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foul ball (ysn iclander diss) - henry draw lyrics

[intro]
henry draw
put some respek on my name, boy

[verse]
you was rubbin’ off the ice, while i was givin’ some advice
the internet supply your vices, but none of your raps concise
let’s start with the flow, foul ball’s what you throw
you decide to be fast, but most time you’re not even on beat
man, your lyrics don’t make sense, convinced you don’t write on sheet
the f-ck does black truffle b-tter have to do with who you trying to beat?
you see that song? beats are made under foundations of four
so why the hook that should be your age, 12 bars, really nine?
zinko mintle, your entire gimmick is to be asinine
but when you making fun of minorities that’s where i draw the line
“too much g-y”, “foreign p-rn”, “tranny p-rn”, the list goes on
callin’ people pedos, makin’ hitler jokes, what would happen if i told your mom?
b-tch, i saw your channel, sonic generations in the back of commentaries
your d-mn mic’s too low, turn it up, we not in the library
so according to you, dd2 will be wack
take that statement back, go relisten to ysn 1.5, you can barely strive
if you one mill hd, then your lack of fans should be clear
if you are so hd, then your mic should be clear
yeah, i got qc, but after chun-li, you i disagree
you the real licebum, hit you, draco meteor
do you hear all the pitching and autotune?
this a full diss, not a brag, ladle, not a spoon
you generic like a cube, ysn cubed
your trinity can not top mine, we know your sh-t ain’t tubed
startin’ beef with people, but you got no yellow flannel
talk about diss tracks on pitchfork, drake, and tyga
but then i run into yo’ home, put your lyrics in with a lighter
wanna talk 451, but you ain’t even keep it a hunnid
before i end what you call a career, maybe wanna start a summit
before your soundcloud page gone, no trace, all the sudden
so the next thing i mix for you is everything, honestly
you don’t make real music, you make comedy

[outro]
his hair… wack!
his gear… wack!
his jewelry… wack!
his foot stance… wack!
the way that he talks… wack!
the way that he doesn’t even like to smile… wack!

- henry draw lyrics

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