[Round 1: Fire Da Misfit]
I'ma let y'all know now how this gon' go down
This dickhead 'bout to choke for three whole rounds
I got the URL main stage, nigga, fifth try
So it's only right I let the fifth fly
Talkin' greasy; these shells poppin' like a fish fry
Kick in his door, fuck up his crib like a pig sty
I read his journal, check his memoirs
Cross cripple his face—Chris Benoit!
Fifty niggas; I don't back up
Fifty tears, back up; he callin' Fifty for back-up
That's 5-0; I don't slack up; Mack truck
That's what it feel like when that MAC bust; act up!
Get cut right on the scene then get clapped up
B-roll all on his bean; now, tell him, "Act up!"
Give Eaz' the walk-down; peep how he stroll: he feminine
Membership; "Ayo, G!" We rеally with the shits
I spit it sick; need a doctor, Dre—think Eminem
See, hе thinkin' he gon' get the beats—I'm thinkin' Timberlands
I'm sick of him; this good ass-whippin', you needed, Chess
Not even DJ Khaled believe he the best
Now, he fucked but ain't want beef—vegan sex!
Squeeze the TEC, leave him bloody and bitchin'—PMS!
Almighty! A classic ain't what I'm tryna make
Bash a party stripper clip: these bullets jumpin' outta cakes
It's CakeLyfe but your face type ape-like
Youngin, there's a difference in great whites and snake bites
You trippin' and RBE Buttah told me to lift ya soul
So now, I'm Shang Tsung: been sent here to fling ya skull
It's Mortal Kombat: if I ain't likin' how dude play
I'm Jax with the [?] daylight—nigga, mmkay?
Push me like you did K-Shine, get beat the fuck up
I got a suitcase full of guns—nigga, whassup?
You just rap! You don't get violent—shut the fuck up!
This MAC'll lift yo' back when it dump—truck!
Niggas when it hit shit: hit stick, pick a plate
Throw a bullet; your brain intercepted—I win the game!
Go by my own rules; this ain't Madden, baby
You think you won't catch two because it ain't a safety?
We in N.Y. so I figured, "Fuck it."
Fuck the Nets and the Knicks! We got Jimmy Buckets!
Nigga, six and let off three from half court
Drive, let it bang with a small tap like backboards
You might not win a round; you ain't good enough
You better not choke and fuck my footage up!
If you do, next, you'll battle the ratchet, opp
Clip'll go sicko mode on young Travis Scott
I'm tryna show your bitch that I'm the real deal
Take her to the crib; she show me the real jill
She say, "He a boy." She want real steel
After I fuck her and bucka-bucka, she still chi—
You from the Bronx, of course—I recognize the accent
I'm the Captain [?], general assassin
Catchin' any wreck, blastin' any TEC, clappin' any chest
Passin' any test; Charles Manson in the flesh
That's a big pun! You ain't no killer, you just learned to walk
No, I ain't steal it; it's a quote—you should learn the talk
Get your grandma up!
If Ion't like how you talkin' then this banana'll hit ya nanna and grandma up
You skinny pundits [?] black Joe
While you die, he just lean back, be fat, and Joe
You big mad but I came to body niggas
And show I'm the best at chess—Bobby Fischer!
F: First of all, stay in yo' motherfuckin' lane!
I don't play around; I ain't no motherfuckerin' game!
Now, R: Ready or not, you really about to lose
And this E? This goes for every motherfucker in the room!
[Round 1: Chess]
Let's get this shit clear: promise you, I'm wiggin' this year
I been through shit—Slumdog Millionaire!
Wait...
Let's get this shit clear: I promise you, I'm wiggin' this year
Been through shit—Slumdog Millionaire!
Buildin' full of rusty pipes, [?] livin' in here
Brown water; ain't no Henny in here!
Ki— brown water; ain't no Henny in here!
Brown water; ain't no Henny in here but now we privileged
Take a sip because it's plenty in here
Walkin' in your house wit'—wit'—wit' muddy sneakers and I really don't care
Uh! Tell a King, "c—"
Get the King thrown off the throne like Sid in the chair
I get the King thrown off the throne like Sid in the ch—
Get the King thrown off the throne like Sid in the chair, uh
Get the— thrown off the throne like Sid in the ch—
[Round 2: Fire Da Misfit]
I'ma let y'all know now how this gon' go down
This dickhead gon' choke for three whole rounds
I ain't come all the way to Brooklyn to play witchya
Kick in the door, wavin' the .44, give you eight, nigga
"Go get the strap!" Nah, ain't none of that—it's too late, nigga!
Send Chess a plate? Well, this'll make yo' chestplate break, nigga
I hate niggas like you! We ain't the same, brother: you a disgrace
And in the face, you look like Lil Wayne mother
See, to be honest, I really hope you don't choke here
But get carried, they gon' say that I curried the GOAT here
Catch three from beat, ni— don't gimme two feet, nigga
Catch somethin' heavy; [?] on the hip—that was a reach, nigga!
