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king of the dot - 100 bulletz vs chilla jones lyrics

[round 1: 100 bulletz]
this battle’s just like ya kid; a ugly mistake
you’ll get stabbed while you running
that’s how i cut to the chase
arsonal and mystique … the ratchet b-ttin (b-tt in) ya face
this is gon’ be such a notorious death
puffy and mase gon’ come to the wake
back off, i ain’t slap boxin’
i’m here to catch bodies and stack coffins
it’s like watchin’ a url battle… let’s skip all the smack talkin
you battle raps muhammad ali? nice punches and the footage crazy
naw, you muhammed ali cuz ya back against the ropes and ya future lookin’ shaky
9:09 i’m at his front door, 9:10, he in plain sight
stick him with a box cutter, 9:11… take flight
sudden infant death, i’ll turn ya crib to a grave sight
real talk, i’m nuts on the low (loe pesci), daylyt
want beef, i brought a steak knife, chill a’ get ya grill split
you gonna lose 3-0 to 100, n-gga! real quick!
oh lord… big, pac, proof bulletz send rappers to heaven?
i’m ebola, thought i was gone but i’m back in the flesh n’
cl-ss is in session… it’s perfection, when i’m craftin a lesson
big t on a leather couch, it’ll leave a lastin’ impression
how chilla grabbin the weapon but ya cl1ck got no bodies droppin’
forrest gump, this dummy sit the bench but do a lotta talkin
ya lil chick saw my johnson … and did the mccauley culkin
i ain’t touch her though, them lips got more n-ggas off than johnny cochran
losin’ not a option, the pound to him ain’t a calorie gained
you’ll see jerome capped n’ (captain) on ice like the calgary flames

[round 1: chilla jones]
salute to rex, cuz havin’ no neck is something you gotta deal wit’
salute to drake for showin’ love to the culture, that’s real sh-t
i got a steel fifth named zero, and when it peel clips
these’ll go from zero to 100 n-gga, real quick
see i was on my chill sh-t, on my hands i had alotta time
you jumped in my twitter inbox, gettin outta line
then organik called offerin’ dolla signs
so now i’m in the trenches takin’ bulletz to school like columbine
i ain’t wanna sign that dotted line, cuz i’m looking for matches where the footage is cl-ssic
you gettin’ put in a casket, no pullin’ the ratchet
it’s like i’m at the range cuz it’s a body on paper
i’m usin bulletz for practice
like, well let me practice my punchlines and get em boxed with delivery, ups
i wouldn’t give props to this actor on a movie set
i’m hot, bout to bubble with the flow, like jacuzzi jets
long nose put dog to sleep, he gettin snoopy stretched
next, lemme practice my schemes
if we see ya dame cryin, makin’ mad noise quick
thats when we console (wii console) her, p.s. four (ps4) n-ggas kinect with your ex box (xbox) while she grab joy sticks
n-gga you extra g-y, your cans pepper spray, you don’t grab toy clips
you leave eyes big and puffy with mase, but c’s (cease) got faith in that one twelve (112) on some bad boy sh-t
now lemme practice my flow, and multis specifically
goin’ bar for bar with chilla, don’t work with filler
he get the spin, stiff arm, speed burst agility, versatility you can’t match my worst ability, cursed delivery
you can’t rock with a k!ller homes, you awkward and filler pr-ne, plus softer than silicone
quarantine, i feel alone, like i’m locked in a iller zone
you c-cky but still a clone, that’s copyin chilla jones
my sk!ll is grown, i’m here to show that bulletz, you know that bulletz
that tough talk, slow that bulletz and where you toast at bulletz
i load that pull it, then blow gats, hold that bulletz
i’mma wizard, washing ten (washington) when i throwback bulletz
they only booked it, cuz you a clown tryna sound like me
but you ain’t never stood in front of three rounds like these

