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urltv – geechi gotti vs. rum nitty lyrics

[round 1: geechi gotti]
n-gga you’se a b-tch
you ain’t really ’bout that life crip
you just a wannabe, man on some dyk- sh-t
chest open, soon as the knife fit, it’s turning into a slaughter
cause now i got his heart on the blade like i’m pimpin’ his daughter
get him some water, he lookin’ mad mad
potato on the barrel, he gettin’ hash tagged
yo’ -ss trash, and my .38 special like the first kiss
spine shot, back out from the iron on some surf sh-t
speakin’ of tsu, that n-gga let you live
i told cuz on the turf you trippin’
keepin’ you breathin’ was his worst decision
matter of fact, baow, now there go that third round surf was missin’
boy you trippin’, you know i’ma sh-t starter
headshot he leakin’, then my b-tch spark him
cause lil’ baby gunner make him drip harder
i crip harder, with two glocks, get ya boo shot
you the leader of the crew? baow, it was a casket, ’til i put a quarter in it, now it’s a jukebox
n-gga who hot? you only put me on the clique cause you know i’m a sh-t starter
the loc make the clique harder
headshot, now you see his face on both sides, he a trick quarter
bro i’m vince carter, i came in the league bangin’
baow, and i’ma shoot ’til the body drop
and like the phone when the call is blocked, i let it keep ringin’
the heat bangin’
on crip i was gonna star dawg, i ain’t even let ’em all off
but the reporter said bro took 15 shots, guess he a ball hog
f-ck all y’all, n-gga who got next?
this round went over the head like it was too complex
but he’s so muhf-ckin’ short it’s easy to miss
i ain’t even think of that, since that b-tch went over the top, i had to bring it back
this n-gga wack
you stole tay roc’s style, took gun bars called it a “gun line”, it’s plain to see
no gray area, black and white like the one time
so bein’ called his son, that sh-t not gon’ stop
i used to sell fake dope to fiends
this ain’t my first time havin’ to serve a knock off roc
the chopper knock off blocks
it’s gon’ feel like a missile was sent
code word: ya daddy don’t love you

[coffee brown]
f-ck does that mean?

[geechi]
this pops ain’t gonna miss you for sh-t
man you a b-tch, you better watch ya words
sh-t can get tragic tonight
you can literally die over a gun line like the f-ggot in life
i’m packin’ tonight, extendo
man it’s hard to keep the gun tucked
d-ck swingin’ like nunchuck
tell ya lady “don’t run up”, she get a gun b-tt
and i ain’t gotta explain why i hit a n-gga b-tch, i ain’t young buck
you a dumb f-ck
get shot in ya face for frontin’
try to run you hear that {gun c-cking} uh uh, jason comin’
you great wit’ punchin’ i ain’t a nitty fan
two straps, baow, baow, them k!ll shots ain’t from the henny man
the semi blam, was supposed to k!ll you in london
they would’ve had the funeral out in az, after i get rid of rum
cause homies’ll pour it (homie’s a poet); kg
aye g, i don’t even think he a crip it’s just something about you
headshot, he wanna hood hop, i can see the blood comin’ up out you
n-gga i asked yo’ b-tch what that mouth do
then i stuck a revolver in her p-ssy
she’ll blew her walls off the hinges
found out a lot about her, had my nose all in her business
n-gga, speakin’ of business, when you talkin’ ’bout money
i know that you fakin’ rum
man, battle rap really know you gettin’ paid in crumbs
come to think, you can’t even afford a drink
i know what ya makin’ (jamaican) rum
talkin’ all this doe, but you wanna rock knock off kicks though
all this cash but fake j’s what this f-g cop; carl winslow
what it hit fo’? i’m from compton, f-ck yo’ city
n-gga my state harder, we barely even claim you, you only half west like ‘ye daughter
every time somebody bring up crip you go like this
who you think you scarin’ with that? i’m airin’ the strap
yeah gotti got bundles, that’s how i could split this b-tch wig with the hair still attached
and when it’s real, y’all can tell
y’all can see it in they eyes
go ‘head rum see if they believe them lies

