[Round 1: Tsu Surf]
We keep everythin’ in code now, niggas tattle talk
On the phone talking 'bout his death
But it sound like battle talk
Call the homies for a quick holla, “It’s Summer Madness
Bring the T with a capital, in case of Rich Dolarz
He got Big T? Oh, put Mook on top, or maybe Math, right?
I mean, Calicoe cool, I fuck with Shine, he mad nice
I know, I know, sound like silly shit
But that’s a code for a body
Let me tell you what that really meant
I call the Hitman, this some madness, he gettin’ knocked off
Bring a extra T with a capitol—Tech 9
In case of—Rich Dollaz—in case it pop off
Big-T—he gettin’ quiet money?
I’ll put a dot on his head if the math right, it’ll be very sad
I mean, the Calico cool, but that K will do him very bad
I hope you came with crack, I’m not Roc, these different lines
You know I’m on some shit
You’ll get drugged if I connect, then throw him in a ditch
He’ll die for wifey? Dope, he goin’ with his chick
Bobby and Whitney; I’m talkin’
Layin’ there, smokin’ with his bitch
You was puttin’ in all that work for Harlem
Never break yo' grind
Pick and chose your battles, cool, take yo' time
All that to get noticed, it’s like you waste yo' lines
‘Cause Lux came, how he take yo' shine?
That don’t ache yo' spine?
Lux got everybody in the world saying “You gon' get this work.”
All they remember you for is “Sike”
And killin’ Verb at Summer Madness
And Tay Roc, but that's light
I tie Clips to a chair, then smack him in the neck
You gon' love the show
40 in DNA mouth, only thing left is the bucket though
You watchin’, Charlie? Splat! Then that gun'll blow
I’ll ray Charles, last thing he seen was his brother go
For them Washington’s, we’ll really Training Day somethin’
Do you hear me? Charlie’s house, this new 40′s got Siri
Even if every thing was debatable, I never gave a dub up
Fuck if you in the livin’ room, the kitchen
Or bathroom, I got one to lift the tub up
Me and my two sons burn down with the snub up
Them three fours bark'll leave Charlie chuckin’ blood up
A lot of your bars average, to cover that you be jokin’
Make a scheme out anythin’
And “Sike, I lied” when you be chokin’
Your freestyle was cool, but that poor trick done worn out
He think we never get the picture, his lines be drawn out
You Chilla Jones grandfather age, that’s why your schemes old
They label him a winner, but nothin’ ever seem cold
Me, I feel like the old Vince still bangin’ when that can drawn
I should name what I carry kittles
No kitten, I want that man gone
Miss me with your Nets jokes
I am New Jersey, fuck is this man on?!
Mama told the D’s, "I ain’t know he took the keys."
D’s told Mama we found him head slumpt on that van horn
They say I got a problem, but clappin' tools help
And if that bitch did say somethin’ to the D’s
Then two to your moms, like after school help
We keep everythin’ in code now, niggas tattle talk
On the phone talking 'bout his death
But it sound like battle talk
Call the homies for a quick holla, “It’s Summer Madness
Bring the T with a capital, in case of Rich Dolarz
He got Big T? Oh, put Mook on top, or maybe Math, right?
I mean, Calicoe cool, I fuck with Shine, he mad nice
I know, I know, sound like silly shit
But that’s a code for a body
Let me tell you what that really meant
I call the Hitman, this some madness, he gettin’ knocked off
Bring a extra T with a capitol—Tech 9
In case of—Rich Dollaz—in case it pop off
Big-T—he gettin’ quiet money?
I’ll put a dot on his head if the math right, it’ll be very sad
I mean, the Calico cool, but that K will do him very bad
I hope you came with crack, I’m not Roc, these different lines
You know I’m on some shit
You’ll get drugged if I connect, then throw him in a ditch
He’ll die for wifey? Dope, he goin’ with his chick
Bobby and Whitney; I’m talkin’
Layin’ there, smokin’ with his bitch
You was puttin’ in all that work for Harlem
Never break yo' grind
Pick and chose your battles, cool, take yo' time
All that to get noticed, it’s like you waste yo' lines
‘Cause Lux came, how he take yo' shine?
That don’t ache yo' spine?
Lux got everybody in the world saying “You gon' get this work.”
All they remember you for is “Sike”
And killin’ Verb at Summer Madness
And Tay Roc, but that's light
I tie Clips to a chair, then smack him in the neck
You gon' love the show
40 in DNA mouth, only thing left is the bucket though
You watchin’, Charlie? Splat! Then that gun'll blow
I’ll ray Charles, last thing he seen was his brother go
For them Washington’s, we’ll really Training Day somethin’
Do you hear me? Charlie’s house, this new 40′s got Siri
Even if every thing was debatable, I never gave a dub up
Fuck if you in the livin’ room, the kitchen
Or bathroom, I got one to lift the tub up
Me and my two sons burn down with the snub up
Them three fours bark'll leave Charlie chuckin’ blood up
A lot of your bars average, to cover that you be jokin’
Make a scheme out anythin’
And “Sike, I lied” when you be chokin’
Your freestyle was cool, but that poor trick done worn out
He think we never get the picture, his lines be drawn out
You Chilla Jones grandfather age, that’s why your schemes old
They label him a winner, but nothin’ ever seem cold
Me, I feel like the old Vince still bangin’ when that can drawn
I should name what I carry kittles
No kitten, I want that man gone
Miss me with your Nets jokes
I am New Jersey, fuck is this man on?!
Mama told the D’s, "I ain’t know he took the keys."
D’s told Mama we found him head slumpt on that van horn
They say I got a problem, but clappin' tools help
And if that bitch did say somethin’ to the D’s
Then two to your moms, like after school help
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