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rum nitty vs. young gattas - chrome 23 lyrics

[round 1: gattas]
what up blood?!
what up cuz!?
what up blood?
what up gangsta?
i see you c walking ’round like you got an s on ya chest
i hope i catch you lackin’ in the parkin’ lot without a vest on ya chest
cause you battled a few women but in the booth i’m a different type
laser beam, make you lose ya vision, if i lift it right
the k can f*ck up a small village, i ain’t finna fight
i’ll just bring him down to his lowest (lois) and show y’all a dead crip tonight (kryptonite)
i’ll put this n*gga underground forever, i swear this tre the truth
and i’m like dashiki i bought .223s and a baby too
and f*ck ya bm, i’ll have shots l!ck her (liquor) if you bring ya lady through
and you know i keep a pistol
i hope rum is .380 proof
you do all this talkin’ sh*t when you not legit
act nutty and ya blocc get hit
when it come to the bodies i get ’em taken care of, i’m on top of it
and f*ck a color, i done blew (blue) blood’s top back, any op’ll sit (opposite)
it’s .44 bulls and black hawks, i’m from the same city
i’ve been winnin’, ben simmons, now you seein’ why you can’t play wit’ me
guard ya top before you get a scar face, the .40 and the blade wit’ me
and you ain’t the only crip i’ll cap on (al capone), just to be frank, nitty
i’m from the ‘raq, where the switch attachment is a key design and all my n*ggas supplyin’ 350 (three .50’s) and not the yeezy kind
i really can beat rum when i ain’t even tryin’
remy sent the contract, i said, “this a lil’ flip, an easy sign”
and you don’t even rhyme, you need to find somethin’ to implement
wavin’ ya arms tryin’ to circle ya opponent with that spinnin’ sh*t
took you light years (lightyear) to get a buzz you wasn’t meant for this
so i’ma dent ya sh*t, then hold the .38 sideways, i got in for nit’ (infinite)
i’m overpowering all the gas, i’m high octane
i’ll up it and dump it for nothin’, i will not change
try to weave through these bullets and die, get ya top stained
this remind me of danny myers
cause first you was dead beat, then my sister started pole swingin’, then finally the pop came
nick cannon with the sticks, i’m not playin’
if it jam you can get beat with the drum, big watch, this a block chain
why you think i’m keepin’ a gun?
and with a knife i’ll slice across this cord (discord) and from ya cheek through the gums
i don’t know what they token (talkin’), but y’all can tell i’m etherin’ rum
and i’ma leave this crip toe tagged just so you know it’s me
oh you bang blue? well i’ma cook with .44 mags and i’ll open see (c)
i’ll get him all whacked for a clean rack, make his set dip, and i really mean that
i’m ridin’ six deep now where ya team at?
seven .45’s to his top in the whip like remy in ‘lean back’
yo, he thought gattas was everclear
his one shot to get lit quick (liquid)
what he didn’t expect was me to talk big sh*t, ’bout how he runs with a b*tch clique
i can see errors in every fuccin’ bar that nit’ pick (nitpick)
n*gga you love my style
you really a fan now
if i extend an arm it ain’t a handshake or hand out
i’ll have rum runnin’ through brooklyn screamin’ “man down!”
he’ll see a b*tch wit’ a big d*ck and a stick, he think i’m trans now
get ya bars up b*tch n*gga
[round 1: rum nitty]
aight, look, look, look
i ain’t gon’ lie, i’m a lil’ mad
cause the audio real bad
they fixed yo’ sh*t, got it clear, you was still trash
we got rum m*th*f*ckin’ nitty vs…. young gattas
aka charisma johnson
off the rip this he/she dyin’
a clean sweep, a three*peat, i got the cheat sheet rhymin’
they say, “the alien be sittin’ on bars like e.t. ridin'”
this b*tch you lookin’ at is dead
said she don’t take no type of d*ck, just eat the p*ssy out instead
you get a slug in ya temple, it ain’t no pullin’ out the lead
it’s hard to believe gat’ don’t ever get c*ck when it’s a bullet in the head
yeeeah
new york city, i’m finally back in the buildin’
the last time i performed out here i was still movin’ my arms like that when i spit it
i had no personality when i was rappin’ my n*gga
the perfect one to catch you lackin’ charisma
get injured
i’ma shoot this old ludacris in the face, goofy, tall ass, hoopin’ b*tch
a movin’ crip, i’m not cappin’
glock clappin’
sit a b*tch down wit’ a round, like lamaze classes
make a broad vanish, this stud’ll (studder) disappear soon as i start rappin’ like eazy the block captain
y’all cappin’, actin’ like she won’t catch a hollow
if i said it, why would i ever lie though?
