[Round 1: Rone]
I have orchestrated this beautifully, like I was intricate on strings with it
Co-Rone-ation day, from my Simba shit to the king of this
Today I think like a king; it’s in my bones, in my speech
Today I eat like a king; I’m thinkin' bon appetit
It’s been six months, what glory did you bring home to the league?
You ain’t even seize the throne; that crown was thrown at your feet
What is the title to you? Oh, what, now you’re a star?
No, you’re still broke, bummy, scrounging for rounds at the bar
So I consider the term “title” not sounding so hard
When you’ll never have a title on a house or a car
See, you never rap enough piff to pack up the joint
And so they made a call to Rone (Calderon) to back up the point
See we could battle for one hour. We could do a one-rounder
You lost the title after one match; that’s a short reign (rain) like a sun shower
You think like such a pussy...... whenever you make a verse
You’re so scared of what someone else might say, so you try to say it first
Well I predict that you’ll predict what I do in this match
And you’ll get done like the last prophet (Prophit) that I threw in the trash
Boy thinks that he’s a psychic, but no one here’s believing him
It’s funny he’s an extra small but he thinks that he’s a medium
But this pussy smells fishy
Is that salmon or albacore?
Is he mackerel or just gutted? He can’t get a call back from Macklemore
Bitch all my dogs loyal, like DJ Khaled or a Labrador;
I’m in El Salvador, dodging bullshit off the cape just like a matador
Bitch, I’m just getting started; this is salad course
You’re mad trash like a bag full of apple cores
Oh he ain’t catch it? Who the fuck he, Nelson Agholor?
If he the plug, I’ll rip him out by the power cord
You think you could rap, but my flow’s so disgustin'
Stumpman, stumpman, stumpman, you like five foot nothin'
Since I brought my boys here I think I might jump him; no
Since he this tall, damn, I think that I could jump him; whoa
You live off apology checks you get ‘cause you’re a eighth Native American
That means we’re payin' you, to shut the fuck up and not complain ‘bout your heritage
And that’s the only checks you get, the only income that you draw
So if my people hadn’t killed your people, you would get no money at all
I mean, no hood booger want to boogie with you
No neighbor got any sugar to use
I mean, Saurus gets ten million times more pussy than you and look at the dude
And I bet those walls in the friend zone steep
Twin bitches suck a nut for a Benzo each
You a snitch and a broke little S.O.B
I bet the pink slip on any car that Greg Poe lease (police)
Wait. Any bar that Ill conceived is ill-conceived
It’s no illusion; Ill losing. This the guillotine
It’s incredible; I’m what makes Ill edge-able
The fact that he can’t read me, I feel like like I’m illegible
But, you braggin' ‘bout smoking weed in Oregon, I said that isn’t even Ill, is it?
Wait, smoking weed in Oregon; that isn’t even illicit
Boy, I pass models coke on glass-bottom boats
This some sacrificial slaughter, it’s the lamb vers’ the G.O.A.T
And I get he’s your bro and that you think that he’s dope
But do me a favor: get Bigg K’s dick out your throat
I mean, in the Caustic battle, you have his whole D in your mouthpiece
You all over Kenny’s nuts like Stevie Janowski
You takin' trips, I make your bitch sit and leave me a house key
Then come piss on the rug like the scene from Lebowski
World Dom One, we were faded off Canadian liquor
Saurus had a bitch in his room; trying to say he could hit her
But he declined, when he ain’t even have to pay for the stripper
So for thinkin' Ill is straight (illustrate), well, what, I got to paint you a picture?
World Dom Two, you blackout wrestled Dirtbag Dan
The full story is that Dirt merked that man
At the hotel that night, he choked you out twice
I’m used to your rounds putting me to sleep, well now you know what that’s like
Check, Illmac tried to rush him, right? Dan got him mummified
He couldn’t have put you to sleep faster with warm milk and a lullaby
So talk shit when I’m passin' by you and it’s not a thing to pacify you
And if you sleep on any of my shit tonight, then I’m lookin' for Dan behind you
I have orchestrated this beautifully, like I was intricate on strings with it
Co-Rone-ation day, from my Simba shit to the king of this
Today I think like a king; it’s in my bones, in my speech
Today I eat like a king; I’m thinkin' bon appetit
It’s been six months, what glory did you bring home to the league?
