We have a challenge.
So let the challenge begin!
You want this battle huh
So you a rapper now
Here we go again,
Prepare to meet your end.
Just looked you up on Facebook,
You have zero friends.
This kid's a loser,
Yo he ain't even kissed a girl.
You write her love letters,
I buy her ice and pearls.
So how you like me now?
Even Roxanne is in the background
Saying "Wow, Bling's got style."
I'm off the gold chain
If you're a rapper why is Kris your backup
Dancer like an extra on Soul Train
I see your mommy and your daddy in the front row
They must be embarrassed for you bro
You're not a real MC
You should quit hip hop
Now be a good busboy and go get your mop
Bling, you don't wanna battle,
You're the snake without the rattle.
You're the boat without the paddle,
You're the duck without the waddle.
You're the horse without the saddle,
The ranch without the cattle.
The day without the shadow,
Son, I think you should skedaddle.
What language do I have to say
It in for you to hear me clearly?
You're over with, finito.
This clown couldn't rap anything,
But my burrito.
Kid you have to hold your mommy's hand,
Before you cross the street.
You have to sneak out the house,
Just to clean and sweep.
And now you look queasy,
I made him go mute.
Put your camera phones up,
So you can post this on YouTube.
Truth's got a screw loose,
He's terrified to bust.
That I could blow him over with a gust.
You're weak like Seven Days,
You deserve boos.
You should walk around in some high heel shoes.
You should rock pigtails and a skirt
You're shaking in your boots
Are your feelings getting hurt?
Oh, well maybe I should hurt,
More than your feelings.
Maybe I should rip,
The roof off the theater ceiling.
Maybe you should start kneeling,
His eyes are getting misty.
You're so whack,
If you were me, you couldn't diss me.
Kissy, kissy Roxanne,
Did you miss me?
I'll take you out to dinner,
After I've eaten this pipsqueak.
And when we're on vacation,
I'll let him house sit.
Here's a couple bucks,
Buy yourself a better outfit.
Get him, Cy.
Come on, Cy.
You know what?
You don't have a stack of cash,
Or a flashy pad.
I saw you last week drivin' a taxi cab.
Your secret's out and now they know, sport,
We'll call you if we need a ride to an airport.
In fact, you could drop me off at home after this,
Then, you can take your couple bucks back, but as a tip.
You playing yourself like solitaire,
Tellin' everyone that's here that you're a millionaire.
You're not a baller, you're a phony,
I bet your whole crew, is a bunch of Rent-a-Homies.
At night you lie in bed lonely,
Your persona's a facade.
The only girls you get,
Are in the pages of a catalog.
Here stands Lord of the Bluff,
His lies were legendary, till the truth made him hush.
And what's funny is your truth is enough,
Why'd you have to make up all the money and the stuff?
I guess it's easier to play the role 'n act hard,
Cuz you don't have the guts to tell us who you really are.
So you can keep a trophy that you don't deserve,
I might be a busboy but you just got served.
That's my boy!
Get out, man. Man, whatever, man.
We have a new
Grand Slam Champion.
Truth! Truth! Truth! Truth! Truth! Truth!