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ibattle – rum nitty vs. king jables lyrics

[round 1: king jables]
lexx said he’s bringing top tiers to ibattle
i wanted one
said, “this shot might be a little shockin’ like a stun gun.”
i had to pick, split money up or lump sum (some)
that chainsaw was sayin’ his name “rum rum”
grip the evidence
metal cl!ck when i get to reppin’ it
leave you sleepin’, a grizzly bottom, this the revenant
aye, in the future i’ma be (futurama) “mr. president”
in the cabinet, a jar of rum at the crib, but it’s just your head in it
aye, he thought he’d come in kidding with the king
a can of pop then take a quarter out him i’m riggin’ up machines
aye, i shoot cornell, i’m finna send him up to steams
in the gym, nit’ (gymnast) reachin’ new heights, i’m liftin’ up the beam
aye, if you don’t meet your lord and savior, what’s in store is major
i snap and take a quarter back (quarterback) out; lawrence taylor
aye, somethin’ giant hit you, burn victim, let science fix you
the doctor’s doin’ paper mache, applyin’ tissue
then your manager’s shot, ten rounds fire
dunsh/farrell, big cap on a spanish cat is a sombrero
leg shot, baow, you gon’ run? where though?
this steel ate shins (distillation) i need to give rum barrel
aye, send him down stream he’ll be swimmin’ wit’ the fishes
every round clean like i’m finished with the dishes
see me get to b-tchin’, nitty it’s a mission
special box for rum, it’s limited edition

[round 1: rum nitty]
now either you lack common sense or you gon’ die…too much confidence
y’all think i’m hatin’
throwin’ shade
but when ya son (sun) dyin’, we’ll see what time it is
stop the sh-t, i’m not convinced
i see you tryin’ to be a big dawg but you too small for it king; stojaković
i pull up, stop the whip
park, hop out the car on marks (karl marx), i’m a communist
bombin’ sh-t, you better stand back or ya b-tch get clapped at
and whacked, a pool
hit king and queen with one; blackjack
if we take it past rap, i might clap you, live on ibattle, life sn-tchin’
every line snappin’
i black, whole (hole) rounds like i time travel
point .9 at you
everything in my sight’s scrambled
it’s too much static for a p-ssy, the spice channel

[round 2: king jables]
young mike with the terry cloth, throw the towel in the ring
i spend (k)nights at the round table, full of powder and green
we push loud and had louder machines
so it’s funny that this peasant wanna “bow” to the king
aye, i’ll take him off his mountain y’all
bring on guns
let it sing on rum then blame it on the alcohol
aye, one lead to ya cheek, this bum be deceased
no amish tradition but y’all see rum spring a (rumspringa) leak
aye, b-tch it’s violence near
sneak up on him, the .9 appear
he ain’t even see it, catch a quarter behind his ear
aye, you get ya f-ckin’ hat bent back
the mac-10 clap
found in the caribbean, rum gettin’ capped then jacked (captain jack)
battle tested, i’ve been to where can’t
stomach shot, went into rum belt, temporary champ
take it to the grave he won’t tell a soul
a sh-ll will blow, sh-t’ll rip through your hair rum (harem), it’s gonna be h-lla holes (hoes)
telescope on him, like, “son, not again”
this drum outta pin more than one outta ten
aye, i said extendo on it
put this gun by the chin, extended stay spittin’, this where rum outta end (ramada inn)
aim the grip, like how you claimin’ crip
bangin’ [?], pain and sh-t
like gene simmons, it be a famous l!ck
b-tch we like action
{ch-ch}
the pipes blastin’
we warned you about them c’s you’re (seizure) throwin’ up, now lights flashin’
that’s king sh-t

