Guess who gettin' the last one Don't stop nothin'; Smack, keep lettin' my clock run Cut his time short; let me keep goin' till I'm done Your kids found you 'cause they thought you was lit; I'm not dumb Met you at Gates of the Garden, thought you had all this money but you ain't got none That's not fun Battlin' for crumbs; that shit is senseless I'm sure all twelve-a ya kids had them a shitty Christmas These niggas bitches In the trenches, we do not believe you Somebody tell Danny the weapon that I got is lethal I walk in while they doin' surgery on on him; start droppin' people Grab a blade, mic Myers (Mike Meyers) while I'm starin' at the Doctor Evil Deadass! Ya Pokémon, Charmander head-ass Greasy head-ass Boy, I will smack ya Beasley head-ass Pussy! (Light bars! Fuck outta my face.)
[Round 2: Danny Myers] You said everything that was gon' be achin' that hit the tile and all (Tylenol) That's somethin' that I don't believe Bitch, if this motherfucker peel (pill), ya soul'll leave And the lines that came after that wasn't ill either Nigga, if you make my daughter Domino's, I'm puttin' five in ya Little Caeser (I am the GOAT!) (Don't panic. I'm too cold. Listen.) I had a conversation wit' a dope fiend, some guy that I knew from years hustlin' He was surrounded by drugs; his mom tried to steer him clear of it First time he hit that pipe, his eye swelled up and drew a tear from it It wasn't until he stood in fronta Roc(k) for that second round he knew he'd make a career from it I speak in metaphor In that analogy, I give dude his props But this where I show you there's other ways to use a Roc Surf was on a downslide while you gave us classics and refused to stop He started Gun Titles witchu and that's what renewed his stock I'm speakin' facts now Niggas always yo' brother when it's time for them to rap rounds Bars on I-95, you ain't even put him in the background Did a whole album wit' Mozzy; you ain't get to put a track down These are some of the burdens that come wit' wearin' Smack's crown Back down Surf would never let you out-shine him; look at his mental structure Phonte has shown us, no matter how ill you are with them bars, you'll always be a Little Brother In a Parallel Universe, you helped Brizz; that night, you didn't move foul You kept ya respect and we don't view you as the bitch-ass nigga that we do now When you tell a grown man to suck yo' dick, you can be injured critically Ninety percent 'cause it's disrespectful, ten percent 'cause we think you mean that shit literally When you told them white boys to suck yo' dick wit' ketchup on it, you was viewed as a freak (You said that!) Nigga, ketchup? I don't even want a bitch to do that to me! You have to see, with all these gun bars, there's no substance Swallow your pride Even when he's fully Loaded for a round, it's all Hollow inside Why follow this guy? Our skillsets do not compare ROC is not cut from the same fabric but I don't know if Roc aware (Roc-A-Wear) Y'all think I'm worried about Tay Roc? (Shut up!) Nigga, I done sold white rock, gray rock Tan rock, base rock Granite mineral jade rock Aboriginal Cave rock Prehistoric fossil rock Old rock, new rock Stove top stew rock Smooth rock, Moon rock Color-changin' mood rock [?]-mixin' street rock Multi-lava heat rock You'll go inside a sheet, Roc(k) You still alive? Then I counterclockwise and re-Rock! Literally put you forty-seven meters deep... see, Roc (sea rock)!? The don's onto me Danny Myers direct wit' Roc(k) without a Hollywood script and Sean Connery All this gun bar shit from you never made a lotta sense Niggas threw his chain in a fast food trashcan; he ain't been to McDonald's since What happened to all them big MACs you be holdin'? He ain't hit the block wit' his man Nah, I'm frontin'—he did some gangsta shit and got his revenge He rounded up six of his meanest assassins; Edgewood niggas come from a trife world They kicked in the do', started recordin', and one of 'em slapped a white girl Really, my nigga? Violence against a woman? I mean, it's sad to say When you snatch fake chains from a vicious murderer, somebody has to pay! This ain't even my savage stage I'm spittin' passion past the rage Only a single mother amassed with eight bastard case kids listenin' half the way to Donny Hathaway "This Christmas" could rap this way I do this for practice—ayy! This shit finna get spooky, Tay Roc You think you'll survive a head-on collision with a Hawk? I'm Mookie Blaylock (Bar God!) Look out ya window; it's a speedin' Denali in view! Outta-state plates; peep what a team from Cali'll do Before he grabs his phone and he can rally a crew All we know is a bitch dies in the season finale of You You wanna know how ice-cold these murders can get? (Yeah, Joe!) I'll demonstate 'em Eliminate him Veer in ya villa wit' villians from Venezuela Smashin' ya brain, mask and a blade like a vintage Vega