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letra de pat stay vs. shotgun suge - urltv

[pat stay]
who callin’? let’s see – call it, suge

(-suge starts his first round before the coin is flipped-)

[round 1: shotgun suge]
you like to judge n-gg-s in your battles!
we kept the files
i’m that young black n-gg- they expect to wild
i came dressed to see a judge, ‘cause i’m expectin’ trial
i expect him to judge me on how i’m muslim, how i gang-bang, how i raise my seed
but you can’t judge me or make me bleed
or make me put my hand on a bible i don’t even read
let’s get one thing straight, judge
you be talkin’ heavy
you wanna be a judge? i c-ck the dezzi
turn it around, and beat a judge: dr. sebi!
you tried to judge ars’ on losin’ his wife
then you tried to judge math on his anger issues and almost losin’ his life
you told dna everything you spit is livin’ in proof
then had the nerve to tell clips you gon’ do him like your son when his moms is pregnant, and give him the deuce?
you gon’ judge me and say i got bad health
but you never took a step back to judge yourself
like, what would your son think?
what would your son think if he knew his father could relapse on crack off one drink?
what would your son think if he knew whether he could see his father was left up to one shrink?
what would your son think if he knew you was racist and looked at me like the lesser man?
what would his son think if he knew his father smoked crack off a pepsi can?
red dot, the mag’ beam
think to wong foo… ‘cause we already knew patrick was a cross-dressin’ drag queen!
yeah, spirits flyin’ through the crib when i’m raisin’ wit’ the clip
headshot: patrick’ll be a ghost, makin’ vases wit’ his b-tch!
shootin’ and drivin’ in a stick-shift, big crips
you gotta pay, sir, (pacer), stick clips
.45 on a big white boy: rik smits!
you ain’t nothin’ but a junkie who made a name
completin’ rehab was your claim to fame
funny guy: damon wayans
bam bam: these bald heads cause major pain (major payne)
i do h-lla sh-t! mo’ crimes
minivan, slow grind
the family wit’ you? fo’ nine
be a stunner, i hit the baby fo’ times
we ain’t nothin’ alike, p-ssy
f-ckin’ snow bunny
you pink and you white, p-ssy
i got the big .40, the texas joint
sh-t kick, hit p.a.t., and get extra points
.40-cal’ brand him, put his back on the griddle
take his ribs, v-12 slidin’ wit’ his racks in the middle
i give a f-ck where you from
it’s gon’ be a hot summer
i’ll fold the car to a messenger that’ll pull up on any block(ed) number
for 4 g’s, he get water damage – i run a tight ship
liar, please, the vise grip
who the leader? 15 shots, i’m packin’ the chrome
i hit the chief wit’ a bullet: patrick mahomes
i’ll smack your mother on her deathbed!
(-smack, smack, smack-) three of them thangs: chef trez!
(pay me my money!)
you smokin’ pipe, the best lead
his bones, i’m breaking bad, meth-head!
he paralyzed, but he still talkin’
look at him, lickin’ his lips, but he still coughin’
white boy hit the gl-ss harder than bill walton!
y’all know he heard me!
i ain’t got no mothaf-ckin’ slogan – jersey!

