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J-Pro vs. Bill Collector
by
King of the Dot
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Lyrics
(*Bill Collector calls tails, the coin is flipped, Bill snaps his fingers and points to J-Pro, letting him go first*) What’s up, Bill? What’s up, homie? (What’s goin’ on?) You shoulda done that sh*t when Hitman pushed up on you Yo, gimme room, akh...or feel the room rock! I’m Ong-Bak I’ll turn Billy Collector to Billy Boondocks! Then moonwalk, style on him the Cali way With pure class I’ll school Bill like Sallie Mae I told Avo’, “Gimme somethin’ I can kill” And he gave me you, and how the f**k I’m ‘posed to feel? But I’m a Hitman, they Holla, I’m lumpin’ up his grill I came to show out (Showwoutt) and land the best punches on the Bill! Steel knuckles I came to body Bill (bodybuild) without Milk Muscle Avocado ain’t sh*t, he got lil’ muscles I’ll let it ring 11 times if Bill rustle (Russell) Wrestle...that’s a stretch: ancient yogi You wouldn’t fire TECs (text) wit’ a flame emoji Flame emoji bars, the TECs (text) firin’ After the first draft, I OD: Len Bias Y’all were into Bill when he was ex-citin’ M. Bison, jet slidin’ First-class PG on the jet flyin’ But now Bill’s coach: Rex Ryan! Speakin’ on Rex...didn’t you have beef wit’ Randy’s brother? You and K-Shine were gon’ scrap each other? Bro, you got pumped by a tranny-lover (Yeah, you did) You got pumped by a tranny-lover Over a Lethal Weapon like Danny Glover Right?...You didn’t? I thought you did, bro You’re a cheap-ass mothaf**ka You ain’t worthy of the skill This a minimum payment: I’m droppin’ 30 on the Bill Yeah, but you broke, bro You ain’t got a pot to p*ss in Suge hit his pockets like ‘Pac in prison So all that gun talk is just contradiction It’s time to pay, Bill - dyin’ is the cost of livin’ It’s Bill, ain’t even no need to be rehearsin’ this sh*t I’m droppin’ bars while these n***as talkin’ personal sh*t Thank God that gun didn’t shoot, the case faded Showwoutt knocked me out? Salute, n***a - we made it! f**k the swag, I get straight to the gristle This body ugly, no New Orleans, I’mma make it official (O’fficial) Pull his flag, he first down for interferin’ wit’ missiles That Sports Illustrated special weapons edition See, it’s a bounty on your head, and I accepted the mission Try to play them Hunger Games when you step in my District I’m in your house, I’m wit’ the .8, and now your section is missin’! BLAOW! On Beast Mode Rappin’ wit’ the cheat code He Shaq from the long-range, I’m Curry from the free-throw Pro, I am P.O.d You think you hot as me, bro? It’s clear that he bes (Beas’) on SMACK - no Cheeko You battle Bill Collector, so it’s mo’ dough? No, Pro You’d prob’ly be the first person viewed when I go pro (GoPro) In the field, stars all on me: I’m Tone Romo Pretty gay to see J-Pro losin’ at home - oh! (homo) Whoa, lemme switchin’ it up Your girlfriend put my d**k in a cup, she called it “p*n*s Colada” 69, she got the sweetest vagina I use my stick to beat her candy, all I see is piñatas Monster truck in my lane, all I see is Miyatas They was all sleepin’ on me, all I seen was pajamas ‘Til I heated up the room and all we seen was the saunas Ain’t no battle, b*t*h! We usin’ you to feed the piranhas! Chef Bill Collector, he stay cookin’ without oil That’s fire! The flow water, it douse on you (*Bill loses his place for a second*) The flow water, it douse on you One crock to your pot, leave your scalp boiled I wrap my beef up wit’ metal - don’t get your house foiled… Go ‘head Yo- that’s fire!? Why y’all cheerin’!? That round was sh*t! You’re a mark, Bill - now let’s see if these counters fit (counterfeit) They gave me a dude wit’ no bars, just a silly dance After all