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lirik lagu urltv - rum nitty vs. chilla jones

[round 1: chilla jones]
you wanted to dance with the devil, we in a ball room now
my style got flair on the low, like a ball room gown
they said, ”nitty go the small room crown.”
yeah, i heard all you clowns
loud and clear, that’s why i couldn’t turn the volume down
you got me f-cked up
but you knew you wouldn’t fair well
to call yourself “rum”, and what’s that? a clear l
yeah well, chilla jones eliminates ops
i be stylin’ holmes (homes), like i renovate spots
the ratchet will take you out like a dinner date
pop if rum in the mix, it’s only right i l!ck a (liquor) shot
wait, stop
tell smack to get a reverend
saga k!lled you, you here doing your lazarus impression
if i have to grip a weapon, it’s no f-cks given
he get the baby outta nowhere; immaculate conception
holy sh-t, i shake up rappers you take up after
extended clip, send you to heaven; this must be jacob’s ladder
b-tch you just made us madder
the .40 buck (buc’) like alstott
full clip with a round in the head like bald spots
screaming until my horse, you don’t call shots
these west n-ggas thinkin’ they sick, a buncha small ‘pacs (smallpox)
and i’m the vaccine, gat scream
a tip make his hat lean, i’m that mean
put his plasma on the wall like a flatscreen
they like to use martin in they wack schemes
i’m switching to living single
the message i send clear (synclaire) when the mac’s seen (maxine)
he got over ten (overton) from a custom made pistol
the swagger mean, khadijah james, i even put flava on the magazine
oh you clappin’ beams?
nah i ain’t supportin’ this crip
if six rings then it’s jordan and pip’
try tamper (tampa) with me, but florida knows i’m more than legit
bar for bar you get outlined, we border (bored of) ya sh-t
think you a soldier in this ring i’ll slaughter ya sh-t
this who they wishin’ well, well don’t get wet when the quarter get flipped
so f-ck the .4 in his grip
it’s all fiction we buyin’, f-ck what his pen (penn) state
how y’all respect nit’ and he lyin’ (nittany lion)?
y’all n-ggas be tryin’ everything, i guess actin’ c-cky is the plan
suicide or i’ll do the job, you decide, shotty in my hand
fresh prints when the cops caught him, i made him spray his own body with the can’
i know you wanna be the man, but i’ma humble you
the gun’ll shoot, i keep heat like a bubble goose
i’m rich’ nixon with the double deuce
you’ll be m.i.a. if i raise ya f-ckin’ roof
uncle luke
rum chillin’ around a bunch of fruits like jungle juice
i got a couple screws loose but i’m mentally in a new place
but on the flipside i’ll ex out a quarter like two-face
boots lace, f-ck rum and the sh-t he about to say
i’ll pull a semi out and spray
you’ll get buried over your dignity, you dig nitty?
good…now dig nitty out a grave
aye, aye, they say i got a problem with rum
oh y’all ain’t gettin’ it?
aa, problem with rum
they say the first step is admittin’ it, so listen kid
i’m sick of sh-t, they say i’m lackin’ appeal
but got an m with jc just from rappin’ for real
my sh-t is fire, that’s what everything a n-gga write is (itis)
how y’all still sleepin’ on me after the mil’ (meal)
you roll with savages? chill
your big homie gon’ pop a few?
oh kg (okay g) gon’ let it ring, anything is possible
logical, i’m reppin’ boston on the court
you would get a limb picked (olympic) with five rings from walkin’ wit’ the torch
why you grillin’ on what i cook out here?
i’ll bring everyone you brought into a corpse
see it’s my independence day fair
i show ’em how the fire work (firework) then get it poppin’ on the 4th
of course, i’m the number one shotta
don dada
when his hon’ die (hyundai), shhh, don’t you tell son nada (sonata)
mini sweep, rumchata
f-ck is you gon’ crazy?
my only question is, are you em’? cause dawg shady
throwin’ bullets out the shotgun like it’s third and long, play me
and if you see a 3rd quarter come back from a 12, it’s tom brady
you saw me and jc go to war, and you don’t get it still?
you chance of winnin’ below zero my n-gga, so this a different chill
i’m real
you might’ve battled dudes who sound like me but you ain’t never stood in front of three rounds like these