You ain’t even seize the throne; that crown was thrown at your feet
What is the title to you? Oh, what, now you’re a star?
No, you’re still broke, bummy, scrounging for rounds at the bar
So I consider the term “title” not sounding so hard
When you’ll never have a title on a house or a car
See, you never rap enough piff to pack up the joint
And so they made a call to Rone (Calderon) to back up the point
See we could battle for one hour. We could do a one-rounder
You lost the title after one match; that’s a short reign (rain) like a sun shower
You think like such a pussy...... whenever you make a verse
You’re so scared of what someone else might say, so you try to say it first
Well I predict that you’ll predict what I do in this match
And you’ll get done like the last prophet (Prophit) that I threw in the trash
Boy thinks that he’s a psychic, but no one here’s believing him
It’s funny he’s an extra small but he thinks that he’s a medium
But this pussy smells fishy
Is that salmon or albacore?
Is he mackerel or just gutted? He can’t get a call back from Macklemore
Bitch all my dogs loyal, like DJ Khaled or a Labrador;
I’m in El Salvador, dodging bullshit off the cape just like a matador
Bitch, I’m just getting started; this is salad course
You’re mad trash like a bag full of apple cores
Oh he ain’t catch it? Who the fuck he, Nelson Agholor?
If he the plug, I’ll rip him out by the power cord
You think you could rap, but my flow’s so disgustin'
Stumpman, stumpman, stumpman, you like five foot nothin'
Since I brought my boys here I think I might jump him; no
Since he this tall, damn, I think that I could jump him; whoa
You live off apology checks you get ‘cause you’re a eighth Native American
That means we’re payin' you, to shut the fuck up and not complain ‘bout your heritage
And that’s the only checks you get, the only income that you draw
So if my people hadn’t killed your people, you would get no money at all
I mean, no hood booger want to boogie with you
No neighbor got any sugar to use
I mean, Saurus gets ten million times more pussy than you and look at the dude
And I bet those walls in the friend zone steep
Twin bitches suck a nut for a Benzo each
You a snitch and a broke little S.O.B
I bet the pink slip on any car that Greg Poe lease (police)
Wait. Any bar that Ill conceived is ill-conceived
It’s no illusion; Ill losing. This the guillotine
It’s incredible; I’m what makes Ill edge-able
The fact that he can’t read me, I feel like like I’m illegible
But, you braggin' ‘bout smoking weed in Oregon, I said that isn’t even Ill, is it?
Wait, smoking weed in Oregon; that isn’t even illicit
Boy, I pass models coke on glass-bottom boats
This some sacrificial slaughter, it’s the lamb vers’ the G.O.A.T
And I get he’s your bro and that you think that he’s dope
But do me a favor: get Bigg K’s dick out your throat
I mean, in the Caustic battle, you have his whole D in your mouthpiece
You all over Kenny’s nuts like Stevie Janowski
You takin' trips, I make your bitch sit and leave me a house key
Then come piss on the rug like the scene from Lebowski
World Dom One, we were faded off Canadian liquor
Saurus had a bitch in his room; trying to say he could hit her
But he declined, when he ain’t even have to pay for the stripper
So for thinkin' Ill is straight (illustrate), well, what, I got to paint you a picture?
World Dom Two, you blackout wrestled Dirtbag Dan
The full story is that Dirt merked that man
At the hotel that night, he choked you out twice
I’m used to your rounds putting me to sleep, well now you know what that’s like
Check, Illmac tried to rush him, right? Dan got him mummified
He couldn’t have put you to sleep faster with warm milk and a lullaby
So talk shit when I’m passin' by you and it’s not a thing to pacify you
And if you sleep on any of my shit tonight, then I’m lookin' for Dan behind you
Comments (0)
The minimum comment length is 50 characters.
Information
Users of Guests are not allowed to comment this publication.
There are no comments yet. You can be the first!