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lirik lagu grind time now - illusion-z vs. passwurdz

[round 1: illusion-z]
it’s time for oakland’s f-ggot, crackpot nubian clown
to lose in the town to the mutant chihuahua
i blaze mics and take bikes
cause garbage rapper heartless actor has-beens and gravesites
like p-sswurdz, the half-black nerd with a gangsta swagger to hide that he’s a black cracker
you tote crack pipes and we’re both half-white
but homie i make it look so d-mn right
’cause this a takeover, i break shoulders and blaze doja
i’ma invite ya’ dame over to taste my great cobra
while this lame poser’s applying his lipstick with a f-cking paint roller before he tastes b-n-r
he’s getting wet on b-n-rs, had his chance at the fame abandoned the game and fell off, get lost poser
’cause in 2008, n-body mistakes shriveled deltron clones for delmon soldiers
he had his chance to be a west coast vet
and in ten minutes you gon’ be an even less-known threat
and no vet gon’ stress, when you lose to the shaven latino tickle me elmo next

[round 1: p-ss]
you little chunti, n-gg- i’m a real life all-around spitter
i break down rappers like you like i break down swishers
and this here’s a real battle, i’m not playing around wit’ ya’
you ’bout to get served now, that’s what playing around gets ya’
see this is what happens when the scene gets oversaturated
it’s h-lla kids like him trying to rap ’cause they, freakishly over-fascinated
but this n-gg- ain’t knowing half the basics
he don’t really wanna battle p-ss, he just know he has to face it
you just wanna stand next to p-ss ’cause he so infatuated
and he know i roll purple in my blunts and i mob sh-t
n-gg- you roll with a circle full of punks like a mosh pit
homie, you roll with a circle full of squares so you outta shape
yo’ rhymes is based on the saurus in ’05 so yo’ whole style is outta date
f-ck you and any rapper like you
really ain’t no telling what p-sswurdz might do
so how the f-ck could i ever get served by you?
my rhymes sh-t on yours from a bird’s-eye view
n-gg- you a b-tch, i rep ap
n-gg- i’m raw and that’s why he ain’t me
you just a-

[round 2: illusion-z]
it ain’t a secret that i boned your momma
get out my face your breath smells like horchata, crossed with horse caca
and you the piece of pubic licorice shoving d-cks into his cl-toris like “ooh, it’s ticklish”
and i’m the cat from the tropics
and hearing you rap with ebonics sounds really unnatural, stop it
’cause this backpacker raps wacker
i’m latin and white so after this fight you just lost to a graham cracker
acts hard but he ain’t got the heart to be a black panther
he’s too p-ssy to go where the lambs gather
and everything you say is stupid
ever since you busted your creative juices in your boyfriend’s -n-l p-b–age
i’ma spit a typhoon that’ll k!ll this guy’s crew
you failed at everything you ever set your mind to
and you ain’t got the kinda heart to hurt me
’cause every night when the sky gets dark he scurries to the nicest part of berkeley
and instead of repping oakland, that’s where he goes looking for men to bone him
to, make money for meth and lotion

[round 2: p-ss]
so, you a funny motherf-cker huh? but it still wasn’t cracking
we all know he kind of a funny motherf-cker but you still suck at rapping
no matter how hard you practice, or how clever you write
you ain’t winning this battle b-tch, i’m just better at life
you know what’s funny about you, is you not so tough
’cause when you rap yo’ voice sounds like you ain’t got no nuts
and yo’ calling in life is to be working the taco truck
you gon’ be 40 years old serving nachos up
d-mn, i can’t even f-cking believe it
you been living the stereotype ever since you was a fetus
when you were born yo’ family piled 15 deep up in a prius
and the dashboard had a little bobblehead jesus
come on blood, you can’t f-ck with the fresh coast
you look up to the fresh coast
i’ll bust yo’ f-cking head lil’ sucka now get ghost

[round 3: illusion-z]
i’m the swiftest latino that’s spitting a free flow
i work at a taco truck you’re p-ssed i wouldn’t make you a chitlin burrito
f-ck that, yo, i’m k!lling your ego
you’re the cat that sucks prison libido in a glittery speedo
and f-ck it, yeah f-ck rap, i’m a latin pop singer slash a lawn trimmer
flatlining a wack-rhyming rampant c-ck-licker
tacky african acting like a wacky blond wigger
he likes michael jackson for his swagger, not thriller
and he’s irrelevant and acting like his melanin matters
you died, i got time to develop my swagger
sh-t, but i could be as swagger-less as half you kids in florida and still turn this b-tch to an irrelevant factor
’cause your shine time died, i’m the hungrier artist
you died in ’05, i’m just getting started
’cause if he wasn’t here rapping like a c-nt he’d be splashing in the tub with a banana in his b-tt
that he stole from my garden, you’re tacky and a shmuck
and your sister tends to scream in spanish when we f-ck

[round 3: p-ss]
look chris, you don’t wanna get famous this way, man i don’t know why you started this sh-t
but getting yo’ -ss served by p-sswurdz just ain’t a good marketing pitch
especially when you ain’t spitting it, so how you gon’ make benefit?
it’s not really a great gimmick to be a feminine-rapping g-y immigrant
talking ’bout how you got here, across the border from mexico
in the back of yo’ cousin’s pickup truck kidding under a bunch of vegetables
come on bruh, like it ain’t no worse reality, i got flow bursting outta me
you just another generic wack battle rapper with forced multisyllable rhymes and no personality
that’s why you ain’t never gon’ make it, you suck and you losing
so yo’ sk!ll don’t really exist, it’s just a f-cking illusion
get it?
you ain’t got no best friend, his flow ain’t nothing to invest in
you look like rico suave after a year-long meth binge
shut the f-ck up

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