CORRIGER LES PAROLES
Paroles : Joe vs. Holmzie Da God
Look who finally made it to a URL event
Good sh*t, bro
It’s good to see you in your element
‘Cause your music? Straight trash
These battles keepin’ you relevant
It’s like you live by the train station…’cause the sound of those tracks brings down the value of Holmz’ (homes) development
You? Takin’ a pure L (Purell) at the hands of me: I’m tryna fight infections
I’mma pull to the shoulder: I gotta find directions
You got a kid? I’ll put a father in a box: that’s my confession!
Hit the melon and (melanin) off the body, like he my complexion!
I hate your cliquе!
Ratchet, back out on him: flaky b*t*h!
New gun, evеry day, take your pick
Today, it’s .45: April 5th
Bro, if I lash (eyelash) out, (*pfoo*) make a wish!
Gun-b***, have your ceiling breakin’
Kid’s doctor - get the check up (check-up) or sh*t get physical
I got little patience (patients)
I’m walkin’ ‘round with a filthy blade, and
It went in dirty, came out clean: rehabilitation!
Gloves on, case they check the fine prints like paperwork
I’mma unregister this .40 ‘fore I’ll make it burst
No numbers on the side of this sh*t, ‘cause I scraped it first
I’m in the crib shavin’ with the serial (cereal): I’m late for work!
And your b*t*h get smacked! Back to back!
I don’t need the pound
You’re damn right I’mma crack her (I’m a cracker) over and over again like Glueazy rounds
One clip of this battle drop, fans be like, “Leave that man alone”
They’ll see white trashin’ you soon as they dropped the trailer, Holmz’ (homes)!
I’ll catch you drivin’ in your whip, your tires finna flip
I’mma fire straps
If I cop somethin’ big and black, the car’ll (Carl) flip: “Did I do that?”
But lemme chill
‘Cause if we fight, you’d prob’ly f**k me up, bro
Looks like you got some heavy-a** hands
Nah, I was kiddin’, Holmz’ (kid in homes): Neverland Ranch
You been pu**y! Now I’m exposin’ the fake!
Mr. Potato Head: I’ll pull the arms out and stick a nose in your face!
I’ll tie you and your b*t*h together, let you pick who the fif’ slam
BOW! That tramp’ll lean (trampoline) in the back of Holmz’ (homes)
Think the kid’s playin’!
You stand up? She layin’ flat on her back
‘Cause I let the .50 spit
Now Holmz’ (homes) gotta elevate her (elevator)
Yeah, I’m rich as sh*t!
Yo, yo
I say, uh…battle rap is like the human brain
It control the vessel of hip-hop
Real n***as used to eat, breathe, and sleep this
Nowadays, all these n***as do is get on social media
And make subs conscious of the fact that it’s lame to sneak diss
So in order to get to the stem of the problem…
Well, we gotta connect back to when the real sh*t started decreasin’
What you mean by that, bro?
Don’t f**kin’ know, I made it up
I just thought it sounded like some deep sh*t
But peep this
Who here like gun bars?
That’s what the f**k I’m talkin’ ‘bout
So throughout this whole battle, my n***a, that’s what the f**k I’m talkin’ about
He’s a fag, actin’ tough
See this flame and the .9’ll speak
And y’all gon’ see bullets flyin’ in a fruit like James and the Giant Peach!
Don’t he strike y’all as a dopehead?
Type white boy to have constant overdoses in the ambulance?
Nah, I know your style
You the n***a that get fronted a pack and run off wit’ 40 grams of tan
But for that 40, nine’ll (49er) leave him on the concrete blankin’ out
Then once I put a bullet in Joe mind, tan’ll (Montana) be the last thing this n***a thinkin’ ‘bout
Big clip, in the Glock
I’mma click it, then I spark it
Think it’s a game, ‘til I roll up wit’ the magazine in dog face like “No p*ssin’ on the carpet!”