[round 1: rum nitty]
let me speak to y’all for a minute
we got rum nitty vs…”it’s ya boy dj akademiks”
i finally get to speak to chilla
so look my n-gga, i cheated you out yo’ chain and you might’ve won
whatchu gon’ do about it?
that’s how i treat you b-tches
took it right off ya neck like debo did it
but it got you back to the league now didn’t it?
they say i robbed you
i say i freed you n-gga
welcome home
now it’s time to see you die, who hot?
make a n-gga move spots
best pen in the game? that’s exactly what you not
get you shot
i’m tryin’ to be the cool guy
but if i lose it i’ll pull and air chill out like [?]
trife sh-t, leave a n-gga lifeless
lie stiff, you not from my clique
yeah we was writer’s bloque but never had a bond, i’m a flight risk
i’m really like this
b-tch stop, when i march, .9 on me, don’t be actin’ like a b.i.g. shot
you gon’ see the kingpen get popped
suppressor on the big glock
quiet enough to hear the pin (pen) drop
we step still, no cappin’, these threats real
scary, just hearing one give you that hospital bed feel
i send a shooter it’s the death deal
whole set peel, tell ’em leave your head peeled
that’s an old school hit, so he only survives if my guy let’s chill
you know how your boys spit light
torch sh-t, right?
get the whole division ate (eight), you might as well forfeit (four fit) twice
i close range bust it, get a stain from it
if he don’t die, he lose most of his brain function
gotta learn how to walk again so his legs can gain muscle
the recovery for dj akademiks gon’ be an everyday struggle
make it hard to live, make it hot for chill
rock his grill
the round get stuck, now they can’t id ya, he’s got writer’s bloque for real
you an enemy
i’ll take the coat off for a b-tch and body chill
it’s go from chivalry to shivering
i can’t say your pen is weak but ya flow it be k!llin’ me
it’s weird, next day air, you dope with the wrong delivery
and you be doin’ stupid sh-t
“eying aaron, i in airin'” sound like you lose the sh-t
he gon’ play it back be confusin’ as sh-t
you try angles (triangles) we go over ’em and get lost; bermuda
you heard what i said, yeah, f-ck writer’s bloque, you’ll get fed lead
cause i ain’t never seen you as a friend; drop dead fred
dead dead
paint your whole head red
close range, one foot away with the stick it’s a peg leg
you can’t keep it real yourself
n-gga suicide or-

f-ck that i got more now!
only reason sh-t be lookin’ debatable cause i got short rounds
when the lead smokin’, leave your head open
n-ggas can’t see rum on the flo’, that’s on a dead homie
he look like the type that cooperate with 12, don’t he?
keep it frank, outside the ring, chilla will put the feds on me
but i kept goin’
pull it, get set to shoot, i’m still (steel) mad
this gon’ get real bad, but just for you
or heckler & koch, i’ll put it right under his head and shoot
so it interrupt words, ain’t that what a heckler do?
pro style, show you what this motherf-ckin’ pole ’bout
30 clip, if i get mad and lose it let 21 blowout
the loc out, and i feel like i’m top three
stop comparisions, i’m definitely not them and they not me
if i say some dumb sh-t like, “make me show the grip in the palm g”
you can try [?], you’ll be takin’ a risk (wrist) cause it’s in arm’s reach
you all weak, i’ll dog walk you, one hand, no talk, [?] fam’
sneak and (sneakin’) chill unannounced like bruh man
i’ll up cans
press against ya forehead with the tool barrel
let it od on him and jet, now i got the juice world (juice wrld)
i’m too thorough
don’t compete with me
n-ggas can’t feed nitty
remix it, for the record, deal did you bad; it was a 360
keep .50’s, i don’t gotta murk him with these, knife game
shut an organ down, he internally bleed
soon as this b-tch go and deliver it stop workin’; maternity leave
you can’t- i’m f-ckin’ done n-gga!