[round 1: pat stay]
aye, y’all hear me!?
aye, houston, what up!? (what up!?)
url, glad to be back
it’s pat…your favorite rapper from smack
this guy tried to dress like me – pretty smooth, though
you got suited, too, bro? look at you go!
aye, kept talkin’ ‘bout me smokin’ crack
suge, look at me and look at you
if i smoke crack, that may be somethin’ you’d need to look into
i just k!lled roc, and you gave me him!?
this sh-t ain’t makin’ sense
no, i k!lled verb, too! b-tch, i’m the f-ckin’ main event!
he hangin’ wit’ twork, who’s a blood, and this sucka’s claimin’ crip
psshh, sh-t, all you need’s a white boy, and we could be the new color changin’ click!
(it’s easy! easy!)
see, you wild, but i got more style than you
all sauce like italian food
you wanna tap my pockets? go ahead, i allow you to
but try and dunk on me, b-tch, i’ll foul you
tuh! better tone that sh-t down a few
you don’t wanna get beat up by a white boy in a flower suit!
up in my face, but wit’ hitman, he was miles from dude!
gave him so much room (mushroom), mario got a power boost!
d-mn, that man punked you, made a fool of you
told you if you touch him during the battle, he would slump you
said “i bet you won’t” right in your face a hundred times
battled in jersey, and the whole time, he didn’t even brush dude!
coward sh-t! coward sh-t! coward sh-t!
where was all the pocket-taps and dunk moves!?
you just choose people who most likely ain’t gonna punch you
well, f-ck you! i ain’t scared of you
b-mp you, shove you, heart-check, whatever the f-ck i want to!
snuff you, baby moms, youngest and oldest son, too!
i don’t care if he’s only 12, that little sucka will catch the one-two (1-2)!
hold up! aye, listen to me!
shotgun suge…knock on wood
he’ll show up at your barbecue when them hot dogs good
yo, hold up
(-shotgun suge impression-)
“while you was writin’ your lil’ raps for me, pat, makin’ people laugh and sh-t
i was on the block, k!llin’ people and dodgin’ bullets over a brick!
what your life like!?”
oh, shut it, jimmie, would ya!?
man, let me keep exposin’ this clown
you make at least 10 grand a battle
that’s like 70 grand a year
plus all the merch and music?
bro, fools would k!ll to have your career
if i was a dude on your block you’d be posted on, i’d find this sh-t weird
like, “what, you think this sh-t’s cool or somethin’? bro, you’re famous! why are you here!?”
what’s your life like!?!
hold up! hold up! hold up!
what’s your life like!?!
aw, man…i can’t imagine – sounds awful, dude
performin’ in front of hundreds of fans, shaq always tryin’ to talk to you
gotta go to all them meet-and-greets, sellin’ t-shirts and jogging suits
getting $10,000 to rap for nine minutes
i am so sorry, dude!
boy, you must be tired
a tiger leaping through hoops of fire, you survivor
i am so godd-mn proud of you
that’s the end of that sh-t!
that “what’s your life like?” sh-t is f-ckin’ wack
you get flown around the world and paid good just to rap!
“what’s your life like?” quite nice
spoiled f-ckin’ brat
you got it better than almost everyone here, suge – shut ya trap!
i did a mortal kombat survey on which fatality they wished they could use
they chose raiden’s finishing move just so they could change positions with you
dipsh-t…you a f-ckin’ joke, bro!
“i’m the biggest baby loc on the streets!” well, i’d hope so!
yo, i’m ‘bout to drop a 30
he gettin’ bodied early
ya size does not concern me
i don’t care if you 6’9” (6ix9ine): i’ll do shotti dirty
(that’s nothin’! that’s nothin’!)
got wild demons, leave ya mouth leakin’
housekeeping: do not disturb me
houston logo – imagine it now
the way i crafted this round’s like the rockets
jersey!
1-0? 1-0!