I told niggas, "Fire smoke niggas!" We'll blaze a trail
We go hard but still, you are takin' this L
Don't get yo' battle rap life fucked up; I know you hungry
You tryna eat but these shells ain't good for yo' stomach
He a imposter; clip curl like maccaroni
For that cheese, I'm all over the beef like ravioli
I got the sauce; peep the strategy like I'm playin' chess
Two eights; bullets multiply—dig what I'm sayin', Chess?
That's sixty-four squares, Chess—bored? Okay, whatever, Chess
But sixty-fours squared that bury you and who treasure Ch—
Chosen, point 'em out; tell me, "Shoot they whole camp!"
I let this Eagle ring; I'm screamin', "Super Bowl champ!"
You think you hot-hot 'cause you be on this block-block!
Actin' tough-tough? That just get you shot-shot!
You don't run that cheese, Cake; this what the metal do
Make you a angel, Cake; I'm cookin' Devil's food
Fuck Chess! I'm talkin' to Raekwon
You ain't gettin' the method, man; I'll send him to you, God!
Young Mr. Jenkins, what the fuck was you thinkin?
Get mad! You'll get a shitbag or I'll leave you stinkin'
Even if I don't let the Ruger bang him
These fists still ball up his face like he was hatin'
Fuck you and yo' shit plaques; you ain't wit' the shit, scrap
You puss—why? You talk but don't really live that
I ain't gon' lie: see, Ion't know where you live at
But I know who know the exact address of where yo' crib at
Niggas always wanna be gangsta so fuckin' bad
Till they face-to-face with a gangsta and he gets fuckin' mad
That's when you see they true colors; these niggas pussy pink
That's why I don't fuck wit' 'em: these pussies stink!
You trash—T-R-A-S-H!
I grip cans! You can get bagged with this SK
I was taught, never let a nigga disrespect me
He kicks shit, this fifth'll kick back—you'll think it's Jet Li!
Ion't know who y'all really thought was the vet here
Y'all gon' see y'all dawg get shots; he'll get checked here
Then they switch they [?] up in DMs; that shit get exed here
I ain't got no pics in my DMs—it's just ya ex there!
By next year, they gon' say I'm way over the next tier
I need a DNA or Clips or Cortez here
I'm droppin' bombs; that's nuclear warhead
No! I'm walkin' down—[?]! That's two to the boy head
F: First of all, stay in yo' motherfuckin' lane!
Nigga, I don't play around; I ain't no motherfuckerin' game!
Nigga, R: Ready or not, you really about to—
Nigga, E? This goes for every motherfucker in the—!
Fire!
[Round 2: Chess]
If I get the strap, I'ma pop Misfit!
If I get the strap, I'ma pop Misfit!
If I get the strap, I'ma pop Misfit, nigga!
Oh, y'all think I'm chokin' again! They think I'm— look, see...
If I get the strap, I'ma pop Misfit!
I don't care if ya bitch cry—that's y'all business!
Now, Mis' miss missin' him, wishin' I missed him but I didn't
Bang! His brains hang but his top lifted
And he not breathin'
Nigga had all that heart until it stopped beatin'
Your thoughts—!
Said, and he not breathin', nigga!
Nigga had all that heart until it stopped beatin'
Ya— for pumpin' blood, not thinkin'
So be smart the next time I'm on your block, creepin'
Tired of beefin'—drive-bys! All I heard was tires screechin'
Over here, it get dreadful every day—not just weekends!
If they pull it out then they pull it, nigga—not just reachin'!
Lookin' for an excuse to imagine if I got a reason
All inside the streets like I ain't learned from none them momma beatin's
All inside the streets like I ain't learn it—
All in— like I ain't learned from none them mom—
All inside the streets like I ain't learnin' from them mom— [?] me, bruh
All in front of streets like I ain't learnin' from them momma beatin's
All inside these streets like we ain't learned from none them momma beatin's
Me and— oh!
All inside these streets like I ain't learned from none them momma beatin's
Makin'—!
All inside these streets like we ain't learned from none them momma beatin's
Makin' ends meet or I get this green like I am vegan
Y'all chop it up wit' this rat? Y'all should Chinese him!
Now, I gotta body y'all together—I'ma Siamese 'em!
Gotta body y'all together—I'm Siamese 'em, wait...
Forty-five on a—
And that shit'll shine when I— wait...
And I shoot his mind out it
And [?] wit' it
And I talk hard 'cause I walk hard
All these war scars that I got in the field, nigga
I am no killer but if I'm that nigga, they tryin' to kill, nigga
We boom in the fields
We done took too many Ls, for real
So lowkey, I been on a [?]
Stay wit' the heat but I'm tryna be—
'Cause I be actin' real immature when it's war
Pistol-rappin' 'cause I'm with the action
Nigga, get a four, hit 'em all
On some other shit, I be sufferin' from the paranoia and all
Ya boy'll [?] the law
It changed every time I walk in the door
Niggas thought I lost it before—no!
Better duck when the .44 blow
All my pain is raw
I could [?] get caught, though
I caught a case and all
Use to break the law but I ain't get caught, though
Until, like, one day, I heard whoop-whoop and the jakes was all go
[?] on go
Did the race [?] on hos, nigga!