so i gotta shoot gat’, in that case, like desperado
you finna die slow, you don’t want no smoke
why you even got young in the buildin’? this for grown folks
that mr. & mrs. smith sh*t? was a no no
cause this b*tch like 6’4″
we could never be datin’ rem’ (dayton rim), not even on the low low
but i love hustle fo’ sho’ though
but why would you put me in here with her
this sh*t is berserk
you could’ve gave me a pretty b*tch, with gun bars, cause there’s a lot of steel in my verse (stealing myverse)
you know my type writin’
this? i don’t like it, i’m not excited
they gon’ say i stole this dyk* man like quilly and surf
get murked
it’s an infrared on it when i raised those
and the dot, exactly where the bullet point, take notes
game over
case closed, you gotta be more strategic, the pole i squeeze it
i might show up to where you stay and take the top off of ya old bay (obey), it’s open season
the detectives can’t find ya body for a reason
people can’t remember the last time they seen you young, like morgan freeman
don’t believe it? ’til this b*tch layin’ in the street
this .380 i squeeze
baow! i’ll put johnson on her back, like, “baby you sleep?”
stop playin’ wit’ me, i’m in a hurry to see you shot
i’m eager to see you drop
so i’ma shoot this b*tch on the double rem’ (rim), it won’t be an easy shot
off top, you know i’ma shoot
thought i pulled up to the wrong event, i had a chrome .22
f*ck it do?
aye, they don’t pay attention to nothin’ that a brother say
cause i said i wanted to battle somebody that look like [?]
y’all went and got me young m.a
we could’ve booked this sh*t last month
i would’ve battled young in may
you’ll never get the same look again, we on double take
it’s over!
rap!
[round 2: young gattas]
ayo rum, i promised i was not gonna mention this
but you a broke, 30 year old gang bangin’ dad, n*gga
stop with the senselessness
i know you gotta be sufferin’ from cognitive dissonance and a lot of this tension is
just bottled up instances of when cornell was coddled and sensitive
with a lack of positive images while his options were limited
now you seeking validation from a squadron of idiots
reppin’ a gang not even knowin’ how to properly benefit
so tell me now, what happens when an op’ get offended then
leaves all ya kids as fatherless children
and all you got left to give ’em is nothin’ more than a pot just to p*ss in it
and this the bullsh*t y’all callin’ a syndicate?
that ain’t gangsta
what’s gangsta is a f*ckin’ trust fund
what’s gangsta? doin’ it by yaself without a gang cause you trust none
what’s gangsta? bein’ alive to see ya kids off to college
droppin’ gems on ya kid to give ’em infinite knowledge
not glorifying how you live in the projects
with no idea of how you gon’ get ’em up out it
see, this real talk you can’t get from a triple entendre
this ain’t a f*ckin’ metaphor about how my kicks are designer
i’m talkin’ for a culture as a whole, we ain’t proud a (prada) ya soul (sole)
you a runner
it don’t matter how much you balenciaga ya clothes
you still a coward as a man and a lot of us know
you won 150k with geechi, then ya b*tch asses split the sh*t
and let me guess, you took it to the hood and bought some sticks and kicks
never thought twice about ya kids and b*tch cause you’d rather rep a f*ckin’ flag than be a f*ckin’ dad
how you explain walkin’ ’round with skinny jeans and a glock in ya waist
to take pictures for ig and direct the ops to ya place
i know i would come shoot rounds at ya clubhouse
like f*ck a tre and shoot a hawk in ya face
cause this ain’t twitter but i’m a big speaker, i ain’t come to talk in ya sp*ce
we let you cap on this stage h*lla times and let it slide, like you holdin’ berettas high
cornell, this gang culture got you hypnotized
we can tell in ya eyes ya terrified
that internet persona you really should set aside
cause if you really blew (blue) checks in the hood then you’d be verified
not still tellin’ lies, ’bout how you totin’ .4s
i had to teach you how to be a gentleman nitty, first you gotta open doors
and don’t talk to me ’bout struggle cause i been through it
enough to see ya dependency on the clique rum, you under the influence
and, you look like you ’bout to overdose
and like you stole befo’
cornell powell, you really just a local loc
you 5’5″, 100 pounds, ain’t n0body runnin’ from you
and how the f*ck is ya big homie younger than you?
you still searchin’ for acceptance or just somethin’ to do?
ya old ass out every weekend, with the drac
and ya big homie lovin’ the crew
cause you p*ssy, you p*ssy, with no heart, couldn’t stand in a fight
and now you here, being taught how to be a man from a dyk*
get ya bars up b*tch!
