[Round 1: Qleen Paper]
Qleen Paper, vers' B Magic
And nigga I'm not smiling, this shit 'bout to be tragic
And I dare you hop stupid, 'cause if B rabbit
These 'matics a split your peers in three fractions
Keep yapping, fo'-fifths appear 'cause we strapped in
If he need action, I make B Magic see 'matics then disappear
Now you done dropped into a pitfall
Rolled into a whirlpool and knocked into a brick wall
See now I'm getting pissed off
And I'm subject to pull his bitch card
'Cause we all know, he white-girl-brick soft
And I cave his fucking mouth in, so before this bout end he might get his shit sauced
I'm on my UFC shit, dog
Hop in his Octagon, and I'ma drop the bomb, Kris Kross
Soft-ass Crip, you'll talk that shit
This nigga probably bleed if I smacked him with my bitch cloth
Now get hard in the place
And I'm getting on yo' goof ass
Snapping six stars in yo' face, spitting on that flu rag
Vice Lord riding on him, shoot him when we shoot past
I'm in that super cool class, you know, Maseratis
And who the fuck got this Subaru gassed?
My connect cheap tickets, got me moving through bags
My team wit' it, we hit that I-7-5 route wit' a few [?]
Careful what you choose to do fag
'Cause all my b's vicious
And we keep biscuits for E-rickets
You got a motherfucking problem then leap cricket
But once that black and gold rag wrap that MAC and chrome mag, B listen this shit gon' be wicked
I slump him with the toast then, dump him in the ocean, send him deep-sea fishing
Listen, weapons from overseas, but the heat that we crep' in
A flip a fucking Mack Truck and make a Corvette bend
If my set, hit yo' set, with them TECs, you just stretched then
Little brother panicking, looking for the mag when we stepped in
Baby crying, baby ma breathless, she can't catch her next wind
Detectives on the block, asking niggas where we left in
And his mom going crazy, smacking on his best friend
So you should focus on the spoken lesson
'Fore you go boasting 'bout how yo' profession
Is toting weapons like you blow the Wesson
Now outta nowhere, I done got the urge for a little roasting session
Now we gon' talk about your little Crip set rank
And all the pictures that yo' TEC paint
But he one of them niggas that just look like his breath stank
Now regardless of the fact of whether he gargling, he always got that skelly pulled low as fuck, so I know the back of his neck stank
Now I got this nigga looking like it's fourth down
And he done turnt that skin a pork round
But before I go into any more rounds
I gotta hold my fort down
You know how I roll, bunny rabbits up, forks down
Light work!
Qleen Paper, vers' B Magic
And nigga I'm not smiling, this shit 'bout to be tragic
And I dare you hop stupid, 'cause if B rabbit
These 'matics a split your peers in three fractions
Keep yapping, fo'-fifths appear 'cause we strapped in
If he need action, I make B Magic see 'matics then disappear
Now you done dropped into a pitfall
Rolled into a whirlpool and knocked into a brick wall
See now I'm getting pissed off
And I'm subject to pull his bitch card
'Cause we all know, he white-girl-brick soft
And I cave his fucking mouth in, so before this bout end he might get his shit sauced
I'm on my UFC shit, dog
Hop in his Octagon, and I'ma drop the bomb, Kris Kross
Soft-ass Crip, you'll talk that shit
This nigga probably bleed if I smacked him with my bitch cloth
Now get hard in the place
And I'm getting on yo' goof ass
Snapping six stars in yo' face, spitting on that flu rag
Vice Lord riding on him, shoot him when we shoot past
I'm in that super cool class, you know, Maseratis
And who the fuck got this Subaru gassed?
My connect cheap tickets, got me moving through bags
My team wit' it, we hit that I-7-5 route wit' a few [?]
Careful what you choose to do fag
'Cause all my b's vicious
And we keep biscuits for E-rickets
You got a motherfucking problem then leap cricket
But once that black and gold rag wrap that MAC and chrome mag, B listen this shit gon' be wicked
I slump him with the toast then, dump him in the ocean, send him deep-sea fishing
Listen, weapons from overseas, but the heat that we crep' in
A flip a fucking Mack Truck and make a Corvette bend
If my set, hit yo' set, with them TECs, you just stretched then
Little brother panicking, looking for the mag when we stepped in
Baby crying, baby ma breathless, she can't catch her next wind
Detectives on the block, asking niggas where we left in
And his mom going crazy, smacking on his best friend
So you should focus on the spoken lesson
'Fore you go boasting 'bout how yo' profession
Is toting weapons like you blow the Wesson
Now outta nowhere, I done got the urge for a little roasting session
Now we gon' talk about your little Crip set rank
And all the pictures that yo' TEC paint
But he one of them niggas that just look like his breath stank
Now regardless of the fact of whether he gargling, he always got that skelly pulled low as fuck, so I know the back of his neck stank
Now I got this nigga looking like it's fourth down
And he done turnt that skin a pork round
But before I go into any more rounds
I gotta hold my fort down
You know how I roll, bunny rabbits up, forks down
Light work!
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