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grind time now - moodswangz vs. cadalack ron lyrics

[round 1 + moodsw+ngz]
i beat saht then kp
but caddy’s number 3?
you claim i’m ducking cali, b+tch please
i make cali come to me
when kap asked me to battle you
he offered up a g
i told him “keep the stack, i mean it kap
i’ll f+ck this f+ggot up for free.”
i’ll braid his hair into a rope
and f+ckin’ hang him from a tree
and beat him like he’s filled with tons of candy just for me
you like a p+ssy piñata
if i beat you with a bat, ron
you’d be nothing but a bl++dy pile of aids infected tampons
and why you fronting like you macho cholo
when we know that you’re a closet h0m+?
b+tch you ain’t no vato loco
you soft as a resort your parents took you to at acupulco
and you love spreading rumors
when the bullsh+t isn’t true
your wimpy little crеw be talking sh+t like them b+tchеs from the view
so you should chance machina muerte to the f+ggot patrol
cause every time they get exposed, they go on damage control
like “omg, he called mestizo here a f+ggot
tell caddy start packing
we better stop this ‘fore it catches
if people see we’re fashionistas faking what we’re rapping
we’ll never leave los angeles and make it to manhattan!”
they told you if you beat me you’d be leader of those f+ggots
what good is gassing up a caddy if you drove in here to crash it?
and ain’t none of yall f+ggots ever jacked me in the face
i don’t need to throw a punch to put this f+ggot in his place
the next time you see this cadillac traveling the states
thank me for his motherf+cking handicap plates!
[round 1 + cadalack ron]
this dude talks a lot of sh+t on the internet
but he don’t back it up
and after 6 months of acting tough
the first thing he did last night when he saw me was try to dap me up
homie, you a fake. fraud. you a h0m+ rapper
and since you brought your b+tch here i got a question
after i punked your man in front of you
did you really go to the momo and f+ck him after?
you think you clever moodsw+ngz?
this self proclaimed wigga never [?]
he can’t pull a trigger, his finger’s too fat to pull the lever when his tool aim
how you diss the crips?
you never met a member of that blue gang
you a fat lady
so this battle’s over whenever mood sangs
this foolish cracker ain’t shooting rappers
see, that’s the trouble with mood
if this foolish cracker was a houston rapper
he’d be double the dude
ill demonstrate this b+tch is fake
ask around, lets get it straight
if the straps were out and i blast the ground
i bet you’d dance around and your titties shake
you ain’t from the chicago cityscape, you big mistake
you’re from a town called crystal lake
the crazy stories of gangster glory
and everything he claims to be
is way too gory
like jason voorhees, this k!ller’s only make believe
and you call your music “chicago horrorcore”
you’re just a lonely ass white man
you used to work for prime and matlock holding the mic stand
you only a hypeman
and he got fired at that, thought he’d try to rap
we seen the mysp+ce pics
we know he likes to pack shiny black tiny gats
and if you aren’t careful he’s gonna try and blast…
in tiny chat
b+tch this is like a grindtime who is who
i could’ve just chilled and watched the 2 on 2s
if you were a thug, you should’ve brought your tool to use
cause i ain’t leaving ‘till this fool is bruised so bad he sings the moody blues
[round 2 + moodsw+ngz]
i heard ronnie kicked the sh+t
and k!lled the dragon he was chasing
then he started chasing dragons
playing magic in his bas+m+nt
youre a fifth level wizard with a gangster fascination
congratulations, f+ggot, on your hogwarts graduation
picture ronny in his costume with feathers in his hair
in the ghetto scalping tickets to the renaissance fair
and you shouldn’t play tough, ron
you should play the part of comedian
i mean, how hard can you be
when your pops wrote karma chameleon?
thats why you got me laughing
when i hear you telling people you gon’ f+ck me up
you in what army?
boy george and culture club?
and after years of getting high
he ain’t blazing this fatty
but it ain’t sh+t for me to beat the f+ckin brakes off of caddy
i’ll bet this battle makes you flash back to getting f+cked in county
how the f+ck you running cali, b+tch?
you couldn’t even run around me
i’ll finish caddy quicker than a couple dozen brownies
this cadillac makes uncle howie
look like a motheruckin’ audi
and how the f+ck you act like you were raised on skid row
and look exactly like the f+ggots that played in skid row?
and when the cops come to shut us down and make an arrest
who do you think they’ll take?
me? or motherf+ckin’ faces of meth?
he ain’t selling records
so how the f+ck is ronnie scoring drugs?
he’ll do just like his shorty does
dress up just like courtney love
and suck some d+ck for 40 bucks
and in prison you were wishing you were somebody’s wife
your dreams came true, the first night of lockdown you met the love of your life
when you heard those magic words
“sh+t on my d+ck, or blood on my knife?”
[round 2 + cadalack ron]
so you said my dad’s in culture club
they wrote “do you really wanna hurt me”
i kinda like that tune
cause last night you came up to me like
“ron, do you really wanna hurt me?”
and i was like “youre godd+mn right i do!”
yo, i thought i was prepared for this battle
but no matter how much i practice rehearsing
right now, i’m actually certain
“god d+mn, you’re even fatter in person”
you’re not a thug, you’re not a boss
you’re not a f+ckin’ don
your favorite rapper growing up was a two pack
that [?] cupcakes, followed by some big papa johns
and imma show you how to write a real gangster verse
pay attention
(ch+ch) barrel to your dome, watch your brains disperse
the grizzle crowd need umbrellas now the way the blood rain and squirt
you ain’t a fraction of the caliber my name is worth
skull fractured from the caliber
you laying in earth
‘cause if the steel peel your cap
your brain stay severed

