Cruger - Conceited vs Cruger (Round Two) lyrics

[Cruger] You're not the king of punchlines, you're the king of bad puns Your jeans are too skinny to fit a handgun He'd be to scared of the noise it makes even if he had one Forget a gun, its like Temple Run One flick of a finger would make this little man jump So you met Fox through text battling, how gay are you both? They bonding through a common interest of making up jokes About ways they'll shout people when they blatantly don't That's an online relationship as fake as Charron's So your crews a bunch of fakers who met on a website Why does no one clown them? If that was now, Catfish could've done a episode about them But there's no one like 'em They're the best and so astounding; called the S.O.N.S. ‘cause they act like the Earth revolves around them But if you ask me your writing is sloppy A crew that came from the Internet That ain't the right clique to copy Your wear Polo ‘cause you're the size of a jockey This the mid section of your tour so that's why you get bodied Talking 'bout the guns that you bust like your bad guys But that's something That the S.O.N.S haven't touched, like tan lines That's why they don't even get their facts right They be talking 'bout AK-46's and MAC-9's You say you're getting b**hes, but the way you act might Tell us you just go out with boys, like a stag night I don't know why you rap like you do You wear leather vests and have spiky shoes So don't talk about guns, you ain't that type of dude Act right, your swag's like the black guy from Blue It looks like you're tryin' to go for the gay image You should come out the closet And your clothing should stay in it When you buy your hoodie You ain't suppose to cut off each sleeve Leather outfits is where he blows his money weekly Who the f** wears that sh**?! No one does, believe me You be dressing fruity, like a coconut bikini [Conceited] What b**h in the right mind would ever give him drawers? Last night Charlie Clips f**ed his b**h raw Then DNA came through and made that chick fall She know I'm next to slide in, like a sim card, ‘cause this S.O.N. is next to be in your queen's spot; Prince Charles I put her on her knees, baby get her lick on Cru, you better tape that stupid b**h, ‘cause as soon as we crawl she got nailed, that's something that Cru should fix But instead he stay chasing the cat, like Pepe le Pew While I keep putting her in more positions That look like wrestling moves She lies to him, like, "No, Cruger Let's just stay freinds and be cool.", but I should know that just kicking it is something that Freddy will do That Desi will shoot, and like Pilate, leave your body stretched For thinking you the wildest you can get a lot of TEC's I'll start snapping, like paparazzi, I hope you got a vest If I look at you and see that what you got is fresh Then you can get capped and jacked, like Johnny Depp Pull out that shotty next and pop the thing I'll let it light up and ring, like a slot machine AK's, AR's, Glocks and beams My whole arsenal will start kicking, like your soccer team Yes, I said "soccer", it's not "football" Now, wait a minute, I know he's thinking His super power rebu*tal sense he has is tingling He's like, "I'm better at rap, son, I'll sever this wack bum You talk about our soccer teams You're just jealous New York doesn't have one" I ain't jealous of that one Now, correction, this is what it'd look like If Justin Beiber was a tweaker On a bunch of reefer and some dimes of the crack You look so much like Ellen DeGeneres That the truth is there's no punchline for that So if he ever say he'll spray, grip chromes and lift bones This must be Bedrock The only thing Fred pop is pebs and flint stones So I see him, run up on him, let them shells speak And start shooting at Cruger, like we on Elm Street