[Round 1: Tay Roc]
Just know in one of these rounds I'ma do you somethin' tragic
Which means either you gone get bodied or have a fuckin' classic
I’m the one that spazzes
Treat every battle like Summer Madness
Sleep on me 'til that comfy bed become a casket
Faggot, did Smack sign you up to die or what?
Good with the clippers, I bet he fade when I line him up
The 9 is tucked and this iron buck
If you try your luck like you’re drunk
Take a shot to the head: that’s bottoms up
I’m bein' blunt, but you ain’t high enough
I’m the type to kick it with you then kick in ya door and tie you up
I caught him with his bitch, I had time enough
I whipped out my blade and laid my MAC down
She knew I wasn’t tryna fuck
Goon shit, in this hockey mask like a Mighty Duck
With a hockey stick I’m treatin' his head like a hockey puck
His head woulda had enough knots, but that’s not enough
I beat this nigga like the soda machine when my dollar’s stuck
We take change like a Spade’s game, get your diamonds cut
We strapped with them ladders in the whip: that’s a fire truck
That shotty dump, leave drama slumped
Docs ain’t seen nobody with this many bucks on him since Donald Trump
Time is up, let me catch you with your soft squad
I take every shot with no assist: I’m a ballhog
I don’t leave a witness to call log
Like I’ll get you hit with a sawed-off
And every nigga that saw off’d
That’s wordplay, I got plenty more though
Like if it’s war and they send me, all you’ll get hit with a semi-auto
This nigga act up tonight, he won’t see tomorrow
Money shoulda left me alone like I need to borrow
Dig me? You an actual dead guy
Gun Bar King, niggas get clapped when the lead fly
You’ll be suited lookin' like a bachelor just died
Leave you layin' in a casket that’s half of his bed size
That’s how I pray for all of them
Your daughter and ya aunt and them
You gotta call 9-11, my niggas plain bomb on them
I’m like fuck you and your squadron
I always look in a bul's eye when I’m targetin'
Pardon him but dude is trippin'
'Til I turn into Bishop off this Juice I’m sippin'
But the difference
I can shoot through houses with this tool I’m grippin'
These choppers hold extensions, but this new edition
Through the scope I could hit kids, I got super vision
I can clear a lot when this Uz' sprayed off
I went to Newark and dropped a K and copped a new AR
That’s two guns to knock his toupee off
I let one ring, one on hold: that’s a two-way call
You ain’t hard, I don’t believe whatever you confess
I got navigation for whatever you address
I’ll get you robbed for whatever you have left
Like exorcisms, takin' him off of whatever he posses
I got bars, gun line after gun line, in fact
You saw what I did to the last rookie from Pontiac
I sent his soul where Rich Dolarz at
You see URL need some type of Magic to bring that Zombie back
I fuck niggas up, more than likely a fag dyin'
I’ll leave a golf ball hole in one when I grab iron
JC, you ran into Roc at a bad timin'
You the second Pontiac I fucked up, I got bad drivin'
I take what I want, there’s no askin' him
I couldn’t wait to punch his mic around, Joe Jackson him
It’s only right that I’m toe taggin' him, close casket him
Have bullets goin' in and out of Carter: dope traffickin'
Just know in one of these rounds I'ma do you somethin' tragic
Which means either you gone get bodied or have a fuckin' classic
I’m the one that spazzes
Treat every battle like Summer Madness
Sleep on me 'til that comfy bed become a casket
Faggot, did Smack sign you up to die or what?
Good with the clippers, I bet he fade when I line him up
The 9 is tucked and this iron buck
If you try your luck like you’re drunk
Take a shot to the head: that’s bottoms up
I’m bein' blunt, but you ain’t high enough
I’m the type to kick it with you then kick in ya door and tie you up
I caught him with his bitch, I had time enough
I whipped out my blade and laid my MAC down
She knew I wasn’t tryna fuck
Goon shit, in this hockey mask like a Mighty Duck
With a hockey stick I’m treatin' his head like a hockey puck
His head woulda had enough knots, but that’s not enough
I beat this nigga like the soda machine when my dollar’s stuck
We take change like a Spade’s game, get your diamonds cut
We strapped with them ladders in the whip: that’s a fire truck
That shotty dump, leave drama slumped
Docs ain’t seen nobody with this many bucks on him since Donald Trump
Time is up, let me catch you with your soft squad
I take every shot with no assist: I’m a ballhog
I don’t leave a witness to call log
Like I’ll get you hit with a sawed-off
And every nigga that saw off’d
That’s wordplay, I got plenty more though
Like if it’s war and they send me, all you’ll get hit with a semi-auto
This nigga act up tonight, he won’t see tomorrow
Money shoulda left me alone like I need to borrow
Dig me? You an actual dead guy
Gun Bar King, niggas get clapped when the lead fly
You’ll be suited lookin' like a bachelor just died
Leave you layin' in a casket that’s half of his bed size
That’s how I pray for all of them
Your daughter and ya aunt and them
You gotta call 9-11, my niggas plain bomb on them
I’m like fuck you and your squadron
I always look in a bul's eye when I’m targetin'
Pardon him but dude is trippin'
'Til I turn into Bishop off this Juice I’m sippin'
But the difference
I can shoot through houses with this tool I’m grippin'
These choppers hold extensions, but this new edition
Through the scope I could hit kids, I got super vision
I can clear a lot when this Uz' sprayed off
I went to Newark and dropped a K and copped a new AR
That’s two guns to knock his toupee off
I let one ring, one on hold: that’s a two-way call
You ain’t hard, I don’t believe whatever you confess
I got navigation for whatever you address
I’ll get you robbed for whatever you have left
Like exorcisms, takin' him off of whatever he posses
I got bars, gun line after gun line, in fact
You saw what I did to the last rookie from Pontiac
I sent his soul where Rich Dolarz at
You see URL need some type of Magic to bring that Zombie back
I fuck niggas up, more than likely a fag dyin'
I’ll leave a golf ball hole in one when I grab iron
JC, you ran into Roc at a bad timin'
You the second Pontiac I fucked up, I got bad drivin'
I take what I want, there’s no askin' him
I couldn’t wait to punch his mic around, Joe Jackson him
It’s only right that I’m toe taggin' him, close casket him
Have bullets goin' in and out of Carter: dope traffickin'
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