and i doubt you ever harming me
this thug won’t pull a burner out
my house is like a pharmacy with drugs you never heard about
homie, while i was slanging pills
and charging a dollar a milligram
you were arguing with your mom so you could borrow the minivan
to impress your black friends and drive all of them to scribblejam
still a virgin at 19
we know his love life was sh+tty
this suburban white teen wouldn’t leave shows
until slug signed his titty
and every time this groupie sees a rapper that is bigger
hes like, “hey bro, is it cool?
i got my camera for a picture?”
don’t try to say that isn’t prue
i know this b+tch will dispute it
but just because i don’t like when they do it
i got the picture to prove it
(cadalack ron holds up a picture of moodsw+ngz with another rapper, shows the camera)
listen, notice the brother ali tag right on the breast. right there
listen here, you and me ain’t the same, this is clear
how the f+ck your name is sw+ngz?
you ain’t seen your d+ck in years
it’s like a baby turtle that lives in fear
his stomach’s nicknamed david blaine
undoes his belt, his genitals disappear
and i’m a full+time rapper, fatty
you’re only moonlighting
after this battle, your future looks dim
i adjusted the mood lighting

[round 3 + moodsw+ngz]

you b+tches ain’t affiliated, why the f+ck you imitating?
sh+t, if you were crippin’, b+tch
the crips would be humiliated
how the f+ck you look like kid rod
but act like kid frost?
you ain’t hustlin’ like rick ross
b+tch you hustle wearing lip gloss
you ain’t a gangster, only thing you robbed was your medicine cabinet
so if you wonder why im passionate
bout calling him an addict, sh+t
i hate to brag but even most my filler bars are accurate
you went from keepin’ up with the kardashians
to garbage picking mattresses
your folks handed you a silver spoon
you turned your back, then cooked your smack in it
your image ain’t eccentric
you’re just a drunken schizophrenic
you’re a junkie
that don’t make you motherf+ckin’ jimmy hendrix
your record’s dead at 27
i’ll leave him dead in 60 seconds
you’ll find your corpse on your porch
past your parents’ picket fences
my smith and wesson’s larger than your list of interventions
i dissed the west, and this the best you got??
this sh+t’s depressing
cause ain’t nothing worse than being wrong
b+tch, you overdose more than i jerk to nia long
i seen him begging with a sing that says he served in vietnam
and all that sh+t you taught your kid, you f+ckin’ learned from cheech & chong
you f+ckin’ scumbag, you knew that you were f+ckin’ up bad
when your kid gave you a pipe that said “#1 dad”

[round 3 + cadalack ron]
your mixtape was called “cereal k!ller”
so imma turn into the son of sam
and blast him back to sunny bam
faster than a moneygram
you ever been pulled over
and had to swallow the crack?
hit the holding cell
and try to vomit it back?
he said he wouldn’t battle
he said he wanted some cash
follow the facts, he just wanted to ask that i would promise to kap i wouldn’t stomp in his ass
see, i really did time
so when i talk about jail i mean it
to you, that’s just a punchline
something about males and p+n+s
it seems your research into g+y prison s+x is vast and rigorous
he told kronic plague in jail he’d sell his ass for a pack of cigarettes
and in l.a. county, you a dead man
they’ll leave 3 shanks in you
we should call you moodswanz
‘cause the g ain’t in you
all the dirt you say you did
was merely classified as rumors
i’ll leave giraffe nuts stabbed up
i’m a real vet
so the giraffes are getting neutered
my homies saw you kicking it with all of your guys
and after all that sh+t you talked and all the lies
you walked outside…
and apologized
against machina muerte what’s this guy gonna do
you already got punked by me then beat up by hollywood hoe
we the smallest guys in the crew
your homies embarrassed to see you
we come tearing the scene up
you scared of machina
ayo, ph, i got a question
when sahtyre socked him in new york, did he get hit by tamera or tia?
how you make music for goons?
you lie in every line
you’re like the white version of arsonal
you get your ass beat a lot but you deny it every time
and i been way cool since grade school
you were awkward at recess
now you wanna play cool ‘cause nothing you say is true
but this ain’t okwerd and t+rex
this guy is equal? i don’t believe you
he’s a d+mn fake rapper
and i’m not brian peoples
i am evil
there won’t be a handshake after!
you’ve never seen a gram of dope
you couldn’t dream of slamming coke
if you took half my dose, you’d seize and have a stroke
you don’t know what it means to back your coast!
see, caddy’s known for stabbing folks
i’ll ruin fatty’s battle hopes

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