The other disses in the Canibus/LL beef

Drew Wonder

Drew Wonder

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By the time both of these dropped nobody cared about their beef anymore so they didn't get nearly as much attention as 2nd Round KO/Ripper Strikes Back. But I always thought both of these were fire and just as good



[Verse 3]
You married a slut and had kids with her to cover up your hustle
You and your man Russell made a better couple
Your probably mad as fukk, wondering where I got the information from
Your being watched even when you take a dump
Its impossible to front, you can't hide
The chairs at your label got ears and the walls got eyes
Your living one big lie the world just don't know
You take a polygraph test that shyt would probably explode
The truth is mr. smith you got a fukked up attitude
God knows that I pity your fans for backing you
Yo, this be the realest shyt I ever wrote
You should change your muthafukkin' name from G.O.A.T. to G.L.O.A.T
The Greatest Liar Of All Time that cannot rhyme
That cannot shine as long as I'm alive
Your prime ended 8 months before '99
And that microphone on your arm will always be mine
nikka you're dead

[Verse 4]
I told you to leave it alone, but you was too stubborn
Now you're in a world where the hunter becomes the hunted
Your wife is scared cause she don't want to lose a husband
And somebody keeps paging you putting 4321 in
You can't sleep at night thinking about the drama
shyt stains all up in your phat farm pajamas
Even f.u.b.u. gear looks hot until it touches you
Probably because your father undoubtedly butt-fukked you
Mama said knock who out? I'll punch that bytch in the mouth
Cause she don't know what she talking about
Ay yo, do me a favor when you see your ghostwriters
Tell them the rhymes they wrote for you should have been a lot tighter
You could have asked me, I'll write you some lines
I'll do anything for the greatest loser of all time
You still drippin' with wack juice cause you wack nikka
If you want the last word you can have it, I'm still iller
You're dead
Click to expand...



As far as Canibus go, my man is hittin' his ex-broad
I'm getting head from his new piece
While 20 gang-bangers applaud, you came up with that bullshyt
Some heads sucked it up, then you dropped that garbage album
And Totally fukked it up, I coulda told ya I knew your moms
From the after-hours spot, when I used to be up in Canada
With the dreads on a black block, before you dikk rode Lost Boyz
For a ticket out to Jersey, but being the man I am
I tried to show ya mercy, I coulda told the World
The way ya label hates your guts
And how me and Wyclef, got together to set you up
And how he gave me half your budget, don't believe me look it up
Ya A&R promotion nikkas, they helped me hook it up
I hate to be responsible, for destroying your career
A one-hit wonder, huh
No Wonder you disappeared, I coulda told the world
You get your lyrics from the internet
Then spit 'em word for word
Like you really a rap vet, How you take metaphors from books
And put 'em in your rhyme, and how you really from Canada
And you been frontin' all this time
I heard your second album, that shyt is garbage too
LL Cool J and I did this to you
On that note he said
"Yo L, you the man", I said peace, one love
And Drove off in the Lex Land
Click to expand...
 
mrkaine

mrkaine

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"Rasta Imposter"

[Intro:]
What you got to do with it? What the fukk you talkin about?
What the fukk you got to do with it? You stupid nikka? You stupid?
Did you see that video, nikka? fukk wrong with you? Like you don't,
you don't know what you go to do with it. Like your fukkin insane or
something. (You fukkin wack ass nikka)
[laughing in background]

[Verse One]
Y'all fakkits is weak, y'all starstruck nikkas think shyt is sweet
That busy signal bullshyt is dead up in the street
Heard that garbage dough jam, made me reminisce
On when heard your man's wack shyt and went to take up his
Jealous fakkit man cause I'm richer than y'all
When I load my desertees, I'm picturin y'all
On the streets of Queens where I was raised and born, hardcore
And stood on every corner like a liquor store
Clips full of hollowtips, follow loose lips
Aimin at your clique and make em cough up my chips
bytch, ya nikkas wanna see if I'm ill?
Wanna see how many rappers can be killed, how much blood can spill?
When I inject this lyrical drill, if I can't do it, the dumb-dumbs will
Tell that nikka to tell his man to tell that nikka
I send the wolves to kill that nikka
If you wanna know why, its cause I'm still that nikka
Michael Jordan of all this rap shyt, pullin the trigger
What the fukk? You on a mission to self-destruct
And have the nerve to let the chickenhead model cluck
Your swervin nikka, better follow the white lines
Your up on the sidewalk, off course, read the sign
I'm so ill, y'all nikkas is so wack
Your whole crew is such, y'all lack the hard impact
Far as your man go, I got young nikkas that wanna get him
Treat him like a Philly, wet'im and split'im