[round 2: shotgun suge]
i said, i don’t wanna hear how you put the pipe down, ‘cause i don’t give a f-ck
everybody in here lost somebody who ain’t live enough
i feel bad for the pipers, freebasers, those i wished the best
i ain’t the judge, just gotta judge
i can’t give you life, but i can give you death
old-school joe brown: you just play judge
i was watchin’ your battles with my mother’s brother, and my uncle felt (phil) you a g-y judge
you told charron to look at you while you drillin’ him
(-a bunch of people in the crowd start yelling out “pause!”-)
you told charron to look at you while you drillin’ him
off the rip, i thought you was talkin’ about k!llin’ him
but you was feelin’ him- no, fillin’ him
no synonym, y’all feminine
y’all too nice to each other – too gentle men (two gentlemen)
oh, i’m lying? nothin’ i’m sayin’ relevant?
ok, pat – i got cold evidence
(-suge pulls out a huge, blown-up photo of pat stay consoling charron on the couch-)
this is you, all out in the open
you h-lla sloppy
couldn’t help it, prob’ly
you f-cked this little boy and told him, “don’t tell n-body”!
i heard it’s gon’ be a bloodbath! oh, well…indeed!
big n-gg- gon’ cry in the back: joel embiid!
he gon’ lose in a savage way
i’ll let the wave hit you: he a castaway
to beat me, you’ll need the luck of the irish, and this ain’t (saint) patrick’s day
i tote lead!
no, really, i tote lead
you a b-tch – know how i know? (how?)
you let calicoe put a battle gun on your fo’head!
no hard, he actin’ hard: will ferrell
oh, you scared of a battle gun?
how the f-ck you gon’ act starin’ down a real barrel!?
f-ck you yell ‘bout, you frail-mouth!?
smoke, i bust a lil’ sig (cig’): this a jailhouse
race card!
should i do it?
are y’all gon’ boo it?
or should i play it safest?
no, f-ck that!
i wanna know why you and hollohan had a three-round battle on who the biggest racist
(-some people in the audience start booing-)
go ‘head and boo, but y’all can’t ignore the facts – he type sick
your bigotry turns on and off like a lightswitch
you told tay roc you was gon’ beat him down wit’ a nightstick
then you asked him for his registration and his license
told the crowd you don’t give a f-ck – that was wack
oh my god, it don’t get more donald trump than that!
your man hollohan got the “white pride” tat’ on his back wit’ the eagle under it?
i should put “white pride” on a tombstone and leave you under it!
he better watch his back, hope his head swift
pole, two steel rounds will straighten his back like a deadlift!
purple rags – this a lifestyle, not just grape apparel
gun in his mouth, he ate the barrel
i’ll let him live
i bet from now on, pat stay on the straight and narrow
bulldog barkin’, it get his face cooked
headshot…he can’t move: stay put!
aye, ars’, you know what f-cks me up, fool?
he like black b-tches, fool
so you get mad, smack her, call her a black b-tch?…me, too!

[pat stay]
that’s fire, dawg!

[shotgun suge]
i’m totin’ some sh-t that’s knockin’ doors down
mac-11, call it “9/11”: i’m knockin’ floors down!
you came here marshmallow-white
fire on him, he lookin’ s’mores now
pat came to america to lose in the big game: georgetown!
i’m puttin’ hollows in him
mac on me, one bullet out of the 10
you f-ckin’ dope fiend, you worse than everybody you tryin’ to condemn
i would pocket-check you, but i might get poked by a syringe!
y’all know he heard me!
i ain’t got no mothaf-ckin’ slogan – jersey!

[round 2: pat stay]
aye, y’all ready!? (yeah!)
aye, calm it down…that’s what’s up
yo, suge, you got a real bad att-tude
like, you just wake up mad
like the second you open your eyes, you put on some ar-ab
you wanna ease into that sh-t, jimmie
bro…like, you don’t look like you’re havin’ fun
these are all your fans, bro
why you gotta be so mad and tough?
i bet you when it’s just you and the boys, you’re actually a really funny guy
i bet wit’ your girl you’re just a big ol’ teddy bear wit’ a lovey-dovey side
i bet you wouldn’t be so mad all the time if you could actually be yourself
you’re a fully loaded shotgun, but this slug won’t leave his sh-ll
nahmsayin’? i’m talkin’ real sh-t
see, y’all see a big bad bully, huh!?
you know what i see, y’all?
a big goof, wants to laugh, but don’t wanna seem soft
a big sook, just wants to go home wit’ his b-ball
name’s “shotgun” ‘cause he just needs a shoulder to lean on!
so mad and aggressive (what else?)
always acts so defensive (what else?)
then posts a mean mug on instagram like, “ask me a question.”
always dunkin’ on people, too!
that sh-t is pretty dope…
thought white man couldn’t jump, ‘til i come from the side- got him!
thought i was gonna dunk, eh?
shotgun’s a fraud – it’s only right i gave him the pump-fake!
big soft–ss cupcake!
grump-faced! plum-shaped!
sayin’ i do needles…
i’ll hit you first, but i don’t touch base!
aye! ya f-ckin’ tugboat!
so do your pocket-checks and sloppy lil’ dunks, bro
i want you to
it’s corny, but if you don’t, this battle would suck, though
that’s literally all they want from you
so get in my face, invade my sp-ce
’cause both of us know a shotgun’s only dangerous up close!
aye! ’cause if i stood across the stage, out of shotti’s range
when he rap, you’ll be not engaged (en-gauge-d)
ooh, that punch is (punches) nuts like johnny cage!
your boy’s white like wallet chains and gothic bangs
but still invited to the cookout, and leave wit’ a pile of plates!
you a tough guy, huh?
it’s funny how karma comes back ’round
‘cause the king of pocket-checking went out to l.a., and you got pat down – for real!
what happened!?