[round 2: chilla jones]
cornell…powell
remeber you called twork out for the fade
i was tryin’ to keep you calm yo
i mean how you think that sh-t was gon’ go?
he would’ve did you wrong bro
but you was p-ssed in a battle like, “nah man. you don’t say certain sh-t in a battle.”
got outside like, “he did not look this big in the battle
sorry to waste your time smack, let’s go inside and finish the battle.”
n-gga was rattled
i guess the beef wasn’t real, no mcdowells
this p-ssy tried f-ckin’ with blood and should’ve thrown in the towel
hold ya “bows”
i don’t politic in general, shots’ll enter through your colon (colin) powell
and to be technical, that was flagrant too (two) man, jones is foul
how you claimin’ you sprayin’ bald heads like major payne?
twork (twerk) had you lookin’ worse than lizzo at the laker game
fake and lame
a lakers’ jersey wouldn’t make you worthy
bandana on the .50 b-tch boy, yeah nitty gon’ make ’em beg for mercy
but let me flip that, bring him all kind of smoke
you just a kid, kid and i’m the goat
see in this game, he banks on punches that y’all like to quote
here’s where i g-unit and buck 50 just to spite a (spider) loc
claimin’ you got that yayo, always playin’ villain in ya raps
well if you dish raw then i’m jigsaw, i guess we both make a k!llin’ in the trap
boy i split jaws, push ya feelin’ (fillings) to the back
red dot, bald head, i make him look like krillin wit’ the strap
i’m back, and it’s my time for real
i’m a gun fanatic, follow the guidelines of chill
if you rum, then i’m vodka that’s five times the steel (distill)
you ain’t a smack n-gga
you started on grind time for real
then king of the dot, then smack, just had to remind you so it’s clear
cause in an interview you said, “chilla jones. we don’t respect his writing over here.”
but i frighten most ya peers
i mean little man complex but still comin’ up short at the height of his career
if you the highest in ya tier, then it’s time to perform
why you think you in my category for (four) when i’m a more wilder storm?
headshot, powell (-pow- will) be quiet and i ain’t even screw the silencer on
you gettin’ torn boy
i’m not a n-gga that you might be
k-shine smoked you, had you lookin’ tight g
bigg k spazzed on you, beat you to the white meat
it’s only right this third k, leave him under white sheets
you light heat and won’t damage me
when i write sh-t, i keep it tight knit (nit’) like close family
no sanity
don’t try to fight me neither, or catch a bullet tryin’ to go the fade route like a wide receiver
i’m cruisin’, i hit the nas then it might be ‘ether’
i school him
y’all better learn from cornell like an ivy leaguer
tiny heaters on my lap, i’m in the back while my b-tch whippin’
west side phoenix, yup, ridin’ through ya strip trippin’
deuce deuce with a baby .9 load, the kid grippin’
i take every little thing and point it out, i’m knit (nit’) pickin’
i’ve been in hollywood writin’
tonight? the script flippin’
this time, if i put you in a plot i’m ditch diggin’
b-tch listen
i been sittin’ in the back when you meet wit’ mobsters
sh-lls crack then we dip with b-tter, we eatin’ lobster
he said he surgeon (serve gin) with a .9 on him like he’s a vodka
i ain’t buyin’ it for real, i’m a secret shopper
i protect my home and got h-lla pads (helipads) so i keep a chopper
stomach shot, i’m tryin’ to hit the core rum (decorum) so keep it proper
you gon’ need a doctor if i war witchu for more issues
see i bucket, then i’m on ya (ammonium) wit’ the stick moppin’ the floor wit’ you
or get you, cruisin’ in that malibu, yup
that’s how it go rum
give his apple ten (appleton) then cap him more than (captain morgan) let it baow (bow) like an old monk

