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code red culture – heretic vs. e. farrell lyrics

[round 1: heretic]
welcome to the u.k., man! this is so great!
you know what?
‘cause, last year, you got booked, and we all wish you could’ve came and showed up
but then your battle got cancelled, and it was such a shame, and so long
but now you’ve finally found the perfect moment to come and build your name on don’t fl-
this is a terrible waste of your time!
it’s bad form to take
your performance is going under like a trapdoor escape
got me feeling like i’m a hangman, and you’re the man brought to slay
‘cause you came here to die as soon as they take the platform away!
now, i don’t think all forms of rap have to be extra “meaningful”
but you rap about shooting people and getting laid
you guys can decide which one of those is less believable
‘cause let’s not lie
your voice does not suit the persona you project online
‘cause you got them “the lead pop, the headshot, get dropped” rhymes
with the voice of every kid who calls me “n—er” on xbox live!
look, i’m sure you feel real clever when you snipe a noob with your laser attachment
and just about swallow your mouthful of cheetos in time to say he’s a f-ggot
but you get so caught up in that persona, it doesn’t translate when you’re rappin’
desmond miles: without the computer, you can’t play the -ss-ssin!
and i’ve seen you preaching christianity, like that’s deep and profound
so if you try and claim king, you’ll have to bleed for the crown
you’re from middle america, christianity’s the only belief in your town
he’s like, “tell me something i don’t know.”
jesus was brown!
you’re on your way to death in britain
it’s not the safest expedition
just ‘cause you’re a smack rapper on the stage, with less conviction
that pudgy face ain’t benefitin’ you going on a date with any women
but you’ve got a gun so big…it’s remarkably effective as an overcompensating mechanism
you’re from manchester…in connecticut
your country is too unimaginative to name a few buildings
your state has a bristol, ess-x, derby, reading, where n-body has come through spittin’
our manchester alone just bought out bobby rex, and that dude’s winnin’
so all your knockoff cities don’t mean sh-t next to this new england!

[round 1: e. farrell]
yo!
yo, before i spit these rounds i wrote for dank, and take note tox
just know defeat stinks, like some sweat-stained old socks
plus, this clown’s been thirsty, so i brought a faygo pop
and enough stupid punchlines to f-cking save don’t flop!
you look like you hit g-y clubs
i go straight to the bars
this is mismatched, like asians and cars
teletubbies baby, how the kid facin’ a star
and i’ve been k!lling these jokes, like that one friend who always takes it too far
but you ain’t got buds
nah, you’re just some sheik in a jar
and always need a safe sp-ce
what, you vacant on mars?
i’ll smack your face, and have your trachea scarred
with a hand to the neck while striking cords, like i was playing guitar
you f-cking neet!
i’m mad we had to have this battle announced
i’d snap in your house for cheese, without trapping a mouse
your first international bout? madness, fam!
after this, you won’t be tweeting how we really need to p-ss a travel ban
you’re so edgy, bro! why prove your pen?
mr. “eurgh blocked me on twitter, lol, i’m cool again!”
the two-years-ago newcomer, top of the list
at this point, the only big push you’ve earned is straight off of a cliff, into a bottomless pit
your style? not a fan of it
annoying, like an occupied toilet: i can’t stand the sh-t!
man, i’ll flip and crop your frame, instagram it, pick so clans will hit
turn this hairy p-ssy into nothing but a landing strip!
yo, i’m comfy in yo’ country, smokin’ long bats, and coolin’
soaking up the sights like contact solution
i said, but recognize h-lla times you’re dropping cl-ssics, son
you’d think my job was making charts about cars, from all the autographs i’ve done!
i said, your girl seen me in the club, and stared for two straight minutes
she said, “let’s f-ck”
i read the lips: no kool-aid sippin’
i had that bird on my top like a blue jays fitted
lovin’ the b-ll-nd, like when a school’s day finished
that’s a d-ckhead, for my people watchin’ this at home
i was d-gg-n’ it, call her, and she coughin’ up the bone
just so i can tell you all of this, jotted in my poems
and have a body set in stone like a monument in rome
my team deep!
clean sweep, now they breakin’ out the broom
got this hippie trippin’ badly, like he ate too many shrooms
i’ll be the greatest from the cradle to the tomb
so if the good die young, i’m surprised i even made it out the womb!
“i should have been miscarried, harry,” is what i’m trying to say
and i guarantee you’ll never hear that in a flyer way
time!

