[Round 1: Geechi Gotti]
So we got Geechi Gotti versus…
Nigga, you’se a BITCH!
And beatin’ me? That’s not what you doin’
Whatchu you gon’ say? My eyes be closed when I rap?
Well, they not when I’m shootin’!
I’ll cock it and use it, and it’s that damn simple
Bullets soundin’ like they tryin’ to tap dance in you
Big ol’ gun, clip longer than one of Yakman intros
And fo’ yo’ info, yeah you called me out
It took a lot of guts just to come for the block
So that prove you got heart, BAOW!
Now the docs gon’ have to prove if it’s pumpin’ or not
I do this shit for Knocc, I’m from Nutty Blocc
He say he from Grape Street
Well, we finna have a Mafia day
Nah, fuck that!
I don’t wanna hear a Grape come out ya mouth if you ain’t ride for Mafia Ray
The chopper will spray, ask around, they know Geech’ be gunnin’
This Drac’ (Drake) gon’ have ’em dancin’ like if he wanna know if Keke love him!
Nigga we be thuggin’
Since 12 years old, I’ve been a gang-banger
I let 100 off
Reload, then switch the cartridge: I’m a game-changer
I brang danger to each and every one of my ops
Scared of what? Bitch the only thing I run from is cops
I’m a street nigga
You can’t tell me that the block ain’t mine
‘Cause you niggas like to argue over time limits
My niggas doin’ bids, really wishin’ somebody will come and stop they time
You must be out yo’ mind! Thinkin’ that you fuckin’ wit’ me
That’s on the set, cuz always askin’ niggas what they life like
BAOW, I’d rather tell ’em how ya death was
Ya gun game fake, head shot, now he on the operation table, they tryin’ to fix cuz face
Doctor soundin’ just like the intro, “Hold up. Let’s get one thing straight.”
Straight up, I’m aimin’ for his head, soon as the metal pop, baow, I bet it drop
And this shit feelin’ like ’96, except this time Suge dyin’ in Vegas instead of ‘Pac!
I’m from Nutty Blocc, I have a 100 Crips at ya mom’s crib
Wit’ a 100 guns, you’ll be battlin’ a Hollow before John did
Magnum’s blastin’, funeral have yo’ caskets fastened
Front row ya whole family, got ya mama makin’ Jaz reactions
Goddamn I’m spazzin’, I’ll leave a nigga wit’ the hurt face
Baow! Baow! Got my nigga yellin’, “Shoot it again!” like I ain’t get it right on the first take
You shouldn’t even be here, I got paid somethin’ nice to beat you
30 under the nina, I extended the arm like, “It was nice to meet ya”
No handshakes, I’m from the streets, the type of shit you be nervous on
You ain’t Arsonal, you ain’t Red, you ain’t Twork, are you serious (Serius)?
You ain’t makin’ the types of moves Surf be on
Fat-ass nigga, this battle show us the way you built, you shouldn’t be the one to put Jersey on
NOME 8, he really thought he was a bad bitch wit’ that Gucci purse huh?
Nah, you just was a big one
Ironic how you was carryin’ that bag, same way they gon’ have to carry you in one
Nigga, what’s ya life like?
While you was out there trickin’ on Kash Doll for them features
Instead of puttin’ money on Tsu books
I was out there hittin’ licks
Passin’ on mo’ money than what it cost to get Mook booked
Nigga you suck
Man, shout out to my niggas like Lil 100, Dre Vishiss and Drama
Those some real Grape Street niggas that be rappin’ but you ain’t done nothin’ for
That’s why I look at you like a mascot, nigga, nothin’ more
You ain’t really in the field shootin’ and drivin’
That’s not you, that’s why I call you a mascot
Cause you only rep the team when it’s time to put on this costume
Nigga, I’m not you
I’m really built for this shit
That shit you talkin’? I’m really willing to get killed fo’ this shit
Nigga, I’m from the Grandees, Compton Crip started in my set, know ya history
You big and soft, like a bean bag, I’ll get your team tagged
Fuck, you ain’t even official
So instead of purple, this nigga need to be rockin’ a green flag
You a green Grape, I’ll get ya whole team ate
Run up in ya spot like, “Where the work at, clown?
Either get hit wit’ the Cal’, or ease (calories) up off them pounds.”
