[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
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
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