Or I can catch you while you at your wedding
I’m really a different dude
We known to train fast, I’ll air rounds quicker than inner tubes
Told him his mama gonna die, or wifey gon’ get the Uz’
Soon as I caught him at the altar, made him (ultimatum) pick or choose
Good sh*t, bro
It’s good to see you in your element
‘Cause your music? Straight trash
These battles keepin’ you relevant
It’s like you live by the train station…’cause the sound of those tracks brings down the value of Holmz’ (homes) development
You? Takin’ a pure L (Purell) at the hands of me: I’m tryna fight infections
I’mma pull to the shoulder: I gotta find directions
You got a kid? I’ll put a father in a box: that’s my confession!
Hit the melon and (melanin) off the body, like he my complexion!
I hate your cliquе!
Ratchet, back out on him: flaky b*t*h!
New gun, evеry day, take your pick
Today, it’s .45: April 5th
Bro, if I lash (eyelash) out, (*pfoo*) make a wish!
Gun-b***, have your ceiling breakin’
Kid’s doctor - get the check up (check-up) or sh*t get physical
I got little patience (patients)
I’m walkin’ ‘round with a filthy blade, and
It went in dirty, came out clean: rehabilitation!
Gloves on, case they check the fine prints like paperwork
I’mma unregister this .40 ‘fore I’ll make it burst
No numbers on the side of this sh*t, ‘cause I scraped it first
I’m in the crib shavin’ with the serial (cereal): I’m late for work!
And your b*t*h get smacked! Back to back!
I don’t need the pound
You’re damn right I’mma crack her (I’m a cracker) over and over again like Glueazy rounds
One clip of this battle drop, fans be like, “Leave that man alone”
They’ll see white trashin’ you soon as they dropped the trailer, Holmz’ (homes)!
I’ll catch you drivin’ in your whip, your tires finna flip
I’mma fire straps
If I cop somethin’ big and black, the car’ll (Carl) flip: “Did I do that?”
But lemme chill
‘Cause if we fight, you’d prob’ly f**k me up, bro
Looks like you got some heavy-a** hands
Nah, I was kiddin’, Holmz’ (kid in homes): Neverland Ranch
You been pu**y! Now I’m exposin’ the fake!
Mr. Potato Head: I’ll pull the arms out and stick a nose in your face!
I’ll tie you and your b*t*h together, let you pick who the fif’ slam
BOW! That tramp’ll lean (trampoline) in the back of Holmz’ (homes)
Think the kid’s playin’!
You stand up? She layin’ flat on her back
‘Cause I let the .50 spit
Now Holmz’ (homes) gotta elevate her (elevator)
Yeah, I’m rich as sh*t!
Yo, yo
I say, uh…battle rap is like the human brain
It control the vessel of hip-hop
Real n***as used to eat, breathe, and sleep this
Nowadays, all these n***as do is get on social media
And make subs conscious of the fact that it’s lame to sneak diss
So in order to get to the stem of the problem…
Well, we gotta connect back to when the real sh*t started decreasin’
What you mean by that, bro?
Don’t f**kin’ know, I made it up
I just thought it sounded like some deep sh*t
But peep this
Who here like gun bars?
That’s what the f**k I’m talkin’ ‘bout
So throughout this whole battle, my n***a, that’s what the f**k I’m talkin’ about
He’s a fag, actin’ tough
See this flame and the .9’ll speak
And y’all gon’ see bullets flyin’ in a fruit like James and the Giant Peach!
Don’t he strike y’all as a dopehead?
Type white boy to have constant overdoses in the ambulance?
Nah, I know your style
You the n***a that get fronted a pack and run off wit’ 40 grams of tan
But for that 40, nine’ll (49er) leave him on the concrete blankin’ out
Then once I put a bullet in Joe mind, tan’ll (Montana) be the last thing this n***a thinkin’ ‘bout
Big clip, in the Glock
I’mma click it, then I spark it
Think it’s a game, ‘til I roll up wit’ the magazine in dog face like “No p*ssin’ on the carpet!”
Or I can catch you while you at your wedding
I’m really a different dude
We known to train fast, I’ll air rounds quicker than inner tubes
Told him his mama gonna die, or wifey gon’ get the Uz’
Soon as I caught him at the altar, made him (ultimatum) pick or choose
