A.V.
reTIreMEnt: THE ALBUM (01/22) ALL DSPs
I know this TLR, but as a gift from me to you all,
Here's a body. Hit up The Booth and vote in this feast going on that's headed to The Rafters
MEMORIAL DAY BATTLE THREAD
VERSES:
C-Styles:
A.V.:
FACTS:
When you was on your kitchen shift, I was water WHIPPIN shyt.
Ya bytch a brick house, I just remodeled and finished it.
My new hustle is real estate, crib got a picket fence.
Triple entendre...a nikka still flippin bricks.
...fukkBOY, you the laughing stock.
In blue scrubs, you a scrub, in a mask and smock.
Don't give a fukk how many tracks you got.
Don't quit your day job. Every last song, sound trash and flop.
You wanted to battle? It's me in the flesh.
Your wife? She is a mess. 300 pounds, and a B in the chest.
You barking up the wrong tree with your threats.
A lot of bytch in your Bloodline, so I had to DM ya eX.
She said, "You wack, you twisted...ya girls a hoe...
You broke, the kid ain't yours. You paying for your shows."
When I see her, I'ma squirt in her throat...
I'm a BOSS. I can get you fired on, while you "working remote."
Push a button, I can change, ya channel.
Turn off ya TV with a bang like my name, was Cambell.
No Hassan...
My young boys slimy, like multiple Kobra Khans.
Your step son p*ssy, and don't get it from his moms.
Choking him in my palms, til he calmin' down...
Like, "Look at me, lil' nikka...I'M the father now."
And even though his flow harder than C,
He still garbage. The apple don't fall too far from the tree.
p*ssy!...This ain't a battle, it's a light scrimmage.
You flex in tight linens...How you a Mexican, with White privilege?
Your real kid is my grandson...
I'll ransom him, with the handgun up to your man bun.
I'm Stan Van Gundy, you a BOY to me.
Just an employee. I went from boiling keys, to living royally.
You a spoiled geek, with no loyalty.
dikkriding rappers,
What you made from your shows? Was my lawyer fees.
This just a lesson how to choose, your feuds.
You can lose your life, trying to get your music viewed.
I'll have them goons on your YouTube, like "Who's this dude?"
And they coming to spin your block, like a Rubiks cube.
When you was on your kitchen shift, I was water WHIPPIN shyt.
Ya bytch a brick house, I just remodeled and finished it.
My new hustle is real estate, crib got a picket fence.
Triple entendre...a nikka still flippin bricks.
...fukkBOY, you the laughing stock.
In blue scrubs, you a scrub, in a mask and smock.
Don't give a fukk how many tracks you got.
Don't quit your day job. Every last song, sound trash and flop.
You wanted to battle? It's me in the flesh.
Your wife? She is a mess. 300 pounds, and a B in the chest.
You barking up the wrong tree with your threats.
A lot of bytch in your Bloodline, so I had to DM ya eX.
She said, "You wack, you twisted...ya girls a hoe...
You broke, the kid ain't yours. You paying for your shows."
When I see her, I'ma squirt in her throat...
I'm a BOSS. I can get you fired on, while you "working remote."
Push a button, I can change, ya channel.
Turn off ya TV with a bang like my name, was Cambell.
No Hassan...
My young boys slimy, like multiple Kobra Khans.
Your step son p*ssy, and don't get it from his moms.
Choking him in my palms, til he calmin' down...
Like, "Look at me, lil' nikka...I'M the father now."
And even though his flow harder than C,
He still garbage. The apple don't fall too far from the tree.
p*ssy!...This ain't a battle, it's a light scrimmage.
You flex in tight linens...How you a Mexican, with White privilege?
Your real kid is my grandson...
I'll ransom him, with the handgun up to your man bun.
I'm Stan Van Gundy, you a BOY to me.
Just an employee. I went from boiling keys, to living royally.
You a spoiled geek, with no loyalty.
dikkriding rappers,
What you made from your shows? Was my lawyer fees.
This just a lesson how to choose, your feuds.
You can lose your life, trying to get your music viewed.
I'll have them goons on your YouTube, like "Who's this dude?"
And they coming to spin your block, like a Rubiks cube.
