6.5
I gotta give it
I gotta give it like, a six five (five five five five five)
Six five? You're just gonna take that and not even spray back?
Nah, that's hella pussy dawg, I can't even fake that
And there ain't no take backs
6.5 what he rate that
You can't even make that
Shit right up
Say what's up
To the camera when I smack you up
Bitch I never dapped you up
Fuck it, get your homies over here, bitch they can't back you up
From me when I pack you up
Pack god, cause my raps hard
When I wrap you up
Catch you with that cling wrap
Catch you in that shrink wrap
Yo shit's out of sync rap
So many bills I blink cash
If you talking about money than let's see the bank account
Let's go band for band, we ain't even close to the same amount
One time I tried withdrawing my shit, but I can't take it out
The bank said they don't have enough to give
The teller faked me out
Your logo is a broken record, but you've never broken one?
What the fuck is that about? We all know you ain't broken none
And I'm pretty sure it's unanimous, I'm the chosen one
The rap artist in the game that's blessed, with gods powers son
It's always running in, get back, get back, get back
I take yo bitch and I hit that, hit that, get clapped, lil bitch
That shit you dropped ain't nun but a setback, setback, sit back
And watch me snap like a KitKat, tip tap
You a bit flat
It only took you 2 months and 2 weeks to respond
Listened to it since the snippet, what a shitty lil response
Ima take it up a notch, the tempo later in the song
I got scouts all over like every state, bitch I don't do recon
Say yo life a movie, which one? You talking bout the thing?
Cause you bear a striking resemblance, don't you fucking think?
Plus there ain't no women in either, your whole life or the movie
And I can say whatever I want, so fuck you, sue me
Strut my stuff, all over the place in J's, not talking juicy
Boutta pull off a 360 no-scope, call of duty
Spending every cent on rent? For what a 1 room apartment?
Dropping money on a place to live, while I rock gucci garments
Off-white, chrome hearts, and Louie V, I'm a sergeant
And you don't know shit about the streets
While I'm over here hardened
10 on 10 on 10 on 10
Brother get the fuck out, talking bout the fucking pen
Gotta retire that shit, and never touch it again
You gonna spill the ink blot, take it back, and confess
I'm getting too detailed, gotta condense
I'm putting myself before the fucking congress
And I'm still rapping, still making progress
Silent disses every song, like a fucking contest
Talking bout rap cap
Rap whack
What you know about fat stacks
And flat caps
Stick you like a pincushion, getting down to the brass tacks
Hit em with the fast tracks
Having flashbacks
Getting kicked around like a knapsack
Throw em in a backpack
Playing blackjack
You'll never get into the rat pack
Yeah that shits whack
You gotta fucking give up, and go back to the Big Macs
Big back
Hold up, hold up, hold up, hold up
You be working hella hard, do nothing, get my dough up
Bitch you look like you on estrogen, like tryna get your hoe up
You a fully grown adult, go call your parents, they won't show up
They won't show up
But I'll show out
Take 2 hours take your hoe out
From behind, her back I blow out
Make good music, what you know bout
All that shit
Blicky blicky, in my hands I sent a bullet to the dome
I got that bitch tucked in my pants
Jam new mags right into the chrome
You drop a song about the summer on the last day of August?
You a dumbass motherfucka that shits over let's be honest
And I'm talking honestly, all your music fucking garbage
Just go back to ChatGPT for all the lyrics you harvest
And your hair looks all fucked up again, just go get a new barber
You got peach fuzz on yo face
Lil bitch don't act like you the hardest
Got the lyrical sniper, you in my scope bitch, you're the target
Not to be disrespectful, but my disses 2pac incarnate
Album coming sóòn?
Shoulda scrapped that shit in June
Yo whole life from a silver spoon
Yo bitch ass acts like a cartoon
Boom baps, fun raps
I'm choosing from the gun racks
Pulling out that shit that make
You bitches start to run laps
Don't you even try to lie
I know you've never won scraps
Or probably ever been in one
You stupid little dumbass
Thumbtacks, stick you like a needle
Pull the desert eagle
Hit the fucking gas, but this bitch big
Should prolly switch to diesel
Give me a pen and a piece of paper
I'll write something Lethal
Still a man of god
Cause my disses would send you to cathedrals
So you better get down on your knees
And start to pray you feeble
Stupid, weak ugly little shit rap writing pussy, I'm evil
Bitch, you not gon win
Drop that shit about me in October, now I spin
Spinning round the block
Heating up, it's hot, where you been?
Where you at? Pull up with the gat, wood grip, violin
Bitch I'm into violence
Talking ultra violent
Can't believe you dropped that
Sounding like a nihilist
Can't believe you talked that
You ain't even righteous
You ain't think I saw that
Money on my eyelids
What you even call that?
Way too fresh? What? Fresh outta skill
Outta rhymes?
Outta thrill?
Ima move in for the kill
Coup de grace, what I fulfill
You'll get sent to Dr. Phil
Because I'm king of the hill
They think I won't, I'm think I will
Say my fucking name, real loud, let it rang
Got these chains all on my neck
They clack together and they clang
I'm just chilling with the gang
We ain't do shit we just hang
I see the opps around the way
I pull the choppa and I
I gotta give it like, a six five (five five five five five)
Six five? You're just gonna take that and not even spray back?