[round 2: heretic + e. farrell]
so you’re mates with all the young republicans, right?
facts of life!
a bunch of trump supporters who like rapping and stuff
their sole entry requirement is thinking every other man is a cuck
but we got young conservatives in the u.k., too, bro!
they just exchange [?] for trump
and get beat up on uni campuses for being absolute c-nts!
so i’m here to be everything you hate
better act right, gangster
‘cause i got a hemp, handmade che guevara t-shirt
you can’t match my swagger
i’ll get him on cam with a confederate flag, and he’ll get chastised after
and march under a hammer and sickle banner, screaming, “black lives matter!”
i don’t care if you got no respect for that
‘cause your statues are gettin’ dragged from their cenotaphs
we fight what’s oppressive, the message is that when we rap
but you write off the premise
like how, with reggae music, the inventors black
but whites got the credit, ‘cause they wanna hear eric clapped!
and i shot the sheriff!
so those two-bar punches, yeah, i know how to use them
i just take the bread for the body like a holy communion
it’s either that, or an angle, ‘til my opponents are losin’
i put marks in a state like the soviet union!
i don’t give a f-ck how you build them schemes
or if they think punching back-to-back makes you a real mc
i do what i need to do just to k!ll them clean
my voice means deaths on cam like the wilhelm scream!
you always have a whole team of hype men getting aggie
that’s trash!
you roll up in a vehicle full of tools like a handyman’s van
you battle 5-on-1, but however crafty that plan
it’s like south park, ‘cause eric still loses in a handicap match!
he says some sh-t about guns, and then he hypes the crowd
well, i’ll just ruin your self-esteem twenty times around
bar one, i’ve got wins every time i’m out
and i got bodies in the pipeline like pennywise the clown!
i handed a breakdown to soweto, and singed kid verbal as well
it’s too easy, saying you never did dirt, i can tell
it’s like dante’s inferno: that burning you smell?
you wanted heretic in the pit, and you got the sixth circle of h-ll!

[round 2: e. farrell]
hold it down
this sh-t’s, like, racist as f-ck, so, uh…
i don’t care if you’re heretic
today, you’re heretic
if i had to guess the type of bug that’s in your hair…(a tick!)
this made me throw my pen and nearly quit
you’d swore i picked the language the quran was written in
i chose to air a bic!
(bic is a type of pen
he likes that one!)
i’m very sick, bruv! you just got a light flu
which is awesome, ‘cause i’mma bring the coffin right through
if beating me is what you thought you might do
it’s probably like you a less common diabetic: not the type to!
that’s awful, right!? well, let me offer a light course
‘cause i never didn’t have the option to write forced
i’m not saying, “have a w-nk to a farm animal under the influence of cannabis,” but…
get off from the high horse!
have you ever seen-
i said, i’m talking it nice! supplyin’ the demand
you a hippie gypsy, sleeping by a fire in a van
i should dump the f-cking 9 until it jam
pillsbury doughboy: i’ll put this flower child on the can!
for bands, i’m hands-on, might start a push pit
spend a rack on a jacket, so they call me “hood rich”
stan lee: i’ll make this comic book quick
then steel-toe boot his -ss, and let him really feel my carbon footprint!
trigger words, now he bugging and nervous
greenhouse effect: i see you heating up on the surface
‘bout to mention…f-cking feminism, gender privilege like the cause is greater
claiming that we wouldn’t treat the earth so bad, if we had called it, “father nature”
wow! we get it, bro! you f-cking p-ssed a science cl-ss!
and don’t use butane lighters ‘cause it’s an unnatural kind of gas
i offered bro to hit the bong last night, his -ss declined it fast
and said, “let’s wait ‘til morning, dude! i brought my magnifying gl-ss!”
i bet you get sad inside seeing a patch of dried-up gr-ss
and pour your 40 for the forest every time you have to wipe your -ss
i know this angle has been overused, and facts, it might be trash
but recycling’s eco-friendly, and for that, i’d like a p-ss!
plus, that animal rights sh-t is rightfully a hoax
‘cause on some rap sh-t, you stole shuffle’s style when he jokes
danny’s swag, tony’s skin tone, and you try to drink like osh’
so how the f-ck are you a vegan!? you been biting all the goats!
i understand your case to stop the planet’s waste
but quit demanding plates in canada, just ‘cause you heard they’re organik-based
next time you choose to beef with me, you gon’ be sick
in the meantime, f-ck off, and eat a gluten-free d-ck!