I don’t explain shit, I’d rather have the gats talkin’
And even if he don’t die it’ll knock a chunk of fat off him
And when it’s real, y’all can tell
Y’all can see it in they eyes
It’s yo’ turn, see if this fake Grape can make y’all believe them lies
[Round 1: Shotgun Suge]
I would’ve done him with the semi, but I’m slammin’ the four
The .40 pointed at Gotti like Sammy The Bull
Let’s get one thing straight, show homage when the god speakin’
Or blood comin’ out ya mouth like a mob greetin’
I hit ya main bitch on the side creepin’
Mafia vs mafia, Gotti it’s all business like a mob meetin’
On the [?] I dump in his mug, I’m makin’ coffee
.45 the prize, I kill ’em softly
Big homie, the job get done, it wouldn’t cost me
I am the streets, you better look both ways before you cross me
This that Good Burger no fake beef
I’ll punch ya mama in the mouth now she got fake teeth
Pitbull when it break leash
Ars’ like, “Ain’t he Crip cuz?”
“So what? He ain’t from Grape Street.”
He don’t smoke niggas, he a blunt passer
Homo nigga a nut grabber
Tinted whip, I swung past ya
Swing back through his block, two shots in the Grape, I’m a Nut cracker
He the type to get tough when he see the cops
He gon’ get the first shell like Adidas drop
Head shot, we need the mops
Spray paint my name by his body since the leader drop
So he don’t gotta ask who the ops, we the ops
Revenge is sweet we like to flavor all our dealings
I’m into bodies, I caught a killin’
You a dead body, I keep shootin’ over this bitch, I’m in my feelings
On Tech I gotchu bro, I’m the street adviser dude
Oh you killed the homie? Turned vigilante, and this the Equalizer 2
Yeah, dome shot, get stretched bad
30 clip to stretch Mag
First popped missed him, left bad
He died after the second pop; step dad
Hey Smack this a mismatch, so what if he Crip? He get his shit cracked
Shit tap, disrespect him like Young Dolph for havin’ Gotti baby mother on a diss track
But switch that, let me hear you (w)rap around two sticks like a Kit-Kat
You thought you was beatin’ me? You buggin’, nigga
I should smack you right now for what you did to Tech 9
That’s my cousin, nigga!
You thought you was gonna smoke my goddamn cousin in front of me, nigga!?
Blow his head off in front of face, think I ain’t gon’ do shit?
I ain’t lettin’ that shit ride, I’m on his Nutt’ Blocc and let the lead off
Catch him at the chicken shack like, “Break yourself fool” and blow his head off
Man, he gon’ tell us about his life, that’s the biggest myth since the Illuminati
Put my youngins on him, they shootin’ prolly, hyped off doin’ Molly
That’s ya bitch witchu? That’s Cash Money on his Boo & Gotti
I’ma let three of ’em clap
Let me get it out the way now just to see if he strapped!
Man that clappin’ nine, I clap a nine or bang out wit’ this MAC of mine
Bury Gotti in a suit and tie ’cause he the Dapper Don
Jersey!
[Round 2: Geechi Gotti]
You said Tech Nine was yo’ cousin? So what? Fuck Champion
I already killed you, but don’t start Tech
I’m glad Tsu Surf good, let me get him back for that heart check
I hope yo’ son grow up to be just like you; a fat ass gang banger
So he can know all about them long nights and them short days
I hate I gotta say this but I hope he catch a case, go to jail, then get passed around like the sports page
I’m disrespectful, cause that’s just how the hood made me
We ain’t just slidin’ for the hype
Where I’m from? We still look at jail terms and dyin’ as a strike
No lyin’ this fo’ life
He said he would take a picture wit’ him after doin’ him greasy when he was battlin’ Twork
You wanna take a picture wit’ me? Cool, cause after this they can use that on his shirt
I’m puttin’ in work
I should kill this nigga for thinkin’ he Shaq
Put the heat to his back now he like, “Aww Gotti, I thought we was keepin’ it raps.”
You misunderstood what I said Aak
Yeah we keepin’ it rap, but I was talkin’ ’bout yo’ dome after the head shot
BAOW! Fuck checkin’ a nigga pockets, cause I’d rather check a nigga’s background
I heard when you went to them projects
Them young Grape Street niggas gave you a pat down
How you get robbed in yo’ own hood?
I guess yo’ name ain’t no good
Yo Trick Trick! I don’t think Arsonal was lyin’ when he say he ain’t know Suge
Nigga you ain’t verified, so when you hollered that Grape Street shit, all I hear is lies
Matter of fact, I don’t think he Crip unless he paralyzed
You was terrified, claimin’ the Watts gang
But you ain’t got the L.A. heart
New Jersey Grape? That’s like comparin’ the LA Lakers to the LA Sparks
Nigga you not official
I pulled up to them [?] projects, I asked them if they put on Suge
They told me nah, after this, hit this big bitch wit’ a car, so he can finally get put on the hood
Nigga what’s good?
How you gon’ talk some gang bang Crip shit to me? I’m from the motherland
I’ll hang your mother off a balcony and drop that bitch, let’s see if ya mother land, nigga
Brother man, brother man, what you actin’ like you even thuggin’ for?
