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mic galper - reality check (chris webby/tim gallo diss) lyrics

chorus (mic galper):
you going to get ridiculed, lyrical or physical
run up in your interview, c-ck back finish you
i’ve been on some whack sh-t, f-cking with you amateurs
off the bat i should have made you make me f-cking sandwiches
i can beat you anything, any sport, any game, even little things, compet-tion is my middle name!

verse 1 (mic galper):
all these f-ggot want to know, yo, why you diss webby?
b-tch i don’t need a reason, but reasons, i got plenty
he was acting like a bully, in reality he p-ssy taking shots at random rappers who just trying to make their money
he dissing the innocent rappers, minding their business just rapping
acting like he’s the biggest lyricist when his lyrics is average
he want to rumble with the rookie make him crumble like a cookie
f-ck him, snuff him like snooki start smushing this p-ssy
because my previous diss, it wasn’t even a diss, it was a little jab b-tch just talking my sh-t
me and cash k!lled a bottle before i started to spit
and we recorded some sh-t, and it was funny as sh-t
and did we take it overboard? dog, come on of course i’d let it go back to before, but some lines have been crossed, so f-ck it
timmy, you could rap. that diss could have been crack. if you really had your man’s back and wasn’t a rat
if you really talked like that, if you really walked like that, if it wasn’t all an act, man it would have been not bad
you could fool the whole world, but i know what you did, and you know what you did, we all know what you did
you did a lot of fabrication and exaggeration plus a lot of galper hating deceiving misleading with miscalculations
blatant false information. delivered out of desperation. and i don’t really got the patience
but i got phone conversations explaining why webby on probation. explain to people how you folded in interrogation
police statements, confessions that helped investigation for a bb gun stick up?
d-mn, you’re some f-cking gangsters
timmy’s a grown man, snitching on his own fam(family.)
timmy belong in the witness protection program
that’s why i had to dip that sh-t was to fake for me
back in my hood for good i rep(resent) it faithfully
i’m not a gangster, no, i don’t got to lie
i got an honest job, you know, a nine to five
and i don’t drive, the q train right down the block
you, you got a lot of guap, courtesy of mom and pop
i use webby, now i must abuse webby
remember when we had you open up for wu webby?
tell the truth webby, what happened, they booed webby
everybody felt like the corniness was to heavy
you can verify with anyone, son, i never lie
i spit a true story, surely, every time
new york city like, yo, who’s this herby guy? suburban and nerdy self-proclaiming that he’s certified
and if i want beef, then he’s serving fries. what? and apparently he murders guys?
get the f-ck out of here. f-ggot queer. on stage getting sloppy after half a beer
webby and timmy watching s-x and the city, webby yelling at timmy, eat the celery with me, shoot these chemicals in me, shrink your t-st-c-ls with me, start flexing your t-tties in front of twelve year old biddies
you aren’t brother, you’re bis-xual, lovers s-xing each other
sitting next to each other, giggling and texting each other
flexing, squeezing, hugging, rubbing against each other
there’s some f-ggot sh-t going on
corny a-s suckers, find me on 23rd and voorhies you suckers
that little f-ggot wave isn’t for me you suckers
that’s why i left and dissed you, can’t respect what’s not official
i’m from the home of greasy crooks, you f-ggots want to be us, but please give up
because i took webby to the brook(lyn), son, he was shook, my people looked at him scheeving like easy jux
i’m trying to bring that real sh-t back fast and you’re k!lling it
no, i’m not feeling it, your style’s not legitimate
i’m 18 years old, i can’t wait for my career to unfold, i hope they scream, f-ck galper at your shows
hope a brooklyn mother f-cker throw tomatoes at your nose
hope those same tomatoes stain your f-cking clothes
i want all the posers to hate me so my face get exposed, meet the enemy, the bad guy, i’m making it known
i’m taking your throne, i’m breaking your bones, you send your g-y friend timmy you couldn’t face me alone
timmy’s a clone in the making, no, he faker than clones. he faker than that voice that drake make in his songs. no he faker than a muslim eating bacon in the morn(ing). no he faker than c-n-l street, fugazy, vitton
the definition of fake, is a b-tch and a snake, and if webby is the b-tch that mean that timmy the snake
whispering about my camp but can’t say sh-t to my face. when i see you, i’m going to see you, i’m going to spit in your face
f-ck the chit-chatter. i make your whole sh-t splatter, p-ssy. i make your whole clique scatter
witness the hungry emcee diss the rich rappers. swagger jackers man they got they whole sh-t backwards
conneticut suburbs, i call it buns city
they aren’t rapping they’re flapping like big pun’s t-tty
no disrespect, but i rep(resent) one city
still the throne and that home of that one biggie
i sh-t on you, son you like kim who sonned nicki
actually, she daughter her, me, i’m going to slaughter you
i was rocking lrg while you was rocking nautical
then you bought a couple shirts and thought i wouldn’t notice you?
biting my clothes, my flows, scribbling down my formula
trying to talk like you from here, i’ll send you back to narnia
scope you then i’ll corner you
poke you in your cornea
choke you until you’re coughing blood, homie i’m just warming up
and am i warm enough? sonny i’m like florida, the coroner going to scoop you timmy tattled to an officer
because gallo is just soft as f-ck. soft as what? soft as b-tt. softer than a little munchkin pumpkin why you talking tough?
when you know how soft you are. how soft? soft enough for me to come dolo and f-ck both you up

verse 2 (mic galper):
mic came and conquered it, spectacular vernacular
my knife game immaculate, my gun game is accuarate
my knuckle game laughing at your tongue game, you’re flapping it, the rap game went f-ggot man, n0body battling
everybody’s smiling, kissing a-s grabbing it, n0body spitting, bunch of metaphor yabbling
babbling, swagging and bragging and i’m not haven’t it, but if, webby is famous then i’d rather be nameless
chill in the bas-m-nt, face l’s, laugh at your lameness, because i’d rather be, oh so hated then overrated
so i’m dissing both you ladies it’s over baby. webby you waited to long, so sh-t, even if you respond it’s going to be whack now, because you backed down, could tried but instead you send some whack clown
could of have some pride, but you just g-ssed inside, could of given me compet-tion chris but your body stiffened
you got that feeling like you couldn’t memorize a written
you not a real new yorker, you haven’t been through 9/11
how you going to walk around saying sh-t like, “i’m a legend.”
you’re not a real spitter, no, you’re just rhyming different
i mean come on son, what do you really rap about? at 15 i was rapping the sh-t you’re rapping now?
at 16 i was bagging the b-tches you’re bagging now
at 17 i was a smooth kid singing for b-tches
at 18 i said, “f-ck that, singing’s for b-tches.”
but then i back peddled, because, singing takes some b-lls. i mean frank sinatra, he was singing for broads
anyways, back to dissing the whackest of the whackest, the over animated f-ggot with the exaggerated accent
because i battle for respect, and you battle for checks, this isn’t a diss track b-tch just a reality check

- mic galper lyrics

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