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nu jerzey twork vs. real sikh - urltv lyrics

[round 1: nu jerzey twork]
this finna be a 30 round
ya indian ass bet’ not come up here talkin’ ’bout you over the body with the turban down
too typical
let’s go n*gga
i’m tryin’ to figure out how did you real sikh to become your whole image
you look real healthy to me n*gga, what’s wrong witchu?
are you sick like lymph node cause you some swole n*gga?
well, we ain’t in the same place you met us in (medicine)
check ya temperature, we really dose n*ggas
is you common cold victim?
you can’t be sick like the flu
you ain’t hot headed
you ain’t put nothin’ in the coffin (coughin’), you ain’t got no symptoms
whatever it is, it can’t be contagious cause i just don’t get it
when you sick, you supposed to change with every stage, but somehow you don’t differ
so you can’t be sick like cancer cause we ain’t never seen growth in you
what’s this sh*t you on?
n*gga ya real name is sequinda singh
stop all this cap talk like gryffindor before we hit the house, kick the door
everybody hit the floor, i chop down ya whole family tree
i got enough in here for sikh or more (sycamore)
i’ma clip ’em all

i’ll
(clap you in a coma
madness, i could snap at any moment!)
clip get tossed, no words, i just let my pistol talk
this n*gga think he real sick, ’til this russian chop’ clip go off
can’t possibly think you’re the only one real, sikh (sick), soon as you hear my kalashnikov (kalashni*cough)
i’ma clip you off
a clip get tossed, i’m talkin’ a pistol will fly
nah, nah, nah, i grab the blade for this indian guy
hop out the cherokee with the navajoe (nava*hoe) cut leave a patch he (apache), want mo’ he can die (mohican)
them the indian tribes
i’m lettin’ 50 go fly, i just refurbished the piece
beam on it, rapid fire, i got current receipts
i can squeeze, push one b*tton and 30 release
headshot, it hit that (w)rap faster than ludacris and you can give his turban the piece (disturbin’ tha peace)
the nerve of this geek, grip a tank
oh you some personal trainer, you can beat me, that’s what he think
’til i grip a tank, one shot, the n*gga faint
i’ma leave the body to rot smack, that sh*t’ll stink
give the personal trainer a strong odor (older) n*gga; billy blanks
i’ma grip a tank, leave him just k!lled
stomp him out, in these timberlands, ’til the white meat get revealed
i’m talkin’ cheek to the heel
construction boots, take it in his t**th with the steel
f*ckin’ up ya features i will
size 13, big foot (bigfoot), they ain’t even believe it was real
i’m talkin’ squeemers for real, sh*t got nasty form
n*gga funeral was a tragic moment
not even his own mother recognized him when the casket open
i’m talkin’ n0body even knew he was sick (sikh), like chadwick boseman
ratchet blowin’, one drop, then turn to somethin’ else; magic potion
grab the toaster, draw the cannons, warhol
or [?] knife, stuck in his grill look like a warthog
drive*by, only two cars deep but we all spark
the lex still (steel) behind the cherokee, these b*tches p*rn stars
out the window, extended mag’ on the long jawn
i’m talkin’ stick hangin’ out the glizzy look like a corndog
if he try to warn y’all, that’s when the ratchet come out
soon as he do his indian call he get clapped in the mouth
i’ma use a snub, nah, nah, nah ruger bust
he in the hospital losin’ blood
he need doctors, nurses just to chew his lunch
he can’t breathe, they got pipes goin’ through his lung
i’m talkin’ sing (singh) with the tube in his mouth, like ‘computer love’
i’ma sssskkkrrt, slide through with thugs
roll the window down, clips dump
speed up, roll the tints up
if he live, then i’m spinnin’ (spin in) back like a cement trunk
clips dump
i’ma show you what this pistol play ’bout
you ever heard of a wheelchair? well b*tch i give them things out
it can only go up hill from here, he can’t feel a thing now
they installin’ ramps on the side of the crib, look like lil’ wayne house
jersey
[round 1: real sikh]
they said, “sikh. this is a bad matchup for you dawg
it’s after you just lost. an uphill battle, you gon’ fall
no chance.”
y’all think i can’t dance while this b*tch twork (twerk) in front of me?
good thing i got my back against the wall
what he had? he had the kalashnikov?
i lift it higher, but i wanna shift the fire
so i gotta switch wit’ the russian, that’s brittney griner
what else he say? he said, he said*
yo, he got a headshot? i’m movin’ with speed then
beat the sh*t outta someone in ya crew to get even
have castro lookin’ like rhianna when breezy through that quick beatin’
so before you give this turban the piece (disturbin’ tha peace), i’m a give lu the chris (ludacris) treatment
he had the double barrel shotgun, sawed the weapon
i’ll have him runnin’ for shotgun if he saw the weapon
f*ck ya stomach shot for anyone small and testin’ (intestine)
liver shot, that’s alcohol infection
rib shot, that’ll make him barf his breakfast
give his chest rounds now it’s gettin’ hard digestin’
i cut straight around, stab his lung, take it south
it’s a family reunion, flesh and blood hangin’ out
whatchu gon’ make fun of my style and how it seems so fast?
i’ma biggity biggity biggity beat yo’ ass!
run in his crib, drum on the hip, a ton of them rip
if somebody dip and duck in the sh*t i’ma dump it again
i want everyone to get hit
walkin’ up in that b*tch like a friend feelin’ left out, “what did i miss?”
then dump it again
your squad get shot if it’s real danger