[round 2: rum nitty]
this n-gga either stupid prolly or plain suicidal
big -ss .357 will do the homi
i’ll shoot and put the bulldog down; i’m euthanizing
exclusive body
the same grave as the last n-gga, i’m puttin’ you inside it
i’ll bury king, with shine like tutankhamun
too much talkin’, the knees pop, please stop
i’m tellin’ you, watch what you say king, more than t-top
i’m a piece gripper, scene flipper
i’ll run past lettin’ it go, that’s a flee fl!cker
he trippin’, thinkin’ he dangerous, but he not
that goofy -ss haircut gon’ make me chase you out the spot
beat ya face in wit’ a glock, the heat b-tt you
then the re-b-tt’ll (reb-ttal) will make ya bangs (bangz) go off the top
get popped, we go to war with beams
ar machines
k’s that clap at you, you should’ve known, when you face an animal, bring [?] king
don’t start the team, i get to liftin’ up the strap
airin’ out the pound like vacc-m sealin’ up a pack
n-ggas don’t take you serious when you rap
this n-gga king a comedy show, i end it with the mac (mack)

[round 3: king jables]
aye, gun line king, the sh-t’s is real
he’s sick and ill
he cl!ck and peel
to be frank nitty it’ll hit ya grill
grippin’ steel, with ‘fficent sk!ll
b-tch just chill
you known for jake j’s how we supposed to believe them kicks is real
so this fiction filled lil’ tatter tot finna spray the glock?
oh he’s tyin’ up loose ends? i’m afraid (frayed) you’re (k)not
this battle is the only time you’re raisin’ stocks
my favorite plots where rum buried like flavored shots
aye i’ll have all you livid
if i bombed your city, your whole community gon’ have to calm you nitty
aye, now he look just like a corpse
i push the knife in more
cut him, this cord will be hooked to life support
aye, you told rex, “i’ll snipe ya son. they don’t need explainations
they’ll revive him off the playground. that’s resuscitation (recess-itation)”
bro you dumb, listen
they won’t care when this bum missin’
you thought that sick sh-t went away? i’m on a rum mission (remission)
aye, let me find out where ya sister live
i be impersonating a doctor like mr. pibb
if i see rum it’s shots for him, they rock his chin
i heard that you comin’ down wit’ somethin’; the doctor’s in
aye, headshot ya mom’s sister, he’s quick to up the pound
soon as she wake up, i’ll put ya sister mother down
when they see the king the heaters sing then i flee the scene
the stage stopper, blade drop the-
guillotine
b-tch i hold that knife
you catch a cold -ss slice
i done gave out bags for less, this the roll back price
aye, dawg is a bum
p-ssy you is as soft as they come
yo big cornell
(yes sir)
that’s the way you talk to your rum

[round 3: rum nitty]
this b-tch dead, chrome .9 squeezin’
the inf’ red
and i’m on site beamin’
i hit heads “blaow”
whoever told you i mislead (miss lead) gave you the wrong idea
when i see ya, i still might smoke
then the steel might blow
then the stick knock off ya right hand man
it’s happy gilmore coach
aye, i don’t miss sh-t though
professional with the shot
super vision, i done threw a telescope on the mop
this little battle money? i put it on ya head and you gettin’ shot
so if you give king/me for a couple of stacks, my whole check’ll be (checker) on his top
you know gun bars is my thing
the glock ring
the shots sting
clappin’ him out
catch a rat in the mouth, he tom green
i box mean
body shots to the side, he drop clean
the three piece, push a ribbon ya chest, i’m in my prime (prom) king
.9 thing, f-ck around and dome shot him
you knew what you was gettin’ yaself into, i’m a known problem
two compack polls poppin’
i’ll l!ck a (liquor) shot with the little pieces like goldschlager
don’t start him
who wanna try it?
cuz dyin’
the gun b-tt, rockin’ ya mind (mine) like a blood diamond
slugs flyin’, from a .38 spittin’
i’ll up it, dump the arm
grab my uncle tom and hit king face wit’ it
n-gga, you’ll get smoked for nothin’
make me load it up and throw you somethin’
like ’81 in hot point, i’m doin’ kobe numbers
you know he frontin’
i’m too heavy for him
effin’ .40
attack the king outside the ring; jerry lawler
i kept it cordial, try me if you want
this .9’ll shoot, you’ll be i am groot, a body in the trunk
you up here hypin’ n-ggas up
you up here makin’ a scene, well, maybe it’s me
or you in a rush to get buried?
well this symbolize a graveyard since you just can’t wait to be king
b-tch….k!ll yaself

- ibattle lyrics

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