corrija a letra Letra J-Pro vs. Bill Collector por King of the Dot

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Letra

(*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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