[Chorus]
L.L. don't lose nikkas, we can do it however you choose nikka
One on one or round up the crews nikka
But Can-I-Blast you out your shoes nikka
You know the rules nikka!
[repeat]

[Verse Two]
Queens shyt, give me cream so I can grab my dikk
Sew that shyt, what the fukk y'all nikkas workin with?
Backwards, ass-jerk, jumpin up out the woodwork
Ridin my meat, tryin to critique my physique
A real nikka wouldn't even mention my lips
Can't believe you went there, no I know you a bytch
Sugar-coated nikka, deep-throated nikka
Young guns take a pull before they quote a nikka
Yeah, I wrote it nikka for all my real live devoted nikkas
I'm a true and livin lyrically ill poet nikka
So what you talkin bout? That shyts supposed to be hot?
Y'all nikkas on the warpath, y'all takin over my block?
I think not, matter of fact your not aloud to rap no more
And if you hear this in the club sneak out the backdoor
And if you bumpin in your ride make sure your windows is up
and your tint's passed the limit
So they don't know a fakkit's in it!
I'm L.L. and I did this to you
Teflon waitin for every nikka runnin with you
Rhymes hit you, lace you up again and split you
nikkas ain't official thats why Mom Dukes miss you
Tell your man bring it on, I'm only gettin warm
Never die, never quit, and my money's long
Punk ass crab nikka, talkin bout his lips
Constantly involvin my name with that bullshyt!
Why I diss you? You stepped up in the ring
Ice jinglin in the video like you the next Don King
And tell your man I know he got some lyrics in the stash
But I'm the best that ever did it, now get this motheruckin ass
Mic's too hot to hold, leave it in the sand
So I can describe the picture with both hands
You must not understand who's in command
I got all the flavor, but y'all nikkas is mad bland

[Chorus]

[Verse Three]
I'll cut your fukkin head off and leave it on your mom's dresser
Then pay the pope a hundred thou to go and bless her
You wanna test a lyrical teacher and professor?
I bet y'all nikkas fall off now that your under pressure
I don't stress ya, yet still I must check ya
Extort nikkas for gettin fukked up, stop and inspect ya
fukk wrong with you nikka? You can't do nothin to me
If I put a slug in you on the low, you'd probably try to sue me
Your girl blew me, I said "Now!" She said "Do me"
Bust a nut in her face on tape to let the crew see
Can't put dirt roll, nikka poppin shyt
Underestimantin what Queens nikkas'll do for chips
I originated all this shyt
The ice, the champagne, the bytches on the dikk
That really don't apply to you crabs in a barrel
Mic's my staff sendin you a message like Pharaoh
Leave it alone or get swallowed in the sea
The King of Hiphop is something you could never be
My crown you'll never see, I'll rule forever, G
I'll be goin platinum when you just a memory
I'm the double L, capital C, double O
With the seven upside down jakes slayin the clown

What the fukk wrong wit y'all nikkas? You out your mind nikka?
You better try to go beg Lauryn to come back or something
fukk wrong with you?