[round 2: 100 bulletz]
man, shut your boring -ss up
talkin’ tough, on sesame street this big bird couldn’t get a g p-ss
i got fam that used to crack heads…
and if i tell ’em they prolly gon’ relapse
they go outta the way to grab the pump … that’s cheap gas
so, leave fast cuz the gun never jam like steve nash
this p-ssy from the bean bagged, i could break ya arm with a body shot
it’ll be a white cast chill in like chandler and friends at the coffee shop
you got sloppy punches, forrest griffin, ain’t temper tantrum when the four is kickin’
after bulletz drop him… chill a dead body like a mortician
listen, i produce magic with the mic; it’s a dream team
he say, “since i’m from beantown, i’ma hit him with a bean scheme
i shot your pinto with the llama (lima), now ya chick pea beside ya
if he even cough he bein’ (coffee bean) roasted, blaow! “now, ya kidney a fava.”
that’s you every battle
you rap how i used to rap, won’t put the pen down and raise his kid
that’s why more hood n-ggas gon’ run through ya daughter than jane and finch
you make me sick, bit qp, daylyt, nuborn even remakin’ mine
i guess the ufc champ ain’t the only jones who been taking lines
keep snakin’ rhymes, no shock g, it’s a wrap with the long nose
call me carleton banks… that’s cool
you gon’ see me snap with the tom, jones
i’ll put this b-tch on ice, women’s hockey
this one 87 sydney crosby
get x’d out… it’s a moli, the 9 all black… like it’s somali
let it ring with the piece, mrs. ghandi
i murda ink (inc.) b-tch… it’s ashanti
the heat cooked you… it’s a n-z-
now ya brains hangin’ out… like this the lobby
when matt roll up like you did pilates, cold punches, it’s getting rocky
you in bad shape, o’fficial body, walkin dead, it’s a zombie
getting homied, laura tarsi… this b-tch gon’ kiss a shotty
or shake and bake with a cal by my side like ricky bobby

[round 2: chilla jones]
i ain’t gon scheme this whole round
f-ck you and every lame you f-ck wit
i know a gang of bloods, that’s twenty 5s with two 50s each waitin’ to bust it
now 10 tends to be enough shots to blast, and they’ll mask up and take him in public
if y’all really believed i wouldn’t scheme this whole round i’m ashamed and disgusted
20 5’s? 2 50’s? 10 10’s? now why the f-ck would i change for 100???
f-ck it, i’m back flippin from the jump, without a trampoline
my circle git it shakin’ with the hands, that’s a tambourine
since 40 beat bonnie, man your team can’t stand the bean
but sit, trust (citrus), we be peelin’ rounds like a tangerine
cans and beams, ammo, army fatigue, camo
open the door of your sportscar by the handle
packers home game, start airin’ (aaron) in that lambo(rghini)/lambeau (field)
i’m rockin’ bulletz across the chest like rambo
you can’t go to events and wear a tight black shirt there
or you must get asked by club staff if you work there
wait, musket? axe? club? staff?
being too sick’ll (sickle) confuse this dumb f-ck
me being sort of (sword) of p-ssed’ll (pistol) lead to you seeing that (gun) bucket
if i miss i’ll (missile) hit bulletz chin and rock it (rocket), you’ll be lumped up
well words is weapons, and these bars off the chain, like nun chucks
so f-ck, what you ’bout boss
cuz now i’m all outta schemes, so it’s all punches left, like southpaws
crosshairs aimed at your grill, i’m lettin rounds off
spittin in sync (sink) with the scope, come git ya mouth washed
sound off, n-gga you dissin a great, let’s be real, it’s a difference between dis and a great
with no respect for the god, y’all think dis sinner great, now that was good right?
now watch as dis enter great
peep how dis integrate, dis, end a great, dis send a great to the sky and make his center disintegrate
wait, this apollo meets drago fam
if you swung, you’d break your fingers on my jaw though fam
how you gon crackheads when god gave you hollow hands (hollohans)
i’ll lean em, like the cup that be in hollow hands
you follow fam, they had to pay me extra to take you
40 coulda gave you the beats, like drake’s crew
you lettin’ born gas you up? he fake too
he shoulda been frank (benjamin franklin), he knew 100 (new $100) would get his face blew (blue)
replace who? you just a clone tryna sound like me
but you ain’t never stood in front of three rounds like these