[round 1: rum nitty]
now this sh-t wasn’t up to me, i kinda feel like you tricked me
to battle someone from the team
we supposed to be in london, f-ck you mean?
i knew i wouldn’t make it though, i never put nothin’ overseas (over c’s)
we got rum nitty vs bay bay loc
aka geechi gotti, this is grade a smoke
i’m finna wig on you, all the way ready for static
if i catch you in traffic, i’ma lift (lyft) on you, wait outside ya crib for you
for them comments i’ma post up with a short clip, i gotta gift (gif) for you
no game we clap op’, couple throwaways
ain’t sh-t on my name the strap hot
grab the k with the blade attached, watch
put the blade in yo’ top, now it’s a knife stickin’ outta bay in that (bayonet) spot
that’s how we pushin’ though
applyin’ pressure, ’til they applyin’ pressure…on a bullet hole
your blood will pour from that, god
you gonna need tourniquets, bandages, gauze
this sh-t is more than rap, it’s dirty in the game
i am legend, i will put my own dawg to sleep, don’t worry ’bout a thing
st-rdy when i aim
100 buck, you get 77, i made a currency exchange
don’t f-ck wit’ us, plus i got some cheap overseas k!llers that run wit’ us
for like 30 yens, euros, pounds, they’ll rush n-ggas
take his gun, stick a 30 in your old pound now it buck different
f-ck n-gga, we can scr-p fam’
fast hands, crash land, catchin’ wreck like a dash cam’
masked man, squeeze and bang
see his brain wave in the machine, it’s a cat scan
come and try, but i’m the one, they send n-ggas to when they wanna die
i told ill, it’s like a car in london how that shotgun left will (wheel) right
what a line
same shotgun and you starin’ (steering) from the other side
baow
if the contract states we not allowed to hurt him
i disobey y’all (ja) rule, gotti (god he) know i only sign for murder
blue flag, wrapped around a g lot
cause no prints can keep you outta a cell, it’s like a screen lock
whole team, they soft, pull the biggest shift
nah scratch that, the little grip for the mafia, i’m dj paul
i unload, fast as a marine, i’m so focused
then empty out, then add in a magazine in a pro motion
30 popper, i’m finna murder patna
these .50 fn shots ain’t curtis vodka
i do it how the dope smugglers do it, cause every trip i’ma stay in my bag
just get accustomed to it
b-tch, you can’t keep it real yourself
n-gga suicide or i’ll do the job
you decide, k!ll yourself

[round 2: geechi gotti]
they say my rounds be too real, you can really feel what i’m talkin’ about
back of the head with the shot, least now he got some real rounds comin’ out ya mouth
cuz know what i’m about, revolver, nose look like a foot long
beatin’ yo’ -ss all battle, sh-t finna feel like a put on
speakin’ of foot on, lookin’ at ya background it’s time for a check
all them punches, but you prolly never even had a fight in a set
i got my respect, cause n-ggas know i’m not a rapper, i’m a crip
all i roll wit’ is gangstas
i’ll catch him slippin’ in traffic and leave rum spilled all over the whip, sh-t i could’ve got arrested for a open container
bro you a hater, get ya crew wet
two straps, singin’ together, it’s a duet
hit you and ya n-ggas at the same time, sh-t these is group texts
n-gga you blessed
i put my mac down and let bullets from the .9 get sent
you survive this sh-t, then it’s return of the mack, it’s a 90’s hit
grimy sh-t, in the hood where all my time gets spent
i’m on the block airin’ n-ggas sh-t out like it’s my time to vent
n-gga .9’s get lift, put a lot on his mind, he a heavy thinker
all they gon’ say is, “rum gone and gotti k!lled him.” sh-t i’ma heavy drinker
ya girl a tweeker, for that crystal ball she’ll do whatever fool
yo smack them deposits is straight, but servin’ this b-tch meth was the better move
so when you ain’t around, i slip her (slipper) gl-ss; cinderella shoes
n-gga i’ma fool
you don’t wanna get silly wit’ me
buck 50, going straight to the point, i’m just gettin’ down to the nitty gritty
i’m in arizona, yeah i’m ridin’ through nitty’s city
bang bang, chitty chitty, headshots, see somethin’ come off the top, oh this n-gga witty
n-gga really? kg the only one think he a rider
we can shoot it out or we can go wit’ the hands
y’all will see rum get mixed up somethin’ sweet, now he a pina colada
me? i’ma slaughter, you don’t wanna live like this
my sh-t reckless, i skipped breakfast
that just mean scratch the serial (cereal) guns what i’m talkin’
this .9 ain’t got an owner
this b-tch an orphan n-gga
get ya coffin, please believe this punk dyin’
baow, get gun b-tted, even though i’m loaded i’m still whippin’; drunk drivin’
n-gga f-ck lyin’, i don’t even wanna hear gun bars from a n-gga who ain’t shot sh-t
.40 on me, the clip longer than bigg k block list
i’m from nitty blocc crip
you from insane? stop it dawg, baow, oh yeah from he from insane, cause he ain’t got it all
n-gga knock it off
they told me, don’t be a menace, but i still showed up to his spot like, “do we got a problem fool?”
.50 still bangin’ on the porch like bartholomew
n-gga i’ma fool and this n-gga nitty know what it is
i’ll bring this house and straight go at his kids
side shot, just had to go at his ribs
and when it’s real, n-ggas can tell
y’all can see it his eyes
and when it’s yo’ turn see if you can make n-ggas believe them lies
n-gga time