that Tae Bo, Billy blanks! You choke every f**kin’ battle, and still he ranks? For a band, I’ll put him in the Roots: it’s a Philly thang But you from Norristown, that’s where your roots be? I bet things fell apart from that two-piece I’ll go to your city, I’m a true G I’ll run through Norristown kickin’ ass like Bruce Lee One-inch punch and never lost a finger I’ll body Bill (bodybuild) in California like Schwarzenegger Avocado got the guns, I flex the trigger You don’t know who you’re f**kin’ wit’: sex on Tinder I swing a couple, extra bangers You won’t see the contact: textin’ strangers Have you seein’ stars: Texas Ranger I got crazy hands...extra fingers! (‘Sup, man?) So tonight you get...cut wit’ knives! Hit wit’...rusty pipes! Hung from...dusty lights! Look at you...I got this boy caught (boycott) in the Bunker like a hunger strike! You ain’t hungry, I’m a bear on the huntin’ You try to throw punches on me? I’ll parry for nothin’ I’ll rearrange Bill’s face for a 20 like Harriet Tubman The underground’s where I place my home I been lyin’ underground like ancient Rome Waitin’ for the day that I can break some bones Now I’m draggin’ (dragon) Collector: this the Game of Thrones! So what’s a full dragon to lil’ heat? All I do is train and brawl (training bra) like titty crease We can brawl outside in the city streets You’ll get killed by the Bunker like prison beef That’s bars, I do dirt: field inspector Keep shootin’: film director I’ll let it ring ‘til he gets the message...he’s a Bill Collector! J-Pro...is he white, Mexican, or alfredo? “Trick or treat!” f**k you s’posed to be, J. Lo without the day glow? You like the neglectful parent of Dora the Explorer and Diego You prob’ly eat taco meat...on a bagel… Red beans and rice...wit’ ya Eggos… 7:30 salsa class “I need a one dance...one more time ‘fore I go” Then your wife does her kegels Chi-Chi, get the yayo You got a voice like...Macho Man Randy Savage, if he was a candy faggot Speakin’ of candy faggot...word is you’se a nose candy addict Yeah, well, let you owe me for some nose candy, addict .44 Bulldog, one from the nose can the addict BLAOW! Bill too cool...check his wind chill I breeze by, necks turnin’ like windmills The .40 hit your tire, break your windshield The .50 turn your Honda to a Big Wheel Let Real know the deal, boy, I been realer f**k a scheme - wit’ these punches, I’d chin Chilla Ty Law a clone fraud, I don’t f**kin’ like you Danny Myers, come and meet your uncle Michael Hold on, lemme talk to Daylyt Took my sh*t and ran wit’ it But won’t get in the ring and see the man wit’ it Now you the man wit’ it Damn, n***a You supposed to be my damn n***a! But instead you runnin’ ‘round actin’ like some type of damn n***a! Now I see why the white people don’t wanna sit down and build they plans wit’ us ...Damn, go ‘head, man Yo… This worse than when Shotgun played you and you just stood there lookin’ painful Shook, disgraceful You remind me of Roberto Durán the way he played you ‘Cause you were in the ring screamin’ “¡No más!” when Suge erased you Then you beef with Beasley, isn’t it true? After he called your P.O. and let you sleep in his room You try to get airtime and minimal views This dumbass fought wit’ Beas’ (bees) like Winnie-the-Pooh Winnie-the-Pooh bars, b*t*h Then you beef with Smack, you stupid, fam’ You be burnin’ more bridges than the Koopa Klan Now you on King of the Dot, you Superman ‘Til I scream (ice cream) in your face...Gucci Mane Shout out to Battle Rap Chris, my ghostwriter (*chuckles*) Didn’t you beef with Rosenberg? Aren’t you and Raw brethren? Right? (Nah) He stepped up to you, he’s like 4’11” And you gave Rosie more space than George Jetson? Hanna-Barbera bars And you beef wit’ Traphouse like they