[shotgun suge]
i went home wit’ everything i left with

[pat stay]
what happened!?
these dudes just rappers
they flipped his pockets inside-out, and shotgun’s bucks scattered!
true story!
did it happen!? did it happen!?

[shotgun’s hype man]
never happened! never happened! no!

[pat stay]
that’s what i thought! that’s what i thought!
did it happen!?
look, he mad right now!
not havin’ a great experience
sour…got this grape fruit (grapefruit) furious!
i ain’t a clown – you just take yourself way too serious
plus, they paid me more than what they paid you, period!
i just k!lled your boy arsonal, this sh-t’s easy as cake
if i ain’t the god, why in jesus’s name they keep feeding me grapes!?

[shotgun suge]
lux said that to arsonal
lux said it first

[pat stay]
i’ll spit the seeds in your face! your lady’s, too!
i’m an -sshole by nature: stay the truth!
bro, this is nothin’
i’m up here f-ckin’ flexin’
i’m gettin’ drunk in texas (drunken texts) like messages from my exes
p-a-to the t stay!
give him that hakeem face
post him up, shoulder b-mp, then hit his -ss wit’ the dream shake!
hold up! aye! i gotta ask him somethin’!
yo, suge, you said you dp’d a grown man at 15, eh?
i don’t know if that’s gang slang, but in p-rn? pretty g-y
“yo, on neighborhood, cuz, me and surf just dp’d his -ss.”

[shotgun suge]
it’s not neighborhood

[pat stay]
i don’t give a f-ck!
look…”dp’d his -ss”
that sh-t sounds super g-y, i don’t give a f-ck what you mean by that
but hold up, talkin’ through my sh-t…
suge, i’m wearin’ a f-cking pink flower suit…suede shoes, and a f-cking top hat
you’re tellin’ me this entire time you couldn’t think of one line off that?
you call yourself a battle rapper!?
not even a rhyme with “flower”?
sour, power – suge, i’ve been here for, like, five hours!
i don’t know, jimmie, maybe like…i came dressed to my own funeral, ‘cause the flowers and the suit, you know
c’mon, jimmie! you can do this, bro
if you don’t think of a reb-ttal right now, you’re not even a rapper
you’re just memorizing a play and repeating it after, a theatre actor
time!

