Don't Flop - Math Hoffa vs Chilla Jones lyrics

[Round 1: Math Hoffa] Math Hoffa versus Chilla Jones, mmph! This sh** like Mayweather/Pacquiao Sike, this sh** is like a brick of dope versus a Black & Mild Your rapping style... By the second round, I'm tapping out Your bars respected, but you're the cause of many narcoleptics Pause a second, yo, Eurgh I ain't gon' come for you But you really booked me to battle T Top, and that was wonderful Until a couple dudes from a league pulled a s**er move And told T Top if he did, we ain't gon' f** with you [?] Now Eurgh needed somebody cheap, that's why I'm stuck with you Last time I had to write for a Jones, it got uncomfortable My pen'll bag whoever you book, it's like I'm up in school Cause even back then, I had no respect for a substitute Yo, your bars don't make you lovable It's clear, you a Huxtable I guess they threw this b**h on a bill to get a couple views I ain't come to fight, but these punches still gon' be crushing you Try, not even Plies'll give this "pwussy" the W But the way you jumped in for T-Top, I can't front, it kind of took me back To years ago, in a fight club, I had a rookie match I met this chick named Cookie, I said, "let's boogie" That's when she took me at her house, but when I tried to get mouth The b**h pushed me back, then when I was dicking her out I had to stop, she had a bushy snatch Guess y'all ain't figure it out No Top, and this p**y's wack Y'all know I hate Scrabble, I got that feeling again, n***a But something about that mary made me write for this Ben Stiller You ain't 'bout that life, you ain't been where I been, Chilla Forget who the F you are, and that's your chin, Chilla Cold, this sh** is a breeze, I feel a wind, Chilla n***a tried to tell me how crazy your pen is And to me, that sh** is crazy, it kind of made me offended Cause if you wrote this n***a's rhymes on a page and reread it It wouldn't make no f**ing sense without the way that he stretches Like when you said... man, f** that, I ain't quoting n***as If stretching is the sh** that you like, go do some yoga, n***a If battle rap would rather be real, I'd be the dopest n***a Cause I really came from the hood and where the dope is, n***a We walk with [?], I ain't choking, n***a But play lowkey, cause my son got the hammer, I'm playing Odin, n***a In any account, I get the steel, it's like I'm [?] n***as Have Jones' insides blew out, that's Osmosis, n***a It's been a couple months, but I feel like I ain't go in years I want to give y'all cla**ics, but it's like all my peers are frozen scared I did this for my fans, cause me and Chilla, yeah, I know, it's weird I'm like D. Rose, I shouldn't be playing with these lower tiers Hoffa! [Round 1: Chilla Jones] Right now, I'm like finally, Hoffa wrote rhymes for me We could've did this last spring, but you took Red instead And said you ain't have time for me I mean, y'all came to see punchlines, right? Not punches Math still gotta end violently He be like, "you ain't got bars like that" Well, guess what, that don't apply to me So what are you tryna be? A battle legend? A trailblazer? Then you gon' win with that real flavor That they'll savor cause you sell major Yeah, you probably who they'll favor But last year, I faced more pens than Hellraiser With the flame, his back would get burned like L blazers Then the chrome outside of your dome like tailgaters So he think y'all don't care if I grip that mic Versus a n***a that live that life, did I get that right? What good is street cred if you can't spit that tight? You're broken off with four bars, you the Kit Kat type But you gon' tell 'em I don't lift that pipe That's time-wasting, Math You gon' diss the way that I rap, but they embrace it, Math Being street don't take talent, you gotta face it, Math Plus, in addition, your whole division is basic, Math Everything that you say is trash, that's a problem my era solved Listen to your rounds, that's a problem the ear'll solve Try to air us all, [?], to get that Aerosol We spray like Aerosol till the tension in the air resolve My squad ready for war with the TECs they keep If you sneeze or even take the wrong breath, they squeeze When that cannon flash, just say, cheese And Cortez gon' have your face on a shirt by the next day, see But think about those last bars, for trying to test a G Boy, all you gon' see is Math on that ese T See, this a nerd versus a bully whose raps is savage With the pen, I gotta school him, make this match a cla**ic So I came with creative writing, plus drastic tactics You gon' be history, stepping in my path was tragic I catch him by all the G's, bring his a** to static But should I hit him with the Jim, or give Math the matics? The fact is, even the bars I call average mean What you think mean... average Your bars is average mean I mean, you in comedian mode, you have to last the seams Wait, mean, median, mode, that's a scheme Straps with beams, pistol got a fully loaded clip in it That's 12 plus one in the head, like arithmetic sh**, I ain't the [?] guy But I could have three point one 4, that's easy as pie Yeah, you survived the motherf**ers that tried to sound like me But you ain't never stood in front of three rounds like these Bosstown! [Round 2: Math Hoffa] Right now, Chilla's like, finally, daddy's spending time with me But I think we all should spend some time with our fathers So bow your heads and close your eyes with me Heavenly Father, please get me back on URL! Cause I don't know what to do, god I figured after Summer Madness, Smack, Beas', and my dude Norbes Would've cooled off, I promised Eurgh I won't skip any verses I'ma just do what I do, bars And next time I hear that "woo", I'ma listen to you, god Now QueenzFlip should get fired, and you should get hired soon Cause every league you battle on, you turn it to the Quiet Room Real n***as don't ride with you, talking about you spraying the crome k** that sh**, lame, you Trinidad James, you just a fake, Jerome Like you tell n***as you scheming, that mean you rhyming sh** for 'em If I tell n***as I'm scheming, that means