Catchin' bodies midway through the air like figure skaters Niggas hate us I ain't gon' play with the cartridge; I'm sicka Sega Disintegrate his whole village; make it the biggest crater These niggas wanna gamble with they life? We innovators Mafia members witnessin', envisionin' to build a Vegas I'm still the greatest Y'all remember that blue-haired chick he was wit'? That bitch was bad that a motherfucker I look at her... then I look at Caution... I get sad than a motherfucker They say when a nigga wit' a ugly bitch, it's 'cause the head's good What would make a man fall off that far? I figure a nigga from the Edge— Listen! You are not the man that you think you are Scared to tell Caution you don't really fuck wit' her You let her ugly ass move her son in witchu and now you feel like you stuck wit' her You are not the man that you think you are You always lookin' frail here If I ask Chess, can he beat you up, he gon' look at me and say, "Hell yeah!" You are not the man that you think you are Leadership ain't money and things He reps the Cave wit' a bat signal but no one's under ya wing You are not the man that you think you are You don't realize that you dead, kid? You are not the man that you think you are, bitch nigga, 'cause Fred is I am the GOAT and he on the ground with this shit This dumb-ass nigga got a whole 'nother rounda this shit
[Round 3: Tay Roc] Mike P exposed that yo' wife is a crackhead and that boy is the weakest (Your wife is a crackhead!) Vicki Myers? I'd be lyin' if I said that shawty is decent Ayy, Smack, I wouldn't touch that bitch Plus, how the fuck Mike P know all Victoria's Secrets? You genius! You met a crackhead and said that you got to keep her? I will make her sniff a line off my Glock then cock that Nina You will see a hole through her head when I pop the heater I will have it smokey in that junkie bitch face—Bye, Felicia! You a bottom-feeder You not the leader Kick in ya door, give ya mom a seizure Then stuff her inside a freezer I ain't lyin', neither Chopper-squeezer Watch arms come from the waist, in the air, into the head like the Macarena I ain't tryna wrestle like Tommy Dreamer Give Roc a cleaver Stab him; it go through D back like a wide receiver Oh, you a non-believer? That's until I put this stick with the mercury tips in his mouth, check if he got a fever This man is a faggot My shooter handle a ratchet Rental car in L.A. lookin' for this man up in traffic This nigga better have a Lambo to dash it You will be a dead bitch in that car unless Danica Patrick Stupid nigga play hisself; I am the man in this rap shit Turn this to a funeral; we got cameras to catch it I'll open up a coffin, put Dan in it backwards Close it up then Triple H sledgehammer the casket Tragic I will make it more than rap You'll get a phone call that your daughter clapped And ya son dead; imagine the thoughta that I brought a strap For ya wife, Vic; she got outta pocket, tried to run, and the Eagle caught her back (quarterback) They want more-a that (Pussy! They want more-a that, nigga! Yeah, nigga! Fuck outta here.) Scapula to ya scalp Split brains Rip veins I make it stick in a skull like a pimp cane Knife'll get stuck A spike in the front like a Knick ga—wait This nigga Danny married a junkie; that shit strange I should run up blowin' her nose since she sniff 'caine Ain't shit changed Don't get shot in ya mouth Your wife is a real life crackhead and you don't want her to see Roc(k) in ya house I heard she'll sniff a bird till she fall out the bed Meat tenderizer; I will beat that chicken thought out her head She be layin' there, shiverin' while y'all in the bed And Vicky gon' relapse 'cause I'm fittin' all us in ya crib (Pussy!) SIG drawn, hit ya kid Daughter and son get murked Boy, I will flip ya house upside-down—WonderWorks Let somethin' burst (Pussy!) All I know is chaos Unloadin' ARs To talk to you again, ya kids gon' have to hold a séance I don't know what they on I just a hundred twenty-seven six two standin' up in a box look like Crayola crayons These shits'll mangle a vest All that shit you was talkin' gon' change in a sec You shoulda came in correct Aim wit' a TEC Bang! Hit his neck For a ban, Dan'll (bandana) get set on fire; that's gang disrespect This lame nigga deaf Soccer mom van when niggas slide Door open, hop out, drag this man up in the ride To a two-car garage One spot's for the van to get inside The rest of the space is big enough so Dan (Sudan) can fit inside (Bitch!) I bring Chess wit' me on a mission to ya house, start sprayin' slugs Ya dumb-ass wife Vicky ain't hear us break in; she nodded off takin' drugs Lil bro got point black range to bang the snub Now, the blood of Vic's all over Chess (chest); it's vapor rub Ya son Malik get pistol-whipped if he plannin' to run Then I'ma Mr. Miyagi crane-kick Daniel's son Damage done (Pussy! Youse a pussy nigga! I fuckin' hate you, pussy!) Fuck how ya daughter Dominique feelin' I'll bang her with the hawk and make Dominique Wilkins (Pussy!) I do not respect Dan Turn you to a pack; you are about to become the best strand I'm smokin' on a dead man Like Method Man and Redman Lead blam You gon' need a X-Ray, head scan Brace for ya neck, shit bag, and bedpan I'm right-handed; I shoot it till the TEC jam But it's ugly; it look like I drew it wit' my left hand (You stupid motherfucker! This is me! You could never fuck wit' me! You could never! All that gas they gave you. This is my shit, nigga. You're dead! It is me!) Deadass! Your Squirtle-Wartortle-Ninja Turtle-lookin' head-ass Greasy head-ass Boy, I will smack ya Beasley head-ass Light bars, nigga