[round 3: heretic + e. farrell]
i remember when you did that battle dressed as superman
that was some sh-t from the edges of sp-ce
’cause you were wearing an inflatable six-pack, and still looked in terrible shape
facts!
you can’t be superman with chronic acne
i guess you are like clark kent in a way
’cause no one’s gonna think you’re a hero with those specks on your face
look, i knew you were gonna come to rap about the british regime, biscuits and tea
’cause your most popular battle had such a gimmicky theme
but then your views went right back down just as quick as can be
after playing superman, you fell off harder than christopher reeve!
but it was great!
’cause you got the crowd going with the flow that you served ’em
transformed in superman like a whole different person
you went for that costume change, and had people hopelessly searchin’
like, “it’s a bird, it’s a plane…oh, no, it’s a virgin.”
’cause you said you’re “bread p-ssy like a yeast infection”
bread…bread p-ssy like a yeast infection…
that was so bad
i don’t know if you’ve ever made bread before
it’s not how i’d suggest that you try it, though
and i don’t know if you’ve ever seen a v-g-n- before
but they tend not to come with a slice of toast
look, i don’t want to put you off
i know that it’d appeal to you more if it were like an edible staple
i just don’t want you getting confused when your grandma’s crusty bread gets left on the table
i don’t blame you
sometimes, having a poor life perspective is fatal
it’s an easy mistake to make when you’ve only ever had s-x with a bagel
that’s so stupid
so, just to let you know, a yeast infection is, like, one of those horrible illnesses
and getting “the clap” is definitely not what you think it is!
you’ve got a lot to learn, eric
even your slogan isn’t pushing a better image
like, “you can’t spell ‘america’ without putting that eric in it!”
well, your hype men are sh-t
you only sound good when you get -ssistance
so you can’t spell “hysterical b-ll-nds” without putting that eric in it!
you’re a carbon-copy smack rapper who’s only cooking with extra gimmicks
and that’s why you can’t spell “generic”…’cause you’re american, and you’re stupid!

[round 3: e. farrell]
they say battle rap these days is loaded with antics
broken and bandaged, bad, beyond totally damaged
but i see and know the advantage
where else in public can i scream out, “i have a gun!”…and n-body panics!?
i don’t have a gun…
i’m the type to fire off and smile, dawg: i’m trigger-happy
quick, and gladly handle beef like spongebob when he flippin’ patties
slush pup, the young buck who is d-ckin’ l-ssie
b-tch, it ain’t a game
i been a troublemaker way before milton bradley
as a kid, i had it rough, though, bro
played with guns
but felt powerless amongst that group of misfits: nathan young
great show
that’s the only british reference…
so, for this next of segments, i don’t want respect or credit
‘cause my life is like a buzz-cut
it’s safe to say you’ll never get it
what you know about growing up, driving in the streets
not having enough pennies with abraham lincoln’s face on them to go another mile in your jeep?
that real struggle, every night you felt so weak
not getting likes in british battle forums, ‘cause all them were trying to go to sleep
you know nothing about crying in your sheets
wanting to turn your thermostat up a couple fahrenheit, but couldn’t reach
problems flying through your mind, you would just weep
it’s like i brought a thousand watches on a mountaintop
the times were getting piqued!
so push my b-ttons like a screenshot, and save the conversation
man, i got these hands on lock, like continents with combo-nations
try and rock me, they gon’ lock me up for dropping your health
‘cause i won’t take a sock from harry: i ain’t dobby the elf!
i don’t need to buck shots or dump rockets
son, watch me get up on my scoop sh-t for one topic
‘cause man like e. will take the iphone x out your front pocket
then follow you home, just to cut your f-cking face off and unlock it!
(scooooooop!)
i thought y’all were booing me!
i needed scoop to push me…
say, yo!
i keep it freezer-fresh now, and i’m scannin’ it
and have his boat on ice damaged like man was in the t-tanic ship
and if you come back with your crew, i’ll let a clip off, blam
i’m blastin’ heretic an’ them like a slipknot fan
i’m sonning him with presence more than santa claus’ mother
and popping off while i’m cooking, like a pan of hot b-tter
just to reach my prime, you gon’ need amazon numbers
and a pic of john cena in a camouflage jumper!
i’ll believe it when i see it, and today, i did not
you basically got served to have to pay for this shot
start saving your top excuses, and wait for the drop
‘cause, like paving a spot to park, you gon’ be making a lot!
let’s go, man!

- code red culture lyrics

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