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lirik lagu spit dat heat - craig lamar vs. rum nitty

[round 1: craig lamar]
now i’m about to get real disrespectful on forest whitaker’s nephew
cause he only tough when the camera is on
see this footage about to get uglier than paul bunyan’s bunions
and toe to toe, i will handle this corn, but he can never win wit’ me
’til he found out these hammers is for him
nigga please, don’t make me finger this llama like animal porn
but you know what’s funny?
if you cross me, i’ma have somebody to send for you
all my niggas wanna play to the beef, which is ironic
because i brought at least ten for you (tinfoil)
put you in soil
nigga i could care less if ya friends loyal
cause niggas can fuck around and lose a leg for tryin’ to go out on a limb for you
but if i let my shorty smoke
think braxton after a corny joke
cause the fox will be in your face with the .5 bro
shit clip, give you a big nap like cilantro
they long .8’s, that’ll leave you with the trey songz face during the high notes
start by heeling this chump
he’ll be feelin’ the stomp like showtime at the apollo
but keep set trippin’
and i’ma have yo’ silhouette dented
what, is you stupid dawg?
fuck courage i will use this mask to scare you cowardly if you [?]
nigga, the ox is out so watch ya mouth, before i put a cut in it
beretta to his dome
it sound like we shootin’ on a hoop with no net in it
and nigga a courts in session
so i hope you and your whore protected
cause i gotta gorgeous heckler
and that shit spit louder than a travis porter recordin’ session
the .4 eject him
he gonna die with his tongue out like the dog from jetsons
when bullets hit his cap, it’ll split the bill like we ordered separate
i ain’t for the fakin’
on my momma i wig on him with the knife, that’s norman bates shit
give his core a scrappin’
’til i leave a cord of his organs hangin’
and i’m more gore than jason
i ain’t stoppin’ ’til i leave his son, father and more on the floor with his fedora bakin’
he won’t be able to remember shit but a chunk of his brain missin’
i’ll put his memories at (w)risk like a pandora bracelet
our minds different
i’ll let the gun butt him like his mind’s skippin’
take some vice grips and
make his front teeth money mike missin’
a’ight pimpin’? but time’s tickin’
so i’ma have my henchmen hang nitty over a high cliff and let him go
so we can have rum on the rocks like we ordered a captain morgan with ice in it
i’m nice wit’ it
so judge me not, or i’m make you have to fuckin’ budge this shot
have my team runnin’ through your field like rugby spot
shoot at your daughter while she’s on a bicycle
so when i bust these glocks
that shit’ll toss her petals in the air like, “she loves me. she loves me not.”
nigga i’ll blast a can’ in him
take half his mans wit’ him
he gon’ feel it when it kick like jackie chan hit him
stuff his corpse in the trash and stash his man’s with him
so i can keep the body a secret like taliban women, nigga
my niggas know who we snappin’ shots at
we don’t freelance
claimin’ he stabbin’ all sorts of niggas with the blades but he’s no he~man
nigga you won’t have a future if i see those free bands
i’ll be on your block swingin’ with the pound like a tlc dance
i’ll slump all ya team
dump cartridge mean
these biscuits i’m showin’ you ain’t from paula deen
now step off screen
give this bum all the steam
for the doctors to save him they’re gonna have to pull rounds out of his stomach like a gumball machine
i’ll throw a backhand over you
fast hand fold him up
mag’ blam ’til i see the last man open up
feds gonna have to roll him up
mag [?] open up
i’ll reuse the metal to break this crip down, it’s my crab leg opener
your real name is cornelius powell
nigga you don’t blast birds
you ain’t nothin’ but a fake ass cali nigga from arizona
and to be honest it’s gettin’ on my last nerve
but shit can get crucial
so i hope you can come up with some useful last words
cause a simple slip up can leave you lyin’ with ya pupils backwards
y’all get it right? “slip up” “pupils” backwards?
fuck all this, i don’t gotta explain it to you wack nerds
but i figured if i can numb rum then it won’t be much of a conundrum
what have you done rum?
cause you from the slum don’t mean i ain’t from the slums rum
fuck where you from rum
i will pull up on yo’ block with that drum rum
and when the missiles launch i got christmas on the way, pa~rum~pa~pa~pum rum
i got that fire arm
y’all put the straps behind ya baby like i did the diaper wrong
big heat, that shit spinnin’ like we got the driers on
now, bash ya bitch over the head with a bottle of malibu
then proceed to fire arms
so when that .9 is drawn i’ll give yo’ hoe ho (holes) and a bottle of rum like the pirate song
all my niggas stay strapped, how can you not tell?
if y’all shootin’ then we peelin’ cans back like fruit cocktails
nigga i will get you shot, you shot, and you shot~ hell
all y’all niggas can get the message on site bitch~ you got mail
[round 1: rum nitty]
nigga, we pop shots
snuck the .380 in the gear
throw down like a hopscotch box
you’ll get the chalk tryin’ to play me like a square
you not a threat
you came with them thangs blazin’? i don’t care
i’ll take craig’s strap
screw a potato on craig’s mac(k) and jump some new ‘flava in ya ear’
talkin’ all that gun talk but he don’t shoot
tools squeeze, that’ll hit you and your little boo, see (bootsie)
you ain’t got no juice
what nigga? i wrap the bandana around the old tool
let it fire on the rag with burner like soul food
creepin’ with this bitch on the low like a cutty buddy
you’ll lose dna from these clips, and won’t rebuttal nothin’
go ‘head, but don’t fuckin’ touch me
that same rule applies off stage; colored money
i’ll scalp you with a scalpel if you don’t show respect
little blade but this skin is top like the old ps

- lirik lagu spit dat heat

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