[Round 1: Dre Vishiss]
Damn, cuz, so you gonna make me go first and shit?
My nigga, you's a bitch!
See first off, I had to get that off my chest before you do the shit
In this hood they call him Bae Loc *Ch-ch*
Well I got these guns way from the Bay, loc
Bang, made him see hammers, oh, and the tool legit
On God, you pray, caught in the crossfire
It ain’t nothing your crew should fix
Code word: Robert Harmon
That mean I get to shooting Gotti like I directed the movie script
You my nigga but you took this battle out of greed, oh
When it come to Mafia business
It's always your closest homie who do the hit (*Bllat*)
You'll win an exclusive trip on a one-way to heaven with the Crips
And if you survivе standing in front of these three rounds
What about the othеr twenty-seven in the clip?
And think Prison Break, if you escape these bars
Well consider it a federal offense
And they call us the bashers of the Panthers, right?
So I’ma get to black and raise the pound and push a melon in his shit
Now check it out, cuz
You ain't the only crip in the field
But they out here acting like you're the only young savage who been sent on the drill
So meanwhile to keep it a thousand
You a nigga I been itching to kill
So go ahead, and act nutty (*Blocka*)
I bet a grand these shots will put an “O” up in your shit and leave his ass cripping for real
I said you can't talk to me like you do these other niggas
‘Cause I'm banging, too
I know all about when your big homie might be a killer
Yeah, but you still gotta make a name for you
See I grew up in that era where when your G-homie made you an offer
That you can't refuse
And that offer was off something
And don't come back to the hood ‘til helicopters is up
And they on breaking news, my nigga
And let them say I obeyed the rules
And while you're up here probably thinking like
"While you was getting hot in the Bunker
I was getting hot in the bunker"
Looking like I was finna hyperventilate
*Bllat*
I’ll fuck around and send you away for whatever you trying to insinuate, my nigga
Mafia that!
[Round 1: Geechi Gotti]
See they came here expecting me to body Dre
Your squad even switched up, bro, you like, “Nigga, you tripping”
How the fuck you beefin’ with Gotti, Dre?
This S.O. fault, I think Beazt must have planted the kill
‘Cause Clutch ain't warn you
See that ain’t really your man, for real
Reecee get to see up close and personal when them TECs is hitting him
So if y'all want to know the cause of death
Just check the death certificates
Certified, street nigga, really rep Compton
Back of the head with the shot
Blood coming out of his mouth like he set-hoppin'
Hopping in the ring with me, that was a bad move
Y'all should have gave me Davone
I’d a fucked up Day like some bad news
Brand new chopper, catch him while he's laid up with his bitch
Then AK Dre, then crack her head with the sheet over it like the KKK
(Y'all know a cracker head with the sheet over it, that's the KKK)
Man, shut up, ‘cause you gonna get beat up
Knocked out on your ass with your feet up
Now you going toe-to-toe with a real Crip
Yeah, you talk about fights but
We never actually seen you swinging, you Will Smith
Smith & Wesson, pistol-whip him ‘til it break on his face
Ugh, it's tragic when half the SIG hanging out his mouth like a hood mechanic
I'm good with static, ‘cause I ain't come to play with this fool
Head shot, y'all get to see Dre laid out like a fit on the first day of school
I'm from the School of Hard Knocks, I grew up on a hard block
Where I'm from I done seen niggas take more shots than a bar hop
Hop outs, no drive-bys, we shoot to kill, the ruger still
Before it pop I know he fucked like when a bitch say “we used to chill”
Now chill out ‘cause y'all was hyping this shit, like a mega battle
I was hoping he'd show up and pass out like the Mega battle
This could be battle of the year if he go bar-for-bar
I might shoot him in the middle of his rounds
Now somebody ask God to bring him back like that bar was hard
It's hard to kill but it's easy to die
You believe you can win?
Shit, even R. Kelly said he believe he can fly
I believe he get high, but this gon' be a different hit tonight
And I ain't agreeing with him
When I say, “yeah, get him with a vicious right and
Go across his head with a blade, like it's a knife”, nigga
And when it's real, y'all can tell or y'all can see it in their eyes
So go ‘head, your turn, make niggas believe them lies
Nigga, time
[Round 2: Dre Vishiss]
Since they call you Mr. Disrespectful
This round right here is full of hella disrespect
Extensions, since you're the plug, this outlet's for your connect
The thrill alone will have you seeing death up in the flesh
*Shhwoo*
The blades will cause a chain reaction when I hack something
Then hang bezels by the neck
And this nigga out here selling hair
And I don't knock you making money, my boy
Plus you got kids, get paid in full
But you seen what happened to Sonny, my boy
Plus I'm the type, to mail you two fingers, and a thumb
With a note like, “Here's something really nutty, enjoy!”