[round 2: rum nitty]
so this who y’all brought to take out nitty?
how n-gga?
he can’t out punch or out spit me
f-ck he gonna out crip me?
i doubt really
this ain’t an even playing field, i’m serious
i give n-ggas that, he ain’t even playin’ feel
he the champion though, i can’t even hate on sk!lls
you had a good year, now you need to make a will
free smoke season, that’s headshots for no reason
this fo’ i don’t let go, the en vogue treatment
ya soul leavin’, we ain’t make london but you’ll still be an rip tat’ in old english
i catch ya b-tch in traffic, she’ll get popped n-gga
i’ll pull a white ‘lac, next to ya baby lane like ‘pac k!ller
glocks wit’ us, i feel like i’m not alone with the arm like gothika
block bender, bang on an op’ n-gga
trap full of german chop in case swat stick us (swastikas)
whole squad tryin’ to do you, really bangin’
there be signs everywhere, you thinkin’ god talkin’ to you
everyone on the scene get it, piece grippin’
the .30 clip l!ckin’ longer than gene simmons
who you beat n-gga?
you showed suge a (sugar) high level but you let glue’ coast (glucose) through you, you’se a sweet n-gga
you gon’ clip who? b-tch move
the sig’ shoot from three feet when the kid pull [pool]
big tool, get ya b-tch blew (blue)
make her say “ahh”, and then she ate it (initiated), now she crip too
you think this n-gga nice?
be don’t even be black and equal and you expect me to act civil, right
steal his life, out in london with the biggest pint, y’all picked this fight
and so y’all got me flashin’ on a british night (knight)
get replaced by gotti? please, stop it
you nice, but i’m poseidon, this some sh-t they gotta see (god of sea)
two glocks out, one hold 17 and it’s 23 in one (23n1)
gon’ get me locked down, i’m talkin’ hostile
but i can back it up with a mac like icloud
it’s just love taps when i’m punchin’ on y’all
but for anything over 3gs, the gloves can come off
something concealed in the pants tucked, couldn’t tell i had one
til i pull a shotgun outta nowhere, random
that n-gga suge so f-ckin’ trash, y’all promote him though
tweetin’ like he wanna get in the ring, i know he don’t
he must be high, y’all gon’ have to give shotgun mouth to mouth for blowin’ smoke
b-tch, you can’t keep it real yourself
n-gga suicide or i’ll do the job
you decide, k!ll yourself