[Chorus]
 
mrkaine

mrkaine

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LL COOL J
Miscellaneous
LL Cool J"(feat. Kandice Love
[Intro:]
Aiiyo Bimmy
So rock the bells, Def Jam collabo' man
You know'say, Bim...my...yeah
Feel It's baby, (uh) ha (uh) ha (uh) ha (uh) ha ha

[Chorus: LL Cool J and Kandice Love]

(L) I'm the G.O.A.T. I just ball a lot (L)
And (Cool J) I'm double platinum on the hot blocks and
(L) the hottest nikka in the whole spot (L)
And (Cool J) you see my hand not what I got and
(L) Strictly evil in the big box (L)
And (Cool J) It's no stoppin when my shyt knocks and
(L) Get it all baby don't stop (L)
And (Cool J) don't move the bottle let the corks pop

[Verse 1: LL Cool J]

I'm incredible, well nikka, outrageous
Turn money like encyclopedia pages
Get freaky throw dyke bytches in cages
Paid in full european shyt fukk Avis
Rocks in ears...blingin' the atmosphere
fukk Canibus I bodied him last year
But the L still here watch face crystal clear
The other chick will give me heat while I shampoo her hair
Head tilted back baby no more tears
You mumblin' and shyt duke my flow more clear
Baby listen here, I been gettin' paper for years
And program directors who fronted they disappear
And grimy ass nikkas get laced with car bombs
For bein' over-critical when Uncle get it on
I'll burn your magazine, GOD'll intervene
Can't front on this hip-hop phenomenon from Queens (I'm)

[Chorus: LL Cool J and Kandice Love]

(L) I'm the G.O.A.T. I just ball a lot (L)
And (Cool J) I'm double platinum on the hot blocks and
(L) the hottest nikka in the whole spot (L)
And (Cool J) you see my hand not what I got and
(L) Strictly evil in the big box (L)
And (Cool J) It's no stoppin when my shyt knocks and
(L) Get it all baby don't stop (L)
And (Cool J) don't move the bottle let the corks pop

[Verse 2: LL Cool J]

Bandwagon nikkas ride my dikk ev'ryday
And broke ass critics always got somethin' to say
'Bout how a nikka should flip his shyt a different way
The fukk you know "bout hip-hop, I'm LL Cool J, nikka
They send Bentleys for me, security escort me
Now you wanna run to the authorities and report me
For being cocky...t'ward those that cock block me
I'm makin' millions, no nikka, it don't shock me
I'm supposed to have it. You never been close to karats
That's why you poppin' that shyt jealous bastarts
I ain't impressed by you playa that's that
Matter-o-fact gimme your autograph...on my nut-sack
Ya'll nikkas Benigni-ing...not cool
You just got some white kids in the suburbs fooled
But your albums trash from the skit to the covers
I tear the plastic off and use it for a rubber (I'm)

[Chorus: LL Cool J and Kandice Love]

(L) I'm the G.O.A.T. I just ball a lot (L)
And (Cool J) I'm double platinum on the hot blocks and
(L) the hottest nikka in the whole spot (L)
And (Cool J) you see my hand not what I got and
(L) Strictly evil in the big box (L)
And (Cool J) It's no stoppin when my shyt knocks and
(L) Get it all baby don't stop (L)
And (Cool J) don't move the bottle let the corks pop

[Verse 3: LL Cool J]

Seems like ev'ry rappers a former Nicky Barnes
Ya ugly ass corny nikkas is wannabe dons
I'm the best, platinum nine times in a row (wow)
Paparozzi flash while I snatch nikkas hoes (wow)
Live the lifestyles so the average dime piece
Wanna have my lovechild and roll L style
A man hostile, but my Queens nikkas run wild
So when I skate through nikkas strain to smile
Peep my profile and my iced-out dial
I tap my horn, say "What up?" but never smile
And deuce ass nikkas is noodles
And your broke ass stripper weave is lookin' like a poodle
'Scuse my French, "Je m'appelle LL"
I'm platinum again so tell 'em to go to hell
Then pour some Cristal for my foes that fell
Hard as hell, big fell, I excel, rock bells (I'm)

[Chorus: LL Cool J and Kandice Love]

(L) I'm the G.O.A.T. I just ball a lot (L)
And (Cool J) I'm double platinum on the hot blocks and
(L) the hottest nikka in the whole spot (L)
And (Cool J) you see my hand not what I got and
(L) Strictly evil in the big box (L)
And (Cool J) It's no stoppin when my shyt knocks and
(L) Get it all baby don't stop (L)
And (Cool J) don't move the bottle let the corks pop
Read more at LL Cool J
 
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