[guy in the crowd]
awww, not that

[chilla]
i know, a long -ss liquor scheme
but he don’t understand himself
take notes, i’m teachin’ rum how to brand himself
i blam myself with everything i got in the holster
i’m offset, i stay wit’ a ratchet and father a culture so where’s cardi at?
they say a volume card is where the bars be at
i beat steams and i bring chess (chest) pain like a cardiac
the blade’s serrated with a jagged edge so ‘where the party at’?
and it’s a sharp one, ’bout to get dark rum; bacardi black
i’m back!
n-gga there’s nothin’ you can do with me
f-ck you thought?
everybody dies except you nitty?
no n-gga, everybody dies; accept unity

[round 2: rum nitty]
aye, i just don’t be rappin’ ’bout it my n-gga i’ve livin’ through it
really shootin’
and it’s no 6’9″in’
the code of silence we stickin’ to it
this’ll prove it
they say a closed mouth don’t get fed
the n-gga that open his mouth can send you to him
lift the ruger
catch a few straight rounds
you won’t get up after these hit you, i bet you stay down
i just showed a pastor what the tool game ’bout
now i hit jones town (jonestown) with a colt (cult) and leave him cool laid (kool-aid) out
you ’bout to get all the smoke
and take so many punches the fans yellin’
(get off the ropes!)
sh-t done got real
we all drill
get smack stabbed and robbed, a couple options that you got still (steel)
i can chop you, have bullets riddling his body when i peel
and may i a.d.d. i can not chill (knot chill)
try and you dead, your life on the edge
k!ll yourself, he was better suiciding instead
i’m nice wit’ the lead
what’s a pen to a jay-z verse? you get the 16 right in the head
bomb on him, sig’s (cigs) so big the alarm goin’
you better tell ’em “give me room” beasley, the .9’s smokin’
no talkin’ we just send him
pull up, hop out, caught a n-gga slippin’, got bodied in an instant
glock with thee extension

{nitty stops to drink out of his water bottle}

…and after the water break, this b-tch can pop at any minute
get the business, but half you really chumps
won’t k!ll nothin’, won’t let nothin’ die, it’s not static that you want
‘matic out the trunk
i’ll clap you n-ggas up
why lay (wale) hands on him, i’ll let it sing ‘on chill’, it’ll be a tragedy for months
me and you are not alike, i dip off, go get the tool if n-ggas hype
and slide back and address you, i’m movin’ like i’m mike
ruger wit’ the light, if i shoot you i’m doin’ life
and the aftermath is death row, cause the doctors (dr’s) goin’ to be losin’ you tonight (to knight)
n-gga we on that
red dot, bingo [?]
you better run before you p-ss, tim tebow stats
we tote macs, keep at least three/fo’ straps
in case i gotta take a kingpin (kingpen) down, it’s the rico act
efb the mob clique, it’s who i rock wit’ off rip
we all trippin’
and hold it down like a hostage
hot sh-t, ya top lift, i peel (pill) and stop jones in (jonesing) his tracks like suboxone
i should up the cal’ and smoke you
how the loc do?
reckless; poetic justice you lucky i don’t go postal
if i slide through, you catch everything the .9 shoot
you gon’ die too
ring on the b-tch right beside you
and i don’t stop, i let death do it’s (us) part, that’s how “i do”
i’ll be on that, keep a do’ sh-t, where ya house at
then push ya scalp back
that you get buried now, ya family not knowin’ ya whereabouts
we’re about that
you finna die at the end
as far as you winnin’, you never had a shot, it’s nothin’ fire in (firin’) pen (pin)
i came from the southwest to k!ll a rival i’m in
let it fly in the wind
if i get dealt a bad hand i’ll take y’all spirit, you’ll never be united again
i’m talkin’ real early day mornin’
this the part you’re (departure) going to need security or it’s gon’ get terminal for you
i’ll take .357 over the large tec
cause it don’t drop the sh-lls that the law test
it ain’t a hard guess
so i threw the stick out for the bulldog, it ain’t far fetched
i know you n-gga worry
came to see me in a small room, you know i do you dirty
it’s my fifth volume in a row
smack knowin’ i be irkin’
he a perc head, this n-gga jones in (jonesin’) for a 30
you finna f-ckin’ die
you already got one foot in the grave…i’ll push you down the other five
can’t keep it real yourself, suicide or i’ll do the job

[round 3: chilla jones]

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