[round 3: geechi gotti]
i’m a trap star
i can get you anything from half to a whole p deal
got fiends comin’ back for the white, you would think the c0ke have free refills
n-gga when we chill, all the crips with me, we in the c section
if he flexin’, somebody bound to get murked, ‘matics will squirt
you will see a body comin’ out the box like a natural birth
you look like a smurf, and everything soft’s what you remind me of
they say however you come is how you go and they ain’t lyin’ cuz
you came out a p-ssy and now you die in (dyin’) one
try me son, the last n-gga to test my gangsta, p-ss
you do the math, yo’ life ain’t scary as mine
the only thing i learned in school was how to carry a .9
n-gga we both gang bang, so we know it’s some stupid sh-t
i started ’round 12, i was just a foolish kid
seen plenty n-ggas die young, whether it’s the glock or the ruger spittin’
it’s f-cked up how n-ggas families gotta miss ’em, cause them bullets didn’t
n-gga who you kiddin’? y’all know it’s cold outside
somebody get him a sweater for the chopper
separate his head from his neck, docs gon’ have to knit him (nitty) together
n-gga get it together, i’m tired of hearin’ gun bars
i wanna see these n-ggas really pull triggers
i swear to god, these n-ggas backgrounds be faker than school pictures
you n-ggas, know i can teach you all about straps
llamas and tecs, where i’m from, only thing i can guarantee is murder
cause i was taught the only thing promised is death
n-gga on my mama you blessed
cause bro you still breathin’
my partna got a headshot, he vegetable status
they didn’t even pull the plug, he literally still, breathin’
it’s k!ll season
if you ain’t live like this, then them bars not relateable
i’m talkin’ ’bout yellow tape, flesh but the soul not available
seein’ a mama in the corner argue over the body, that’s not debatable
n-gga real life, you rap n-ggas the type to cry cause y’all heard beanie sigel got shot, witcha fake -ss
where i’m from, a beanie with some holes in it was just a face mask
i’m masked up, with a point to prove
walkin’ around with so much metal on my hip, you would think i got my joints removed
i had to remove myself from the fake
as a kid i ain’t have a lot of hobbies
i remember they said, “boy go get a life.” ’til i went and caught a body
n-gga you can’t talk to gotti, b-tch i do the talkin’ to
and i don’t think he official
if my lady catch me laid up with a ratchet she ain’t trippin’, she know i sleep wit’ a pistol
n-gga, beef what i’m into
thankin’ god i ain’t died yet
you ever had to talk to a mother like, “yo, your son just died.”
and she look at you like, “well n-gga why you ain’t ride yet?”
the streets will make a mother’s love cold and it’s sad to say
she don’t even give a f-ck who k!lled her son she tryin’ to figure out who gon’ retaliate
these true stories, type of sh-t you can’t exaggerate
this the school of hard knocks, jail and death is how you graduate
i’m glad you hate, i’m just teachin’ n-ggas stories about a dangerous life
these n-ggas out here trippin’ like, “y’all seen kanye’s sellin’ out to trump?” that’s crazy, right?
well not to me, since a kid i always knew ‘ye (yay’) was white
n-gga, aye it’s light
my partna grandma told him, “chill. boy you better slow down and get ya head right.”
that advice hunt her old -ss to this day, her baby got k!lled at a red light
where i’m from, homicide, man that sh-t is mandatory
the sh-t i seen as a kid will have you traumatized
they hate you when you up, so that moment when you kinda rise
the n-ggas watchin’ become saltier than mcdonald’s fries
i ain’t gotta lie
i really had to pull pistols on n-ggas that i love
you ever had them problems? shot a n-gga, seen his mama, still asked her ’bout him?
then when she asked you, “what happened?” you gotta make up stories when she say who got him
it’s f-cked up but most n-ggas would be dyin’ inside
but i learned to live with it like magic johnson
n-gga magnum’s poppin’, whoever you came wit’, i got a gat for
and that mean everybody get a round of fire (around the fire), we’re tellin’ camp stories
relax shorty, i’ve been shot, i can still feel the pain from it
the shoot outs, we got our name from it
i should’ve took the good route, instead i took the hood route
got a bullet in me now, i’m just too lazy to get it took out
n-gga look out, don’t be mentioning me
this chopper will flip a quarter, b-tch you wanna kick or receive?
you dealin’ wit’ a n-gga that’ll really f-ck you up
stomach shot, they like, “he can’t be crip. this blood he was chuckin’ up.”
and when it’s real, y’all can tell, y’all can see it in they eyes
yo’ turn, see if you can make n-ggas believe them lies
n-gga time

[round 3: rum nitty]
we got serial k!ller geechi gotti
this n-gga got bodies on bodies on bodies
mo’ bodies than mozzi, mo’- n-gga you’se a b-tch
if i send her through, it’s too catch you off guard, that’s how you use a b-tch
crucial sh-t, f-ck what crew i’m wit’
why (y) jump him? i catch him by myself i could use a pick (user pick)
raise the straps, so you can set it up, and on tape i’m gonna give bay the mac’s (betamax)
leave a n-gga stuck, stretched wit’ it
and anyone else on that bs get it (esket-t), with the little pump
send my cut and i tell you now, i’m only gon’ fly down and zip sh-t up
please push me, p-ssy i won’t go peacefully
100 shots, the piece fully
i reach, pull it, clap some, give you half up front like a league booked it
i up the tool, long barrel
got you starin’ down the whole round, it’s nothin’ new
the f-ck is you? he gets to soul sendin’, pull up pole grippin’
hop out, point on his block like he goal tendin’
this gon’ be a hard pill to swallow like gold member
then i go lift it, i clap a stray, even turn hollow into a john doe
bullet ain’t got no name
you be sellin’ wigs? ain’t sh-t that you can tell me n-gga
2 chainz, he done ran into the hair weave k!ller
no talk we makin’ visits, he said, “n-ggas talkin’ but we lived it.”
since a youngin’, i looked up to the robbers and the k!llers
on god i really lived it
remember in sp-ce jam when there was stealin’ talents?
sh-t i was with the monsters in the trenches
no f-ck n-gga scarin’ me, ain’t you do that can move me, i’m like london security
c-ssidy tryin’ to make a comeback, but gettin’ exposed by drag n-ggas
funny you tryin’ to switch lanes and got caught up in the trans-ition
we split melons, have ya sh-t swellin’
gun b-tt, now the bottom of the tec’s (texts) red like i misspelled it
you talkin’ hostile, i gotta drop you, mollywhop you
the lefty why you’re a mafia member, cause donnie brosco workin’
we get to clappin’ shots, clear out half the spot
leavin’ sh-t lookin’ alienated when we attack the block
b-tch…k!ll yaself

- urltv lyrics

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