And see if Geechi can bob and weave or bang
When I'm aiming at his bundle of joy
When your dog become food
You gotta take it to a whole ‘nother pedigree
So I'll pull the can in his mouth, give him the recipe
And when you got bars this crazy, there can be no sanity
Mafia, I'm bringing the ending to Gotti like I'm in the Gambino family
And you've been shot, right?
And even you said “respect the shooter”
Well that shit is a lie
‘Cause how I'm gonna give those clowns respect if this nigga alive, nigga?
It ain't no such thing as attempted murder
With my victims if I hit ‘em, the nigga done died
Now they got me out here putting in work overtime
‘Cause they ain't finished the job
*Blaow*
And the niggas who shot you still walking the earth,
So I don't want to hear none of that gangsta killer shit you talk in your verse
Nigga, my last enemy's families had to do car washes
And that still only bought ‘em the hearse
They had to do the rest off they're county check
So the funeral had to fall on the first, nigga
I talk this real shit, too, nigga
I talk this shit, too, nigga
It's Mafia this and Mafia that, nigga
Fuck is you talkin' ‘bout
And dog, it must hurt
You got ‘em using your welfare for your warfare, I'm going there
Geechi, you're already dead, what are you doing here?
And Danny, low-key snitched on this nigga
He said he'd be out here murking babies
And he'd be bragging about killing and kids
Well that's fucked up
When it's way easier to die than it is just to live, nigga,
So while I'm praying for you, I'm praying for me
Hoping God can forgive for the sin
‘Cause *Blaow* baby .380 came to get some revenge, little nigga
Mafia that!
[Round 2: Geechi Gotti]
You had my name in your mouth
Coming off like a hater
Potato on the pistol, shot his kid
Turned his tots into taters
Head shot, turn them thoughts into vapors
The bullets got some of the backs and parts of the sides missing
Niggas thought it was a taper
Tape him up, kidnap him
You in the presence of a box, I gift wrap him
Don't press me
‘Cause that head shot will have blood in his eyes like he's standing in front of XP
Trust me, I can tell you ain't comfortable around all these clips
Every shot I take from the chest up like a fat bitch profile pics
Picture me rollin' up on you with a brand new chopper
The handle wood but the tip's steel
Them chopper shells?
They come out flippin' like windmills
Split his skull in half
Got his bitch looking like, “it must be his ass ‘cause it ain't his face”
Nigga, you a tip drill
This shit real, I got foreign guns the strap from Brazil,
I call it Leonardo, ‘cause da cap real
But that's me though, all I talk is guns
Them bullets leave him shaking when they parking son
From sunup to sundown, I stay in the trap
You ain't gon' never catch me lackin'
I stay with the straps
As soon as he thinks it's good
I give a nod to my shooter playing the back
Code word: smarty pants (What that mean?)
It mean put his brains in his lap
The bangers'll clap, got his top full of lead
Now he in a hospital bed
Still trying to forget the bars that were said
In other words, doc's still trying to get them rounds out his head
The head of my class
I jumped off the porch, nigga's still looking
In the streets my name's good like granny cooking
I'm certified, my spot's solidified
When bullets hit his flesh it sizzle and burn like when chicken fried
Listen, I only came here only for the chicken like Raising Cane's
I grew up in dope spots, I was raised in ‘caine
The lifestyle's different
‘Cause you rap loud to make it seem like you're spitting crack
Only time I rap loud is if I'm finna send a pack
Now pack it up ‘cause you're way past your prime
We already seen the best of Dre
Even if you win you can only survive but
Even after surviving the fans gon' be thinking less of Dre
Head shot, that's gon' make a mess of Dre
The street sweeper coming to clean up the rest of Dre
And now y'all know that I'm Mr. Disrespectful
But he said that already
I was thinking about shooting his son
Just to see the little nigga bleed
I would a just called that a biscuit with jelly
This shit is deadly, but you should a heard that through the grapevine
Stomp him out in some Carolina 11's
Now they're the Grape 5's
And when it's real, you can tell
Like you can see it in their eyes
So go ‘head, third round
Hit ‘em with some more of them Mafia lines
Nigga, time
[Round 3: Dre Vishiss]
Ayy, look, for this third round, y'all,
I want to bring up my mama on stage real fast
*Pause in the battle*
[Round 3: Dre Vishiss]
I said, fuck battling these rappers and losing
Mom's was battling cancer and losing
To the point chemo and radiation had her losing hair
Even started to lose weight
She was confused
‘Cause she was getting skinny but feeling like Biggie in the affair with Kim
Had us starting to lose faith
When you want a promise everything gon' be alright but you can't
Plus you don't want to lie to her face and the truth aches
When you pray hoping this shit here do not kill you
You got a happy home waiting for you
But now it's like you damn near living in a hospital
So yeah, I got issues
So many dark clouds steady running throughout my damn head
Shit drives me crazy just knowing how that med bed can be your deathbed
And, Mama, what he know about me holding my little brothers in my arm dead?
