[Round 1: T-Top]
T-Top vers’ Holmzie Da God…aw, shit
This gotta be the most pointless event that we all did
As a member of the battle rap community, we’d rather step in some dog shit
Ain’t nobody wanna see this battle, but God did
Fuck your baby moms and your Mook angle!
It’s a ‘K and Glock when I do flame you
And they both got kickback like horses, but I’m just too stable
In grade school, I had a 8-ball jacket, sat at the cool table
Then my nigga formed an 8-ball habit, it gave him mood changes
I’m too dangerous
I was always known as a class clown
I even told Your Honor, “Only God can judge me”
And look where I’m at now
It’s a damn shame
Stop lying about your damn gang
Bitch, you’re not evеn a Loud (allowed): this a man cave!
Y’all want that old T-Top, right?
Yeah, I’ll tеll y’all when I used to weigh the kilos
Talk about that freebase and rio
But that’s somethin’ I gotta take wit’ ease, though
That’s like givin’ the DEA a free throw
Y’all all want me to talk about my Money Mitch days until I gotta face a RICO
So I stopped talkin’ ‘bout drugs ‘cause y’all be snitchin’ to the higher-ups
They sound too close to the police like a firetruck
I’ll re-tire Marquis in minutes: I got the Midas touch!
But y’all wanted Lite (light) Work on Holmz’ (homes)
Well, now I’m wired up
Fuck Holmzie Da God!
I’ll send Holmzie to God!
He ain’t jealous, just sittin’ across from Envy like Holmz’ C Tha God!
If I scream, “Good Times!”, that just mean your father’s gonna die
Then turn Holmz’ (homes) to a deluxe apartment in the sky
Damn, damn…damn it, your mother’s a cunt
Wayans Bros.: I had my grams stuffed under the bus
And let Marquis argue wit’ the .50
It ain’t got nothin’ to do wit’ $6,700 a month
T-Top vers’ Holmzie Da God…aw, shit
This gotta be the most pointless event that we all did
As a member of the battle rap community, we’d rather step in some dog shit
Ain’t nobody wanna see this battle, but God did
Fuck your baby moms and your Mook angle!
It’s a ‘K and Glock when I do flame you
And they both got kickback like horses, but I’m just too stable
In grade school, I had a 8-ball jacket, sat at the cool table
Then my nigga formed an 8-ball habit, it gave him mood changes
I’m too dangerous
I was always known as a class clown
I even told Your Honor, “Only God can judge me”
And look where I’m at now
It’s a damn shame
Stop lying about your damn gang
Bitch, you’re not evеn a Loud (allowed): this a man cave!
Y’all want that old T-Top, right?
Yeah, I’ll tеll y’all when I used to weigh the kilos
Talk about that freebase and rio
But that’s somethin’ I gotta take wit’ ease, though
That’s like givin’ the DEA a free throw
Y’all all want me to talk about my Money Mitch days until I gotta face a RICO
So I stopped talkin’ ‘bout drugs ‘cause y’all be snitchin’ to the higher-ups
They sound too close to the police like a firetruck
I’ll re-tire Marquis in minutes: I got the Midas touch!
But y’all wanted Lite (light) Work on Holmz’ (homes)
Well, now I’m wired up
Fuck Holmzie Da God!
I’ll send Holmzie to God!
He ain’t jealous, just sittin’ across from Envy like Holmz’ C Tha God!
If I scream, “Good Times!”, that just mean your father’s gonna die
Then turn Holmz’ (homes) to a deluxe apartment in the sky
Damn, damn…damn it, your mother’s a cunt
Wayans Bros.: I had my grams stuffed under the bus
And let Marquis argue wit’ the .50
It ain’t got nothin’ to do wit’ $6,700 a month
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