Forty-fi—
Man, CakeLyfe, bro
[Round 3: Fire Da Misfit]
I'ma let y'all know now how this gon' go down
This dickhead gon' choke for three whole rounds
First off, you a little-ass boy
I hurt you, playa [?] circles; I duffle-bag boys
Mind your mouth, junior; you like a son to me
The only difference is you from the Bronx and you ugly
I'ma make it hard for you to breathe, Chess
The way I get to punchin' your clock like it's speed chess
You see Chess not movin'; it's no air there
Keep it plain, boy; don't trip—we need air fare
A penny for your thoughts; I'd just rather the nickel
Sit one right up in yo' temple
You say it's the truth what you spittin'
Oh, I get it: you got the juice so you bishop
Well, I'll sacrifice two nights just to fuck witchu queen
I put you right in the position where I wanted you, king
This is a grown man talkin' to you; take this L, dawg
Now, I'm finna whip yo' ass, takin' my belt off
I'm too heavy here; you a featherweight
When you was born, I was in the seventh grade
Keep it brown to get my point across—D'ussé!
How I get done with [?]? Fool's [?]
They say, "Chess up. Oh, he's next up."
All I hear is, "Chester, Chester, [?]"
Ion't know about y'all niggas givin' Cakes up
But, "We go hard, niggas." Yeah, okay!
Go play with somebody your age
He stupid, young, dumb—think he know everything
He used to chokin' in battles and y'all let 'im slide
Well, fuck his pride! He wanna fight? Punch 'im right in his eyes!
See, youse a scared-straight kid; ya parents ain't around
You wanted to be grown? Well, there's a man here now!
Lemme explain somethin' to ya
To these young dickheads fuckin' up the future
[?] need a pops?
You gon' get this work like you need a job
I'm something you never stood in front of—uh-uh! The pedigree is different
The bars, the flow, delivery—better than you, nigga!
You from a hood where they had to spark?
Four stick and the fifth come across like a tally mark?
That's cool; lemme show you how my hood do
Let the fifty give you the L like Roman numerals
You think you bombin', off-the-top rhymin'? You a noodle
You too sweet; you don't even pop, tart—you strudel!
I see you battled Ave on SMACK, too
It's only right—I see you on a ave, I'ma smack you!
I be on the creep, nigga
In yo' city, any hour, day, week, nigga
Cut the façade; you a sweet nigga: rainbow Skittle, jelly bean
You look like a fiend
You don't want no smoke unless it's nicotine
Click the steam; it hit his chest but it's a different team
Ion't do a lotta talkin'—Mr. Bean!
I just give him bald heads—Mr. Clean!
First of all, stay in yo' motherfuckin' lane!
See, I don't play around; I ain't no motherfuckerin' game!
Now, R: Ready or not, you really about to lose
Nigga, E? This goes for every motherfucker in the—!
Fire!
[Round 3: Chess]
You wanted to get on checkmate, rappin' wit' Chess
Scoliosis: I'm back in effect
Better give it everything he has or this gon' be a hazardous death
I'm finna show you how to rap with a vet—let's go, uh!
You love the game; why you ain't marry a cheque, you bachelor?
That just mean you ain't master it yet
Movin' Ps out the Ps; niggas trapped in the 'jects
Some nights was a slow grind like passionate sex
Single mother; no dad 'cause he left
Single mother; no dad 'cause he left—wait...
Single mother; no dad 'cause he left—uh!
Single mother; no dad 'cause he left—uh!
Single mother; no dad 'cause he left
Single mother; no dad 'cause he left—uh!
Single mother; no dad 'cause he left
My pops played him—uh, alright, uh!
—mother; no dad 'cause he left
Pops played hisself; sometimes, it feels like I'm actually fresh
And ya—
Single mother; no dad 'cause he left
Pops played hisself; sometimes, it feels like I'm actually fresh
And ya circle has to get pressed
You the type to post on Snap; I'm the type to snap on ya neck
I'm the type to s—
—post on Snap; I'm the type to snap on ya neck
And the—
I'm the type to snap on ya neck
And the deaths used to look like casualties
Now, they got normal; now, they look like casual deaths
I leave his lungs in his hands when I clap at his chest
{gasping} Let's just say he catchin' his breath
Bang! My gang really turn him to a stain
Time on his corner, really make it and behave
It's crazy, where I'm raised
I could really bring Fire around the X like cradle to the grave
Mom kids in the streets, crazy and—
Mom kids in the— mom kids in the—
Mom kids in the streets, singin' and she pray
The—
Mom kids in the streets, slangin' and she pray
The type of tears I seen could change a nigga ways
These IG niggas gettin' famous on the page
My OG niggas gettin' favors on the paint
Well, now— famous on the page
My OG niggas puttin' faces on the page
Of the New York Times
Told momma I was stopped until I had to commit a croo more crimes and—
Told momma I was stopped until I had to commit a few more crimes
Tryna make it to the top
Well, this ladder help you get there faster, pussy—you gon' climb?
Headshot! Headshot two more times
If I go insane, you'll be the one to lose yo' mind
CakeLyfe
