URLtv - Bigg K vs Half Past 7 lyrics

[Round 1: Bigg K] f** boy! Dick s**er! Loser! That fit you I got a gym star that'll leak out every gallon of fluid that's in you Cause you ain't nothing but food on that menu I will smack the sh** out you, then boot it back in you I got a a hundred shot drum and the clip is full I sick my wolves at his sheep, tell 'em get the wool Shotgun pumps that could flip a bull I'ma have body parts everywhere like a Pick-n-Pull You at home with your b**h watching soap operas I'm uptown negociating with the coke shoppers MAC-10s, Sks; both choppers Right hooks, left hooks; show stoppers I'm in your crib a** naked; no boxers Try to f** your baby mother out her door knockers And she pitching out your packs, she a ho, partna I sling that rock behind your back like a globetrotter I'm ballin' like I'm Stephalosh, bangin' like I'm Okafour Weed came from Mexico, caine came from Bogotá Put a trio of holes in you like a bowling ball Dump a gallon of Hennesey in your open sore Let's go to war, yoke him, throw him overboard The last flip I ran threw more bags them my grocery store How I flip a couple P's and get some house money All from getting rid of Bud like Al Bundy You ain't swiping nothing but a E.B.T Sniffing powder, popping pills dipped in PCP His girl said, "can we shoot a DVD?" I said, "yeah, if your head's slamming like a DDT!" f**ing with papi, I get the guns and the kilo cheap He threw me a nine I call Eddie Guerrero, it's that Latino heat I'ma send something stupid through the roof of your fraud a** Soon as you swing that knuckle Guerrero coming of the buckle like a frog splash What you know about turning your microwave into a crack lab No bank account, my life savings in a trashbag Somebody tell Half Past, my shooting ain't half a** That Ruger from Baghdad I will light your mutherf**ing whip up like a Cash Cab I be sour chain smoking, liquor chasing with a beer Your flow and your stage presence is lamer den your gear You gon' come with a bunch of white jokes Say I'm wasting my career But you gon' feel like a white boy When I stick two Gauges in your ear You got the swagger of Dave Chappelle And a face like Humpty Hump Say something I don't like, we gon' fight, and I'ma f** you up I'm talking two hands with a quick cross, scoop slam and a hip toss I go hard in the paint, you gon' drop the Pill like Rick Ross [Round 2: Bigg K] I said you a f*ggie, I'm talking hot pink wigs and lipstick You drove here in a six speed, and your car got a dil*o stick shift You a f*ggie, your upper lip smell like punk bu*t Every morning you workout like a ninja Swinging a set of dil*o nunchucks Y'all probably thought I was gon' lose Either that or you never heard me Like I road six hours on a Chinese bus to let 'em murk me I came to go to work, clocking in, dead 'em early Punch in his time card, clocking out 7:30 I got a stash in the floor where I tuck the d** So I ain't saying I'm dancing when I "cut a rug" If you see me in your club holla what it does I'm jumping out a big body like Buddy Love I heard you snitched on your best friend, that's jaw dropping You got the state trying to execute him like Bernard Hopkins Well since you telling pig tales and got the law watching I feel like Pippi with this semi and that long stocking FaceBook thug, we mobbin' You only beefing with the web like Green Goblin They told me don't sleep on 7, keep talking I'll run through him in my dreams; I'm sleepwalking Ain't nobody sweating this old f** face cup cake You ain't from New York, you from upstate I hit your car with two full clips and Im clapping more I don't play that bullsh**, I fold the whip in half when I'm at a door I'm swinging with the blade of a razor to cut him up The docs'll have to staple a gut like a tummy tuck When he fall I'ma boot him til he start puking and buckle up Spit on him and reboot him like the computer f**ing up These bars ain't some sh** that you toy with I hit a nerve and rub it in like medicnal ointment Why don't you ask a k**er I did a bid in the joint with Baby I'm s**er free, like a little kid's dentist appointment I'm in and out of jail, you a family man I eyeball without a scale, selling gram for gram Bare knuckle, we could rumble going hand to hand I will k** you with a hook like Candyman [Round 3: Bigg K] I said listen here dickface, your 16s is a disgrace I play soccer with your notebook and frisbee with your mixtape I don't give a f** about you having homefield advantage In this big stake I came to the belly of the beast and I'm going home with a rib plate I know what you think, nah I ain't having none of that f** you, I'll pluck you in your ears And give the back of your neck that s**er smack Whip out that 50 shot fold out stock and get to dumping that I clap it the long way like a jumping jack I battle on the side just to pay up bills I usually got some beats playing while break up krillz Thinking I got court in the morning but I'ma stay up still Cause my smoke is hitting the gla** like a lay-up drill You being real and nice is two different things I can't correlate I put you out in the second round like Norfolk did Missouri State Now we in the third round but it ain't been well worth the wait This been a cold case of murder since the first 48 sh** real on this side, we ain't you Im beefing with my P.O. and the D.A. too I got slimes out Harlem and in the BK...oow That's a lot of trouble you in, if I gotta show you how VA do By the time that sink in it'll be a bar they talk 'bout But I got a rifle I nicknamed spiteful It'll eat your mutherf**ing heart out Blood staining your linoleum, soak in the sofa dark Cause I'm shooting like Napoléon, breaking a bone apart But you Half Past 7, seven thirty, so what? That just mean when I clock you with these two hands I'ma watch you fold up My style is stitches in the head; I got it sewed up You s** outside in the winter time; cold bu*t! If his trap doing numbers I'ma crack that melon You be duc taped, leaking in a trashbag smellin' I been around the block, stop, blast that weapon Tell his workers I'm doin y'all dirty, I need seventy thirty Or you can't sell a half past 7 You wouldn't survive the type of sh** I seen Shootouts and fist fights to defend my team I'm talking non-stop struggle trying to live my dream That's why I flip when I get in the ring You'd think I'm Prince Naseem I'm nice... like, rappers pay me four to feature You nice... like, you hold the mutherf**ing door for people My delivery and stage presence some sh** that he can't mess with And ain't no way to flip this L, it ain't Tetris