Aye Verb vs. B. Dot King of the Dot (Ft. Aye Verb & B. Dot The God)

[Round 1: Aye Verb]
They say they want that old Verb back
Well California I am BACK salutations
I stopped eating meat and became vegan and differently started seein' and speakin'
Hell even my pen game took a mild mutation
I'm back on that bullshit, you know that loud room shake shit
Facin' this basic, tasteless rapper who shapeshift
Fuckin' fraud who facade is an African god in Unks and bracelets
You ain't greatness never, you Mason Betha, wavin' feathers in vacation weather
Motherfucker this is style you facin'
Every round you say this: "I'm a brother. I'm happy and I'm singin' and I'm colored."
Fuck outta here Shawn and Marlon meet your own new Wayan
I respect how y'all get down Cali y'all know y'all do fade shit
STL ain't no pound for pound, just pull up pow pa pow pa pow pow while y'all do Matrix
Pistol whip til I press a dent on the five I now you linkin'
You ain't ready for this level nigga, now it sinks in
When you rap they clap for me they make "ow ooh" faces
This is how you break them, later the towels do wavin'
I'm mad reckless, goin' by you no jab steppin'
We don't wanna hear your raps about our ancestors with hand gestures
See you drop jewels but when I drop jewels I hand set 'em
I'm squishin' your little sand castle
Soft ass nigga I'm in yo' city without no hand metal
Not worried like "Man eff 'em"
I'm a boss, you point at me I get your hand severed
I'm conscious and rebel
I'll crush your Mount Rushmore dreams in my bare hands and then hand you the damn pebbles
This Stop The Violence vs 'Pac defiance
Anything you scream at me I'ma go octaves higher
That act you sellin' Dot I'm not a buyer
You cotton soft and I'm with the static like I'm fresh out the dryer
You're an Afrikan Bambaataa applicant for being a damn bottom
Y'all will smoke listen to jam rock and you'll hand job him
That's your damn problem
You get on stage and try to talk to niggas, but you done less you try to talk to nigga
You the type of nigga in the hood who gets fronted a brick
Get it off come back stuntin' and shit
Then try to front on the same nigga who front you the brick
I'm washed up but for some reason still am that nigga
You ain't cold, you just an artist in front the bag you little rap snack nigga
Spit yo' abstract lyrics
You gon' lose the fuckin' crowd and make me look good on cam' like a Snapchat filter
Pacoima Piru, what that mean? Bloods outside?
Weight benches on every yard and clapping doves outside
When I'm from, everybody say "cuz" outside
There's arms clappin' like there's way too many bugs outside
{Organik calls time}