owed you drugs? That’s my league Oh, that’s your league? Well, why were you airin’ ‘em out like they owed you drugs? Then you tried to work out in the Trap like shoulder shrugs Don’t you get it, Eric? You’re embarrassin’ You’re always airin’ sh*t, and it’s errin’ sh*t It’s errant sh*t It’s apparent you grew up parentless But this is what happens when AngryFan is your therapist! You go on AngryFan, coked out, hypin’ - bravo! Repeatin’ lines off the yay (‘Ye) like Life of Pablo You got the burner, we know you got the burner ‘Til you burned every bridge you ever crossed wit’ the burner Tried to burn SMACK, got tossed in the furnace Now you roll to King of the Dot, that don’t concern us That’s my third round, bro You can take it how you want it You came wit’ a dirty BCO shirt, homie, you done fronted- (*laughs*) Man, f**k it - that sh*t’s tight? Tight as sh*t I can go on, et cetera and furthermore But I gotta get the f**k up outta here and work the door f**k outta here OK, OK, OK, I choked, it’s hot as sh*t Bill battles anybody anywhere Yeah, I’m on tour, dummy The only n***a to diss URL branched off and made more money Go ‘head and try to front like I’m not, Pro, when you just revealed that you’re payin’ me outta your money My mama smoked weed, I am not a crack baby But knew some crack babies that can get you cracked, baby I can front it to you if you quick wit’ that, baby Grab a rock and roll and bring a nickel back, baby Bishop Bill Boss Don, Pro - kiss the damn ring Claim you cookin’ coke up, you don’t do a damn thing Boy, I’ll pull that damn thing, Pro gon’ pull a hamstring Click-a-clack! Boom-blam-bling! He move back semi-handspring! WOO! Back to cookin’ up them tan things WOO! Smokers callin’ wit’ the man dings WOO! No, I’m serious, homes They take a hit from the “WOO!” or get a serious (Serius) Jones! The fofo’ kick, dojo sh*t That’ll make your Rev run and lil’ Jojo split See, that’s Rev Run’s son since you don’t know sh*t I handle bars wit’ a bounce: that’s a pogo stick See, the choke was just enough rope to give this- for this man to hang himself for sleepin’ on me That’s some yo-yo sh*t Bill Collector hit them trees: Sonny Bono sh*t My archer hit you for free: pro bono sh*t What, I gotta bring that back on some slo-mo sh*t? My archer hit you for free, Pro, bow - no sh*t BLAH! f**kin’ wit’ me? Nah, nope f**kin’ wit’ me? Never, naw Bill that lame, we know...nobody remembers y’all Man, I’m about to throw the f**k up (*Bill burps loudly*) f**kin’ wit’ me? Never, naw Bill that lame, we know...nobody remembers y’all Check my shine, no gas, b*t*h, I been a star Rap until my voice half-hoarse (horse): I go minotaur Paint a horror film, the plot prolly end us all Man, I’m cuttin’ up - the plot prob’ly end of Saw Watch your post, mark, ‘fore you get stamped I’m the delivery champ Anything you fly out wrong gon’ get returned to sender No, no, no, I will deliver you, champ When them things fly out, Lord - you’ll get returned to sender My dumb n***a best friends wit’ the metal - hold up, that’s Fry and Bender Futurama, your baby mama best friends wit’ the Devil I’ll roll up, fry, and bend her What, you mad? You wanna mix? Want me to supply a blender? All over a b*t*h...who was feelin’ my mix...so I supply and blend her? Man, the way I pop and peel (pill) on these b*t*hes, Bill Cosby told me to buy a sweater See, Pro...you had some lines I choked and I had some lines, but mine were better If you steal your grind, you could prob’ly see my shine around...2000-Never It’s Devil Bar Bill, Devil Tier Bill If he don’t got a soul, you could never Kill Bill He hot, I got the stones to get you rocked You lookin’ at the newest n***a on King of the Dot
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