[round 2: rum nitty]
“yo’ gang should do that. yo’ gang should do this.”
blah, blah, blah, [?] the bullsh*t
they said, i had on a beanie with a three*piece
oh y’all jokin’ huh?
well it’s true, i did have a hat on with a suit
my n*gga papoose know what’s up, i’ll shoot you first when i unload the gun
clip her, then shoot one of young’s sisters, i owed her one
you done
this the fun part, y’all remember on juice when steel was gettin’ dressed in the mornin’? with the candy?
don’t front y’all
{rum starts beat boxing}
well you can get beat, with one bar
who want war?
you can act like a man all you like to
it’s plenty broads just like you
but in every 30 days god reminds you
spiteful, it don’t make sense
i remember when she stopped dressin’ like one of the bros and sh*t
i said, “okay, okay, she fo’ sho’ take d*ck.”
then hart (heart) attacked you, looked like you never had a stroke again
when know this sh*t
it’s a tragedy, instead of walkin’ like a man and sh*t, can you picture gat’ with a switch?
then she just changed, automatically?
you can’t rap wit’ me
i’m k!llin’ this b*tch
don’t you hate when they ask for identification when you just tryin’ to get some liquor real quick?
meanin’ in you even look young, i’ll pull ya card then give you the fifth
they got the idea (id ya), you finna die fo’ sho’
hands down, rum shot a b*tch in the mouth
i made her drive the boat, don’t try the loc
you’ll get dogged on play
on my crippin’, i got time today
buck 50, go all ‘cross ya face
you get the razor (raise a) gat’, for no reason like john john wit’ ace
you outta place
you been doin’ a whole lot of dyin’ b*tch
it’s like hustle took you apart and ain’t no how to put back inside the pin
cause yo’ rounds ain’t been fire since
it just cl!cked
i’m furious
you can’t be serious
i’ma have gat’ starin’ at a gat, it’s an out of body experience
i don’t care if you a female you will get it
the stick like kenzo b and [?] it drill b*tches
but listen, you can bring up the swamp battle, i ain’t even mad gang
go ‘head, let son (sun) shine, why i’ma lie though (mulato)
go ‘head, get yo’ cash (kaash), paige
but you? can’t hang
you think i’ma let a b*tch stop me? b*tch stop it
i’ll pull out a ‘big poppa’ before i ever let her son like chris wallace
i been wildin’
that’s just life
you say you possess the sk!lls, you ain’t half as nice
the whole world don’t think you got it, ms. johnson, like magic wife
that’s goodnight
i know you can’t stand it, but what do that matter?
whatchu gon’ do? rap faster?
they say, “gat’ in her bag.”
i say, “she better run”, like santana
hand cannon, this b*tch’ll die, we really slide
my moms gave birth to a gunner, she really had a shooter in her stomach like remy ma
one slip you die
100 out the weapon dump, that’s h*lla slugs
sh*t spit faster than, jigga who?