Get pistol whipped, ’til ya heart rate look like an underscore
That’s a flat line, kill you and ya bitch, I’m on that time
We both Crip, I just don’t think you bangin’ it right
You claimin’ Grape, I got him lookin’ like a raisin tonight
Stand up nigga, I’ll pop ya son if I feel you ain’t raisin’ him right
I’ll let it blow in his mouth, then put the pump to his chest
Crazy how I’m killin’ him but it look like I’m savin’ a life
You ain’t made for this life, yeah we both come from battlin’ but the difference is pretty enormous
See, while my niggas is plottin’ on licks, we consider that schemin’
See that shit was really important
When we was in the field catchin’ fades, those were the type of punches my niggas was scorin’
And puttin’ in work? That’s how the homies judged our performance, nigga
You battle rap niggas kill me
Givin’ y’all self all these made up titles and accolaids
“Top tier” this and “legendary” that
I’d rather judge a nigga off his name in the streets, I got legendary stats
But you? Yo’ name kinda shaky
Cause you put your brothers like Arsonal and Surf in some cold situations
See Detroit wasn’t they problem they was only guilty off of yo’ associations
Them niggas had to take an L off of that situation and that was all on you
So how you supposed to convince us you a vet
But when your dawgs needed you, they couldn’t call on you
I done caught bodies way befo’ battle rap, I ain’t doin’ this shit fo’ no’ clout
I used to hop, let it spray, see the enemies do the roll bounce
My patna got caught wit’ a strap with plenty bodies on ’em
They gave him 50 to life he can’t parole out
Now you go try convincin’ that judge, that if it ain’t on URL that it don’t count
Shout out my cuzo, man he from neighborhood, he said “Gotti
Make sure you show him ’bout this Crippin’ shit and make sure you showin’ him right.”
He said, “Cause you know, I’ma be in hood forever, even though I know it ain’t right.”
I said, “Damn, for real?”
Then they caught my nigga lackin’ Kane and old boy at the light
He wheelchair bound so he wasn’t lyin’, he gon’ be rollin’ for life
And when it’s real, y’all can tell, y’all can see it in they eyes
Let’s see if this nigga can make y’all believe them lies
Nigga time
[Round 2: Shotgun Suge]
Yo who the fuck he think he talkin’ to?!
Original gangsta, one riot make his hood blow up
It ain’t ’bout what you rap or what hood you throw up
You thought you was shootin’ Straight Outta Compton til Suge showed up
Verses involve bosses the Don Dada
This ain’t no prop chopper, it’s a block rocker
I’ll put a Yankee on a tee like a Bronx bomber
Same strap got a stutter problem
Late night I’m a gunner problem
Middle of the summer wildin’
Gun in his mouth, we don’t understand half of what Geechi sayin’ like it’s Gutter Island
I grew up strappin’ the Jansport I’m a backpacker
This Glock .40’ll back smack ya
Smack, how you trust him? Main thing Gotti known for is being a back stabber
See he rap about them straps, see they is not wit’ him
Glock him him, chop split ’em
I’ll put Gotti and Gotti Jr in a box wit’ him
30 clips shells they all there
He said Gotti got bundles, well me too but mines look like small squares
They say Gotti got bundles on the street, the long hair
I got extensions too, 30’s the long pair
I be sliddin’ on his block like it’s late night
490 on the handle, the grip tight
Send three shots, he get hit twice
When he roll out, we come back wit’ the same numbers like trick dice
The shooter and the driver got a trick shot like a Globetrotter
David Cone the known slider
Big Grape, hang and hit like a GTA baller hangin’ out a low rider
They say you hot, but this where the shit stop
On the turf wit’ the fifth cocked
He get his shit rocked
See him at his burial in a big box
Hit his homies up, before the revenge, slipknot
There’s gon’ be Death At A Funeral, it’s Chris Rock
They say he the man in scary Compton
I air a bitch like Mary Poppins
Vegas beef, I slam on him like Larry Johnson
{Chokes}
Jersey
[Round 3: Geechi Gotti]
We all predicted this battle, everybody knew the outcome
The Grim Reaper had wanted the front seat, Death was calling “Shotgun”
Nigga stand still, you ‘bet not run
You did that fake ass tryin’ to tap on my pockets
If this wasn’t battle rap, on Nutty you would’ve got ya ass kicked
Cause where I’m from, shit like that end drastic
I’m talkin’ tragic
How fast you go from tappin’ a nigga’s pockets to ya mama tappin’ on ya casket
{crowd starts chanting “3-0”}
What my life like? Soldier shit
You prolly ain’t been through no wars
Niggas enemies know my whip, it’s a risk just ridin’ wit’ my kids in the car
What my life like? Shootouts
You couldn’t imagine how many of my niggas bled on me
It’s fucked up, how my closest friends become my dead homies
What my life like? Crippin’, you can research it
Through ya iPhone nigga and Google me
I’m in the spot wit’ so much dope, I needed help wit’ the work, somebody tutor me
Nigga, what my life like? That shit you rappin’, I really live that
I remember the first time my bitch said, “You wanna FaceTime?” I said, “Bitch! You know how many times I did that?!”