[round 3: shotgun suge]
big stock! you see it, it’s raisin’
got a flower suit for your funeral? you just dressed for the occasion!
you prob’ly would shoot this sh-t up!
you be dealin’ wit’ that white boy sh-t: depression
idaho on the barrel: suppression
.44 goose-neck, magnum: protection
two baby .9s, i shoot one more: neglection
big bucks, i’m a large spender
i’ll serve him tips, all in his chest: he a bartender
you ain’t got that sk!ll to k!ll!
you ain’t got that action feel!
you crackin’ krills
this point backup, two straps in his mouth: i’m feedin’ patty mills
your family wit’ you? i hope you hurry up and die
big .40, swallow up his pride
you gon’ make the papers
him and his son on the front cover: father of asahd
all jokes aside, don’t get beside yourself
this whole “one day at a time, i’m two years clean” is a facade itself
don’t make me tag twork in – you double-f-cked
you see the bounce, two arms swingin’: double-dutch!
twork gon’ dope fiend him, i’mma lean in to (the) punch: double cups!
aye, smack! i’m like bishop wit’ this sh-t
don’t try to take the gun from me
this half a clip out the drac’ (drake) will have this canada n-gg- tryna hide his son from me
you can’t hide from me! i’mma search and find ya
we got beef? here’s a buck-fifty: he an empanada
i’mma creep and ride up
two pops for his b-tch–ss kid: he a prima donna
i’m in his face like, “do you wanna go there?”
chris dudley better be cool, ‘cause i can shaq on him outta nowhere!
i try for two? you all lucked up
he just gon’ be mad, then (madden) one bullet’ll have pat some or all (summerall) f-cked up!
you f-ckin’ comedian! you don’t want no smoke
you think i’m playin’ wit’ you? this shotgun ain’t no joke
if i f-ck you up, i was supposed to, it won’t count for me
quit doubtin’ me
the last white boy that played with suge…was hangin’ off a balcony!
i got smoke for jc if he wanna play next!
pat, i’ll break necks, straight wreck
i’mma seal him in a bag: pat gotta stay fresh!
you just got to smack! you a late-bloom
if we gon’ hate tech 9, we gotta hate you, too
aye, cuz, you better make room
don’t forget, drums bangin’, all in his ear
pat better stay tuned
i’ll take him off the grid for days, with his mouth dumb
tape all in his trap: keep your mouth shut!
hit his spouse up
they gon’ find pat stay at home like he don’t get out much
big bullets, tearin’ limbs…
what his life like!?
you see that door? if he was on the other side, he’d run
against ars’, he thought it was cool to play a cop – ‘til lil’ pat on the other side of the gun!
what his life like?
you been through everything, you flunkie, crack junkie, rap crunkie!
now you diss black people for rap money!?
you dead!
you dead, we gather ‘round for your short story
aye, pat, i just turned your 30 years of life to a short story
random!
aye, verb! you f-ckin’ chicken! you don’t want no beef!
you vegan now? biscuit in his mouth – i’ll feed you what you don’t eat!
y’all know he heard me!
i ain’t got no mothaf-ckin’ slogan – jersey!

[round 3: pat stay]
i just heard him say-
he ends off every round wit’, “yeah, you know what it is, you heard me
i ain’t got no motherf-ckin’ slogan – jersey”
sounds like a slogan to me
“what’s your life like?” “random!” “let’s get one th-”
man, you got the most in the league!
and ok, that nightstick line was a little crazy for me to say
but aye, you gonna call me a racist either way
don’t act like that’s the reason you use that angle against me
don’t act like since then, we’ve been talkin’ all cool and friendly
bro, you know i ain’t no racist – my daughter’s half-black
look, i’m just the only white dude who ain’t scared to clap back!
‘cause to me, it’s “white boys ain’t sh-t!”
“honky” this, “cracker” that!
so f-ck ya feelings! i ain’t havin’ that!
you tap my pockets, i’m tappin’ back!
motherf-cker, shaq attack!
jimmie, i don’t give a f-ck!
i ain’t the one to be foolin’ wit’!
white-boy crazy: i’ll shoot up a school of fish!
b-tch, i ain’t playin’ games!
keep callin’ me all these racist names!
i’ll bust in your lady’s face and make her swallow my spicy mayonnaise!
bro, look around
yo, you think this sh-t’s easy for me?
always bein’, like, the only white guy here?
your opponent says some “f-ck white people” sh-t, and the whole crowd cheers
(no, for real! straight up!)
“yo, k!ll this white boy!” is all you hear, gettin’ heckled from every side
dolo, every time!
no entourage hypin’ my lines!
you got it easy…but it’s cool
this sh-t ain’t nothin’ new
bro, i’m a hood barber – i’m used to being the only white boy in the room
basically, you don’t want no fade wit’ me!
wit’ that picture, you can’t embarr-ss me, suge

- urltv

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