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urltv - murda mook vs. party arty lyrics

[round 1: party arty]
mooky, ya bars is wack and ya lingo
but i ain’t puff, i ain’t dance to jingles
i’ll pop ya top like a can of pringles
you don’t really want the god to lose it
cause i’m a n-gga with the heart to do it
i’m in the kitchen like martha stewart
when i spark the rugers, i can’t lose like parker lewis
when i was in rikers, you was in diapers
i was in ciphers rhymin’ wit’ lifers
you was at home, tryin’ to get tighter
rhymin’ off beat, i was poppin’ off heat
yeah, you reppin’ ya crew, steppin’ to who?
i don’t eat p-ssy but i’ll make an exception for you
p-ssy, n-ggas know what the weapon will do
you ain’t nice cause you the best in ya crew
don’t gas him, i told gatson
you beatin’ me? is like eminem f-ckin’ wit’ black chicks, it won’t happen
dude, you not a boss, i pop brews i don’t gotta floss
i drop jewels (jews) like the holocaust
i got tools like construction workers
and i wanna see ya boss cause i don’t f-ck wit’ workers
to each his own, i keep the chrome to reach ya dome
this n-gga is so ugly who should’ve battled on the speaker phone
cause i don’t wanna see his face
easy man

[round 1: murda mook]
these lame n-ggas act invincible, until the kid slam on him like vince’ll do
i never knew sensible
my cake good and i been great with math, sh-t [?] every cl-ss, i’m the principle
y’all n-ggas minuscule, what i got intent to prove?
okay, yeah i’m a fool cause i finished school
sh-t is cool, all the hatin’ and the dissin’ cause listen
when this is finished y’all be payin’ my tuition
see, i beat the system, i’m a crook wit’ a degree
he a messenger, he still think booker t is a wrestler
i got packages, look what i sent you
the kid finish lead like i wrote a book with a pencil
you a simp too, talkin’ ’bout how he tag and toss ’em
we know d-mn well he snuggle like the fabric softener
some n-ggas get hype with they people
start actin’ tough til they be hooked to machines that sound like trucks backin’ up
listen here, this rappin’ stuff, like rippin’ a wet napkin up
i’m ’bout my bucks, i’m also like quack the daffy duck
and i don’t need cash to be out on the road
cause i could charge like i’m goin’ to the hole outta control
every week a hundred stacks
tell me, who runnin’ at this b-tch like a pimp? i pop her and she always comin’ back
i be in many places chillin’, not playin’ the villain, until n-ggas get to grillin’
and when i get that feelin’
like they gon’ run up behind and take what’s mine
that’s when i pull out a nine and pop they spine
you ain’t hype, nah you calm cause you feel it
but arty, ya days up like a calendar
and he never slung crack, he was too dumb for that
he’s glad them days is over, he was made to doja
n-gga told him to “add baking soda”, right?
he let the sh-t bake in soda
murda mook done got rid of more weight than oprah
when the can’ approach ya, he’ll fold like a bad hand in poker
you a joker, i don’t know why you wanna run ya mouth
when ya guns are bleach stained, arty it’s never comin’ out
and i don’t care if he don’t die when i pop him
his moms still gon’ cover his corpse cause his f-ckin’ medicaid can’t cover the cost
that’ll end all them hype days
you ain’t alarmin’ me, and this is not a pharmacy when i have you searchin’ for the right (rite) aid
are you okay? this person will carve you
the pump will leave you wide open, i guess he felt it wasn’t worth it to guard you
i’m a motherf-ckin’ savage holmes
my bars shatter bones, leavin’ him astray like he followin’ a rabbit home
don’t test me kid, cause if i don’t have a chrome
i’ma grab a phone and do it like joe pesci did
or you can get a million cuts from knife
took advice from my n-ggas in coney island; f-ck ya life
lacin’ ya jordans is the only time he touch the mic (mike)
and i hope ya wife not in here, cause if she is, i’ma f-ck tonight
and it’s obvious who better between us
he could tell who gon’ win by the names if he never had seen us
he a diva, get steamed up or do like that hammer dance
i’ll break ya f-ckin’ legs for thinkin’ you had a chance
quit, before you get hit wit’ the f-ckin’ chrome
your swing knock one out the park how fast we seen him runnin’ home
i’m in the zone, wanna stop these hits? i’ma pop these clips
too bad he can’t save his life on a floppy disc
easy!

[round 2: party arty]

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