{crowd starts chanting “3-0” again}
Nigga, what my life like? Okay, I’m talkin’ straps, nines and .40s
Fresh rounds like Mentos, fuck keepin’ the gun clean
We only got ’em to get ’em dirty like gym clothes
Nigga, what my life like? Liftin’ the iron, that’s only to let the lead spray
See that’s how we workout, and runnin’ from the cops? Nigga that was leg day
See look though, this sport right here and this gang bangin’ shit ain’t for the weak, you gotta be strong wit’ it
It takes stamina to chase a nigga wit’ a chopper, you gotta be long winded
It’s like when the song finish, first you hear the beats stop
That nigga leg singin’, then his feet stop
He ain’t from our (R) Streetz so if they ask, “What happened to him?” I ain’t got shit to say bitch, I’m T-Top
G stop, who you have you ever shot?
Who have you ever knocked down?
Have you ever been in a cell, got the news that ya patna died but you couldn’t call or pay your condolences cause that facility was on lock down?
Nigga stop clown
You talkin’ ’bout, “Oh when he was playin’ Toy Story puttin’ the potato on-” For what?
Why you puttin’ a potato on a nose if you still missin’ wit’ the shot?
The only reason I put silencers on my straps cause my mama raised me…and I ain’t like to listen to my pops
He ain’t wit’ it, nigga stop
If I catch yo’ bitch, yo’ lady gettin’ got
She try to run I’ma catch up to her and spray it in her top
Code word: Bartender
I had that chaser (chase her) wit’ the shot
AK, and yeah this shit is hot
I really spray things, I get caught wit’ it, bodies showin’ up on the chopper like the A-Team
You ain’t cut from that, gang bangin’, I really come from that
Who you think you foolin’ G?
Matter of fact, Suge tell us what yo’ life-BAOW
I’d rather hear the preacher tell us at yo’ eulogy
And when it’s real, y’all can tell, y’all can see it in his eyes
It’s his turn, see if he can make y’all believe them lies
Nigga time
[Round 3: Shotgun Suge]
I had to dust off the .40. it’s new and shiny
They talkin’ ’bout strength in numbers, your crew is tiny
He on fire on God almighty
But this gon’ be the rise and fall of Gotti like the early 90’s
I ain’t wanna battle Geechi, I’m in the field lookin’ for Bae Loc
Disrespectful, got Grape dick all in ya bae Loc
I’m tired of you in ya battles talkin’ like you bang that, bang this, you flame this
I pull up like, “A Bay Bay” and let one hit; Hurricane Chris
I’m headed back to LA I’m on a new mission
Torture [?] in his basement let his boo listen
Gun outta hand, he went from gang bangin’ to beautifican
Behind every black man is a woman so be humble for her
Head shot, she need a new wig, Gotti got bundles for her
Revolver loaded I give him the nine piece
This five trippin’, I’m a fly beast
His Baby Boy be walkin’ around LA hustlin’ bitches like Tyrese
He be boostin’ bundles that’s a 10-4
Talkin’ ’bout, “This pack right here look better when the wind blow.”
What his life like? While he was slingin’ bundles, givin’ out deals, he a good sport
I was slingin’ bundles, givin’ out deals, fiends fly from New York
I had that one deal if you, if you bought one, get a free sample like the food court
What his life like? While I was cuttin’ school bringin’ the bag back
He was prolly gettin’ disrespected gettin’ his flag snatched
He gon’ ask me what my Crippin’ like, what the program like
How many hardcores you been in? How many [?] you gave out
I’m hard to three
I’m like Kimbo, don’t nobody wanna go in the backyard wit’ me
That’s why they call me Suge
Cause I was always young, big, wit’ a grown hand
I was 15 bein’ a grown man
I’m an ape nigga
I was in a circle wit’ eight niggas
Wit’ these I break niggas
I was slidin’ on op’ before I turned Grape nigga
Everything I say, I mean it nigga
My hood like yours, believe it nigga
Everything you did, I did
Everything you seen, I seen it nigga
He really gon’ tell me, “You really Crip? You gave drive-by’s? You shot niggas?”
Well ask Beasley, ask Mass Appeal about that documentary
They know ’bout them South Ward Grapes, they been on my block nigga
{chokes}
[Geechi Gotti]
Finish it off…Finish it off
[Shotgun Suge]
Jersey