[round 3: 100 bulletz]
yo when i dis in the great, dis in the in the great
i flew here over isles see and i’ll see what my eye’ll see
oh you from beantown right?
well in the grocery store beans are in aisles see
you lost to magic and eric, right? that’s easy!
it’s kinda the same when i’m spittin fam
cuz they both had hiv, n’ u got no idea how sick i am
let’s get it, man, this rounds it, the poundbig like p. diddy twitter
two arms squeezing on ya chest ain’t a t-tty twister
the illest spitter, i’m bacon with the penn (bakin’ with the pen) like mystic river
can pack a full house: best friends with a d.j. like kimmy gibbler
i seen ya crew! since you hang with marks, i’m back whippin n-ggas!
if they (day) react, shiftee, the first hit slam… that’s sticky fingaz
a second shot knockin back rum… but i ain’t sippin liquor
the deuce put this p-ssy in a box… that’s kitty litter
these knuckles leave ya face in pieces; the rest of ya life you got a puzzled look
or that gat blew/baloo! the barrel/bear’ll raise this boy like the jungle book
when i said the .22 or the .38, aliyah and r. kelly, was dead nice
but you get the .38 or the .44, that’s danny myers or head i.c.e
got a gun so big, ya boy said yikes, run for it run
when a canadian pop metal, like sum 41
i’ll put a switchblade where ya rib cage is:
wish you and feelgood could switch places
you’ll catch this smack on cam like twizz taped it
run in ya house, you can argue with a. smith like skip bayless
bow! leave dna on the couch like charlie clips bas-m-nt
i spit flames but these bars cold whether or not you see the kid ill
ya stock dropped below zero… mine is 100 with the win chill. (minus 100 with the windchill)
why dumb it down? if bars go over heads, that’s half the h-ssle
diz vs math: you won’t get the punch til’ after the battle
you say u spit haymakers? them random shots ain’t enough, son
me? i set up the punch… like lush one
shoulda wore a teflon jason mask and a bullet proof hoodie too
cuz they was right, guns don’t k!ll people, bulletz do!

[round 3: chilla jones]
when they announce i’m on the card, they know it’s gon spike the hype
when they announce you on the card, it gets more dislikes than likes
i’m nice, but n-ggas say bulletz off the wall like a ricochet
he look like a tough guy but sound like nick lachey
his wifey cheatin’ f-ckin hollohan every which a way
and once she got jeff hard d(ick) (jeff hardy) that was the twist of fate
i’m tim mcveigh, bomb sh-t, palm gripped
shots goin’ straight from the heat to your calves/cavs like lebron did
a body shot could break strong ribs, but i’ma smoke a square, no need to maul bro, 100 (marlboro 100s) get the long cig
it’s on kid, a couple shots left up in this new pound
look through the crowd, like “where’s 100?”, they brought me to you clown
what the f-ck could he do now? look at “100” up close
it’s only right cuz you the (1), in front of dese 2 rounds (00)
it sounds, like you tryna flex
but even with the sk!ll it (sk!llet), probably won’t pan verse a iron chef
cookin n-ggas, boy’ll (boil) see i’m seasoned with swag
squeezin’ a mag, i’m marinatin’ puttin beef in a bag
so listen f-g, i don’t wanna hear bars bout how your hammers spray
you married, 30 plus, into comic books and anime
you don’t handle treys
we ‘posed to believe you pop gats
with 4s singin’? harmin eyes (harmonize) like a doo wop track?
and that you move weight and you got crack?
i wouldn’t see bulletz in a thug life with a 2pac tat
that oo wop clap, shots fly your clique can’t flee it
i’m leanin’ on him with the metal, like a kickstand peep it
this gun so big, that if i load a clip and squeeze it
will pick bulletz up off the ground, like a hitman remix
jesus, i’m the meanest when i spit 100
still got a 5th named zero that shoot quick 100
but i named this .38 wilt, cuz the chamber lend (chamberlain) shots to hit 100
and they’ll share the body, 50-50, if you don’t split 100
f-ck a teflon jason mask and bullet proof hoodie too
with that being said, what the f-ck could 100 bulletz do
now look at you, amateur spitter
if i ever see the mother of your children i’ma damage her n-gga
spark, aim for the heart, load the cannon and hit her
like where the raptors play, how i air a can at her center (air canada center)
remember…you the one that wanted this battle, but you losin now
against mr. jump to top tier from the provin’ grounds! bosstown!

- king of the dot lyrics

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