[Round 3: Danny Myers] That nigga brought up my wife; I knew he would throw a shot (Chill out! There are those that do this and there are those that are born to do this.) That's why I crept up, waitin' him to come out for about four o' clock I load the Glock Vicky said, "Nah. Lemme throw the shot. This gon' be easy. I spent most my life smokin' Roc(k)." (I am the—ayy! Bitch-ass nigga!) You will really get smothered out here Said crayons? Nigga, this L.A.; we been knew about colors out here I wanna teach this nigga; why the fuck they thought the man could test us? I drew it with the right then the left—bitch, I'm ambidextrous! (I am the GOAT!) (Ayy, y'all, I'm really the GOAT out here, bro. Chill out. Lemme bring it home. Let's bring home a classic. Let's bring home a classic, y'all.) Ever since I got in this battle rap world, I knew I'd go to the top I was right at the door but these niggas was controllin' the locks Now, I'm on stage, point blank range, unloadin' a shot Extravaganza; Adam Sandler died the same way, over a Roc(k) If it's war waged, these four walls gon' absorb pain Like a smuggler's ki's tossed in a duffle, I proceed wit' Caution through a crawl space Blood pour stains on my North Face While me and Jorge carve shapes and make sorbet out ya whore brain wit' a sawblade Gourmet not be how y'all handle beef but it's our way My clan's insane This ya last chance to plan a change Or spend ya lastin' days hands in face in fronta the candle flame Tryna rebuke the view of ya bitch movin' stupid in the back 'cause you can't stand the rain What did you stand to gain? Don't you want more children? Why would you want fours spittin'? If you and Caution Planned Parenthood, you better abort mission This battle is a morgue visit Mortician More friction Wit' one hand, I point and anoint the dead; get his corpse Christian Boy, listen How our legacies got the same span When fame can have you spittin' in the face-a ya main man? Nigga, I'm from gang land If a bitch ever came between me and my nigga, it was a train ran A whore is nothin' sacred Growin' up complacent Pourin' out liquor for niggas who ain't old enough to drink it My aura's of the ancients Get stabbed or burned with the Glock But if this Pearl Jam, you'll get the alternative, Roc(k) Surf, I'm talkin' to you, too We Smashin' Pumpkins in a lot, fam' As soon as that link in (Linkin) Park, The Killers come out, snatchin' Roc(k) bands You'll Fall Out, Boy; when the beef is on, we lock and load Pull up to his house, bumpin' Chuck Berry, ready to shoot the father of Roc(k) and roll He tried to lock the do' but fuck that; the Glock'll burn Shot his auntie, popped the dog, shot the urn He fell face first—is he dead? I'm not concerned Kick him over, shoot him again—I'll leave no Roc(k) unturned Even though it wasn't Easter, somethin' odd occurred The moment Roc(k) moved from in fronta the Cave, God emerged I am the resurrection of battle rap They been debating' for decades who the best; this settles that I'm tellin' Smack From this point on, my money doubles up No more new niggas, no more such-his-face and fuckin' fuck-and-such Where the fuck is Lux? We can step today The moment he chooses to take this L, you (U) ex (X) the way Accept the pay Fifty K is what my Venmo gon' say Then I kill that other nigga from Harlem 'cause murder (Murda) is my M.O., okay (O.K.)? I am the resurrection of battle rap Look at the pictures that I draw, clown Ten Commandments God himself used Roc(k) to lay the law down Ask the staff; at first, they didn't wanna follow my greatness Now, I'm surrounded by parallel lines like the numbers fallin' in Matrix I am the resurrection of battle rap I gave y'all, "Come outside." Restore Order Swave stole it and been havin' fun wit' it Y'all motherfuckers wanna take my flow and run wit' it? That's cool; I was the first one wit' it Bar God!
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After calling out Tay Roc for over 6 years, the Bar God finally gets his chance to face one of URL’s top gunners and the proclaimed “Gun Bar King” in the main event of Super Fight 6.
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