‘Til he turn cold and blue
See technically, I died with him that same night
And felt like my soul had no more use
‘Cause we had the same birthday
We're supposed to have the same death day
This is the type of shit that I'm going through
When you're praying for the Lord
But meanwhile it feels like he preying on you, my nigga
See I lost my other brother and Pa Pa just a day apart
The shit still break my heart
And niggas wonder why Dre's so vicious
This played a major part
I mean I might make this canvas look good but it's tainted art
But when this Crip's been flipped so much
You learn to play your part, my nigga
See these niggas couldn't live a piece of my life if they tried
‘Til their granddaddy and grand baby's funerals together
And caskets side-by-side
See I still have flashbacks about that shit
And sometimes I cry and I cry
It get to feeling like I should send you niggas to my family and them and get a teardrop
So it's an eye for an eye
I said, see just rapping and shit got me feeling a little sentimental
Remembering mom's getting sent to mental
Going crazy, everybody want to say it's going to be okay
But this shit ain't simple
I ended up in the streets giving niggas the beats
Being instrumental
With a mind state like since I lost mine
You gotta lose yours, it's all coincidental
Nigga, fuck that, I know that ain't the case
But I ain't get the memo
So when it's big beef, I'm taking it out on your chicken little
Nigga, I'll crack you with a bottle over the head like this for Bizzle
I gave his ass a Henny to the face
Now he can properly reminisce you, nigga
See, I promise you as long as I'm alive
Nigga, my family and B living still
What a motherfucker thought?
I'm cut from that cloth
And on my mama you'll never feel this feel
Geechi, some deep South African nigga, huh?
Well, here's the deal
You can claim to be this African king, nigga, but is it real?
It's Krack City, bitch
Krack-Krack City, bitch
Wack idiot, rapping that silly shit
And it's only right that I gave him a death certificate
Another victim down
Who's next up to hit the list?
Mafia that!
[Round 3: Geechi Gotti]
Nigga, you's a Grape Street crip and I'm from Nutty Blocc
See this hub been a dub
I really got love for them projects
We could keep it real
But, this is Mafia business
So you gotta get fucked up like a thief in jail
You weak and frail, I'm a heavyweight
Body shot, bet he break
Buck 50 after I shoot him
He get a slice after the ring like a wedding cake
For Heavens' sake, I hope he came prepared
Stand over him and give him a bald head upside down since he came from there
See, there I go, I'm losing y'all
Let me slow it down
The bald head upside down was Jordan Downs, but
But that's too intricate, so fuck it here another gun bar
*Blaow*
Watch his mood change after he see pops like
“Fuck he had to come for?”
Dumb whore, by all means, you ain't a warrior,
They came to see me work
They needed a shooter to take this mark's spot
I'm Steve Kerr
I done made niggas curl out and bitch up
‘Cause I can see it in they're face they ain't got the heart
They, talk loud ‘til I show up
Then they're quiet on the set like a scene finna start
Start acting crazy and I'm killing that, the real is back
Gun-butt him, bust his head
Then I stick a .9 in the cut like I'm trying to conceal the strap
Real shit, I told her I need my green off top
Like the Joker head
New .40, shit chalky like Oprah legs
I might just pop this bitch, I keep a trey
.80 take her wig off like granny ‘fore she go to bed
I'm a gang-banger, I just rep in my spare time
So disrespect? Get sprayed on like LeBron James' hairline
He be lying in his raps, he ain't living what he rhyme ‘bout
Murder murder, kill, kill
That's what I'm ‘bout
My shooter got a .9 in the corner like time out
You out your fuckin' mind if you thought you was giving Geech an L
Give me that work? Bitch, I ball like I don't need a scale
Face shot, that'll make him bleed for real
He love tacos?
Well two straps on the side of his head'll put his meat in between some shells
Shell-toes, I'm a classic man
Fuck that, I might blast this man
With a 12 oz., see that's code word for a plastic can
Can I live? ‘Cause you're acting like I won't murk you
Dome shot, you'll wipe the blood up with a blue rag ‘til it look like your flag
‘Cause we all know blue and red make purple
Purple heart, yeah, I been shot before
And on my mama I ain't cry
Matter fact, ask the homies, I ain't even stop hanging
It's fucked up ‘cause that shit's all a part of gang-banging
I've been bangin' since a kid even though I know it's bad
But, somebody asked me do I ever think about the niggas I shot
I told him, “Yeah, when I want to laugh”
You can laugh at my pain, I got a Kev hart
I let niggas run before the head shot, that's a head start
I let the lead spark, hit whoever's in sight
This ratchet, a thirsty hoe
She hit whoever it like
And when it's real, you can tell
Like y'all can see it in their eyes
Mafia shit, we ain't come with no lies
Nigga, time