and it last forever young
you can’t tell me none
and you can’t keep it real yourself
n*gga suicide or i’ll do the job

[round 3: young gattas]
i said, pass me the .40 you know i’ll load that
remy the stylist but i’m the one that’ll air rows and get you a toe tag p*ssy
cause you a b*tch, you a b*tch nitty
you prolly got ya f*ckin’ tubes tied
i don’t even f*ck wit’ rum, i’d rather let this half moon shine
me and my n*ggas old fashion, we’ll still spray ya crib up
kidnap for ransom, i might (maitai) ya kids up
i saw you in manhattan, switchin’ in the village
and i’m supposed to believe y’all drop cells? y’all n*ggas g*y
i bet when rum open up all he’ll pour out is c*ck tails (c*cktails)
you prolly thought i was comin’ wit’ a ton of jokes
but this fast cash, no gas mask, i want the smoke
a warrior with the 30’s, i’m curry cookin’, i’m the f*ckin’ goat
and we know you snortin’ lines, but when it comes to bars, we used to seein’ rum and coke
plus you a snitch, you deserve to get a hollow
the first 48 type, tell on everybody to get mcdonalds
get immunity, now he feel like he hit the lotto
but you a snake, rum you’ll turn on ya circle like spin the bottle
now you got a fifth pointed at you, b*tch, spit or swallow
or i’ll grab the .47 cause i’m like kanye
my old k look good but today i got a different model
you and the n*ggas you wit’, all trash
gettin’ you mopped was a small task
and wait, i said that wrong, cause i still feel like kanye
but i be posted with the k across the street on the car dash (kardash’)
and we know you worked at wal*mart, but we more alike than you think
let me tell you about my character, i’ll slide with the plastic too, i’m stamped with the machine
now let that register
red light ’em and bag him, throwin’ hollow tips out the old strap
then slide again the same night, that’s a rollback
and i’ma catch you slippin’ cause ya whole squad seem greasy
i’ll even serve rum shots in the back like a speakeasy
and you from phoenix? i’ll get you f*cked up before the full clip enter
put hands and feet to his chest, give him a footprint center
and this .40 a cougar, it’s an older ratchet wit’ a better grip
even my hoes will make the weapon spit
you don’t wanna see what’s in my b*tch’s possession like the exorcist
the only thing i know for certain, is in the future i can see death in it (definite)
guns or bars, either way i brought extra rounds
beam on, i’ma make this a point (disappoint) before i let you down
we can battle in london but you shouldn’t bring ya b*tch around
let something violent occur and see ya mate will get the pound
banana clips in this one piece and i still got a long reach
i’ll put extendos in c (sea) side, turn this b*tch to long beach
cause i don’t give a f*ck now, we all up clips and dump rounds
i’ll shoot over blue face (blueface), you ’bout to see me bust down (‘bussdown’)
cause this the last thread, i got no patience
you can get stitches or you can get switches, i keep a pole waitin’
so when machines spray that’s the foes playin’
and we still scr*p, i’ll hit nit’ with a hook like i’m crocheting
get ya bars up b*tch n*gga!

[round 3: rum nitty]
you dyin’ b*tch
i’ll send my shooter to give you headshots when he fire sticks
but what he should do is put a bullet right through the eye in sis’
i insist
i’m like 5’5″ * 5’6″
but my id say i’m 5’8″
there ain’t even no punchline or bar with that my n*gga, just know i’m 5’8″
.9 raise
or b*tch get laid with the .50, i’m in a [?]
why hate?
you think i’m playin’ family?
chance it, i’ll make this b*tch bust anywhere like vibratin’ panties
it come in handy
after this, ya parents, finna prolly hate you
and it ain’t gon’ be no more hangin’ wit’ the rem’ (rim), that’s nba rules
what made you, bring a red flag to the face off?
like that’s how you really rock it
i got street b*tches that’s with the drama
lady crips that get to slidin’
a few disciples, a few p(ee) stones will pop out like a kidney problem
face shot, split ya noggin’
straight through the forehead, sh*t was shockin’
family in disbelieve when they look in the coffin
cause they can’t tell if it’s young or not like andy milonakis
aye, when this b*tch be rhymin’, it be a bunch of extra pacin’
miscellaneous words like “depravation”, “devastation”, “neck abrasions”
i can’t stand you rhymezone.com rappin’ m*th*f*ckas, how did you ever make it?
i can tell you fakin’
you not foolin’ me, i done passed every level that you think you can reach
knock ya face off if i pull the heat
so i don’t think young gonna (gunna) have a feature in the future, ‘pushin p’
when i found out ya name was charisma johnson
i said, “aw, nah, nah this cannot be true.”
that mean, when they call you by yo’ last name they say, “ms. (miss) johnson!”
and she probably do
dawg a fool
i’m cookin’, and all this cool
long as a man k!ll you like islamic food
let me talk to dude
if you stop disappearin’, maybe you’ll get mentioned some
you ain’t had a million hits before, you gotta put in work a lil’ more
cause tryin’ to get to an m a chore (immature), but you ain’t tryin’ to listen young
this ain’t what they want
you better not ever play
real sh*t, and i don’t punch b*tches to set the record straight
no cap! but i will backhand gat’ like kevin gates
fn spray
this whole section’ll (sectional) move outta do’, i’m tryin’ to redecorate
but wait, you really think this b*tch’ll grab a .40 and smoke me? you trippin’
you fo’ sho’ ain’t a k!ller
stop
the only way young’ll pop is don’t be a menace
you get too close i’ma lift it, bang the heat
keep thinkin’ this sh*t is make believe ’til i squeeze a round in ya b*tch ass like an *n*l bead
goodnight
goodnight

- chrome 23 lyrics

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