Nah, that's hella pussy dawg, I can't even fake that
And there ain't no take backs
6.5 what he rate that
You can't even make that
Shit right up
Say what's up
To the camera when I smack you up
Bitch I never dapped you up
Fuck it, get your homies over here, bitch they can't back you up
From me when I pack you up
Pack god, cause my raps hard
When I wrap you up
Catch you with that cling wrap
Catch you in that shrink wrap
Yo shit's out of sync rap
So many bills I blink cash
If you talking about money than let's see the bank account
Let's go band for band, we ain't even close to the same amount
One time I tried withdrawing my shit, but I can't take it out
The bank said they don't have enough to give
The teller faked me out
Your logo is a broken record, but you've never broken one?
What the fuck is that about? We all know you ain't broken none
And I'm pretty sure it's unanimous, I'm the chosen one
The rap artist in the game that's blessed, with gods powers son
It's always running in, get back, get back, get back
I take yo bitch and I hit that, hit that, get clapped, lil bitch
That shit you dropped ain't nun but a setback, setback, sit back
And watch me snap like a KitKat, tip tap
You a bit flat
It only took you 2 months and 2 weeks to respond
Listened to it since the snippet, what a shitty lil response
Ima take it up a notch, the tempo later in the song
I got scouts all over like every state, bitch I don't do recon
Say yo life a movie, which one? You talking bout the thing?
Cause you bear a striking resemblance, don't you fucking think?
Plus there ain't no women in either, your whole life or the movie
And I can say whatever I want, so fuck you, sue me
Strut my stuff, all over the place in J's, not talking juicy
Boutta pull off a 360 no-scope, call of duty
Spending every cent on rent? For what a 1 room apartment?
Dropping money on a place to live, while I rock gucci garments
Off-white, chrome hearts, and Louie V, I'm a sergeant
And you don't know shit about the streets
While I'm over here hardened
10 on 10 on 10 on 10
Brother get the fuck out, talking bout the fucking pen
Gotta retire that shit, and never touch it again
You gonna spill the ink blot, take it back, and confess
I'm getting too detailed, gotta condense
I'm putting myself before the fucking congress
And I'm still rapping, still making progress
Silent disses every song, like a fucking contest
Talking bout rap cap
Rap whack
What you know about fat stacks
And flat caps
Stick you like a pincushion, getting down to the brass tacks
Hit em with the fast tracks
Having flashbacks
Getting kicked around like a knapsack
Throw em in a backpack
Playing blackjack
You'll never get into the rat pack
Yeah that shits whack
You gotta fucking give up, and go back to the Big Macs
Big back
Hold up, hold up, hold up, hold up
You be working hella hard, do nothing, get my dough up
Bitch you look like you on estrogen, like tryna get your hoe up
You a fully grown adult, go call your parents, they won't show up
They won't show up
But I'll show out
Take 2 hours take your hoe out
From behind, her back I blow out
Make good music, what you know bout
All that shit
Blicky blicky, in my hands I sent a bullet to the dome
I got that bitch tucked in my pants
Jam new mags right into the chrome
You drop a song about the summer on the last day of August?
You a dumbass motherfucka that shits over let's be honest
And I'm talking honestly, all your music fucking garbage
Just go back to ChatGPT for all the lyrics you harvest
And your hair looks all fucked up again, just go get a new barber
You got peach fuzz on yo face
Lil bitch don't act like you the hardest
Got the lyrical sniper, you in my scope bitch, you're the target
Not to be disrespectful, but my disses 2pac incarnate
Album coming sóòn?
Shoulda scrapped that shit in June
Yo whole life from a silver spoon
Yo bitch ass acts like a cartoon
Boom baps, fun raps
I'm choosing from the gun racks
Pulling out that shit that make
You bitches start to run laps
Don't you even try to lie
I know you've never won scraps
Or probably ever been in one
You stupid little dumbass
Thumbtacks, stick you like a needle
Pull the desert eagle
Hit the fucking gas, but this bitch big
Should prolly switch to diesel
Give me a pen and a piece of paper
I'll write something Lethal
Still a man of god
Cause my disses would send you to cathedrals
So you better get down on your knees
And start to pray you feeble
Stupid, weak ugly little shit rap writing pussy, I'm evil
Bitch, you not gon win
Drop that shit about me in October, now I spin
Spinning round the block
Heating up, it's hot, where you been?
Where you at? Pull up with the gat, wood grip, violin
Bitch I'm into violence
Talking ultra violent
Can't believe you dropped that
Sounding like a nihilist
Can't believe you talked that
You ain't even righteous
You ain't think I saw that
Money on my eyelids
What you even call that?
Way too fresh? What? Fresh outta skill
Outta rhymes?
Outta thrill?
Ima move in for the kill
Coup de grace, what I fulfill
You'll get sent to Dr. Phil
Because I'm king of the hill
They think I won't, I'm think I will
Say my fucking name, real loud, let it rang
Got these chains all on my neck
They clack together and they clang
I'm just chilling with the gang
We ain't do shit we just hang
I see the opps around the way
I pull the choppa and I
Credits
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