we can have a peace treaty, but it’s over when it k!ll later
this how kanye feel, gangsta
cause if i throw shots at the people with jerusalem that’ll be a deal breaker
i jump him quiet, knock him out before anyone arrives
like buck, buck, buck, sound like twork when he mumble lines
b*tterfly, stuck inside, swung it by a couple times
then wipe the blade clean, the situation was cut and dry
gun’ll rise, son’ll die, mother’s cry
you got a bigga .9, a lil’ .9
i got a medium that connects you to the other side
i’m prepped to follow you with every weapon i could use
if i get to line jeruz you can bet that i’ma shoot
see my lift in your peripheral, and guess i got a tool
that’s a barrel in the corner, like jeffrey dahmer room
he hit my phone, i ain’t gon’ pick up
it was left off, hit the side of his truck, he in a pickup
with the left arm he reach, cut his hand, what he gon’ pick up?
with his left off, kick it to the side, then i’ma pickup where i left off
watch it as i drop, give bodies to pine box
last one that wanted to jump, tried it and got got
he do the twork bounce and stop with a glock pop
leg pop, he’ll go from hopping to hopscotch
and muhf*ckas want me to run?
that ain’t what they built this company from
i’m just as much trouble for them
keep it a buck
they threw me at twork cause i’m one of them ones
jersey b*tch!
[round 2: nu jerzey twork]
i feel like we’ve both been misinformed
real sikhs, piru’s, i might not agree with sequinda’s cause
but i feel like it’s both gangs that we twistin’ up these fingers for
i just read about a mass genocide in india, i couldn’t even think no more
i’m talkin’ innocent women and children dyin’ from this senseless war
i wanted to send a prayer to god cause i know in the us we don’t see things like this before
so it’s like over here it gets ignored and over there it’s the norm
so no funny sh*t, bow ya heads for me
dear heavenly father, i know we struggle down the path of righteousness, though forgive us lord
and for every person that died out there in south asia,
i’m talkin’ clips galore
k!ll ’em all
i figure the more people died out there in asia, that’s just more liquor that singh’ll pour (singapore)
clip ’em all
i was sittin’ home, phone got to ringin’ off
i’m like, “what the f*ck is this?”
i picked up, smack gave me my opponent, i hung up quick
i got to tuckin’ grips, clutchin’ fifths, uppin’ sticks, a bunch of sh*t
soon as i found out i got sikh (sick), i did everything, it’s a bucket list
i’ma dump this b*tch, i got great plans
i can throw him in the creek or i can lake fam’
or he gets sunk in the middle of the gulf like sp*ce jam
you can’t come around my way fam’, you gon’ need ya heat
i mean we both from jersey but i’m really from the meaner streets
you from the other side, beautiful, grass cut, trees and leafs
i’m from the block, we had pills, coke, weed and lean
no time to even eat
i’m talkin’ peanut b*tter & jelly sandwiches and then it’s back to feed the streets
no time for roscoes chicken & waffles, so we had to settle for p&b
this n*gga ain’t seein’ me, that’s pure nervousness
up here spittin’ all them words and sh*t
i get that wrap around and put a stop to that flow like a tourniquet
burn this b*tch, 12 left in the 30 clips
still enough to pierce singh (piercing) all over his body like some xerxes sh*t
merciless, it’s petty k!llers that i’m workin’ with
i charge 60, i give them 50, take my little paper off the top, it’s a hersey’s kiss
burn this b*tch, you don’t know what i’m workin’ with
if your mother knew the company i keep, she’d be worried sick (sikh)
i don’t wanna hurt that b*tch, cause she still kept you
she grew you, raised you to be nice and strong, she had to meal prep you
be a shame to tell her i gotta k!ll that dude
i don’t wanna see her cryin’
gotta give rest in peace to her son on her arm, i would feel bad too
your mother’s from india, she’s used to henna, she never thought she would’ve had to get a real tattoo
yeah i choke in battles sometimes, but i’m still that dude
fans hate it when i take an l
i mean i come up here with 50% and y’all don’t really take it well
but y’all don’t stand the other 50%, just in case things get real
it’s like 10% for tithes and offerings, or i’m goin’ straight to h*ll
5% for the tints cause i don’t want my face revealed
25 for court fees or i’m gettin’ placed in jail
that’s why i keep the other 10% just in case i gotta pay my bail
b*tch i’ll blaze a sh*ll
grab the shotgun and get to raisin’ h*ll
if you don’t want the paper to read, “dead, 5’9″, south asian male” you better take this l
or i’ll pistol whip you so hard your brain’ll swell
grab the sticks and beat this real sikh (sick) kid ass, b*tch i’m dave chappelle
blaze a sh*ll, chopper shootin’ at a rapid pace
they done booked you with “mr. break the country down” bad mistake
you must be on some molly (somalia) thinkin’ sh*t’s sweet (swedan) until i grab the pole and (poland) then mark (denmark) him out, but that can wait (kuwait)
he be up here spittin’ at a rapid pace
“y’all should lyrically fear me. i’ll slide, pick and then roll
a blade from my hip will just go hit his occipital lobe.”
n*gga, we ain’t even hearin’ you clearly
i think you’re a fake dizaster (disaster), a conspiracy theory
i don’t even let this weirdo get near me
long range, great aim with the mac
headshot, it look like mojo jojo, you can see the n*gga brain through is wrap
jersey!
[round 2: real sikh]

- urltv lyrics

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