go inside, it's a warning Cats who lit up just got high, this how you fire sh** for 'em The cats I lit up in the sky like they heard Lionel callin' This where I break you down I'ma take what the people prefer as your favorite quality And turn it to a weakness, observe, it bothers me The way you like to scheme is for herbs You look for double meanings, cause you never meaning your words Like picture Chilla in [?] with some G's in the trap And he come through and say, "keep bubbling coke, I'ma squeeze on they cap" Them n***as'll grab they ratchets, like, "what's up, shorty?" Like some G's will react And Chilla'll be like, "no, no, no, no, chill out, fellas, y'all need to relax I mean, if you keep bubbling coke, you gotta squeeze on the cap I was just looking out, I didn't want the two-liter to get flat It's just a scheme, I swear to god, I didn't mean it like that!" This PG don't got a shot, so we gon' see him pa** My goal's to leave you purple when I beat yo a** You bring up Cort'? I give you ten, hope your sneakers fast Cause I'll burn him, and give my n***a Eurgh a heap of ash "Eurgh" and "ash"? That's Nash! Hoffa! [Round 2: Chilla Jones] So what you got against my battle with JC? Is it the fact that it's a cla**ic Smack battle? I mean, all you offer the culture is "real rap" When y'all want bars, he just be rapping facts at you I mean, this gon' be a serious disaster Speaking of which, they both had this cat rattled But congrats, Math, sh**, I mean, it's the first time you had punches in back-to-back battles But let me ask you, cause there's this interview online And, I mean, I don't remember the time, but y'all was mentioning the names in battle rap And brought mine up, you said, if a victim was picking n***as out a line-up And I was in it, well, behind bars ain't where I would wind up Okay, fine, but all that show me is that you blinded, n***a A small-minded, misguided n***a, so let me get this right You would actually take pride standing in a line of n***as And doing time cause you the one that look like a crime committer? I mean, I'm trying to figure this out, this mindset in black males is typical You worried 'bout looking real, that's something I feel is pitiful Cause what's real about your kids going to jail to visit you? And birthdays and holidays pa**, but you still invisible? sh**'s despicable, I couldn't even leave it alone As a father, how is this something you can even condone? See, I'm a father, and that's what got me so upset Cause how you supposed to raise your kids when you ain't grown up yet? That's why your face got a scratch like that You got enemies, that's why you stay strapped like that C'mon, Math, you broad? Rick Ross almost got clapped like that C'mon, Math, you broad? Rick, Matthew Broderick, b**h, act like that! See, this is rap, they give a f** about your beef or a f**ing war They wanna have you spilling Pac Juice when they bust your core But I was by the door, standing there, Ness Lee I said, he need more than that street sh** to impress me He said, what if he punch you? Well, I said, why would he test me? That's ridiculous, Ness who'll get robbed if he dare deck me, respect me I said, I respect you, you ain't gon' violate me like I'm without rights But let me get this out right, I'm no one you can outwrite See, they think you gon' swing and knock me out, right? Cause they know you ain't winning outright without rights I'm nice, and you ain't got bars like that All you got is nice hooks, they would think you Bruno Mars like that See, you getting k**ed, because you worried about that tough guy Surf You should've took a page out of Bonnie book and dumped my verse [Round 3: Math Hoffa] Yo, sing along if you know the words Many men wish d**h upon me Blood in my eyes, dawg, and I can't see I'm trying to be what I'm destined to be And n***as trying to take my life away Yo, when I first heard that song, I had that sh** stuck on repeat I [?] could spit this real sh**, this stuff is unique In battle rap, I'm like 50, I rose up from the street Supported a disloyal gang that made its money from beef My last battle got ugly, y'all saw the s**er sh**, B Five n***as versus one, that ain't a jump, it's a leap I got the typical Dizaster, he the same as a [?] Wasting time with his setup, then his punches is weak Swear to god, at night, I dream about my gun on his cheek [?] grief, too tired of crying, but too troubled to sleep Last time she saw Bashir, he said, "I love you", and peace And the next time, he was [?], bodies cut up in three I really want to know the public's belief Y'all think it's karma or a b**h n***a trying to front with his peeps? How many of y'all think he would've threw that punch in the east? Exactly, son would never disrespect So to take my shine, son set it in the west f** Krack City! With one sharp weapon, I would've [?] Gave the whole city stitches, like the [?] Y'all thought I was suing King of the Dot I just threatened them for a check That bread was going right on Diz head to get him stretched But that's why they hate me, because I be telling this sh** correct n***as spit mad ill, but still jealous, cause I'm direct Chilla, you a body, n***a It's a shame I gotta do this, but I ain't sorry, n***a This what happens when you poke out your chest in front of Bobby Fischer Fronting like you about to go to work, yous a Tommy n***a They gon' pull you out under covers, yous a Donnie n***a The way you be all friendly in battles, you using molly, n***a? Inside you mad you ain't f**ing with me, yous a Bonnie n***a I'm like a fitness trainer to frauds, cause I pull up, wait, spot you, and let it go like yous a bodybuilder f** you mean? Like Hollow said, I'm gon' hate you till I'm seventy-five I get them clean shots up close, 7D five He see the steel, start to feel like he ready to cry But my gun so big, it make you ready to die Damn, see, a line like that'll wake Biggie up Make him light a Philly blunt and go, "Huh! that was really tough!" BK, you know how we play, we keep the blicky tucked You [?], bust at the D's, it ain't a tittyf** What's really up? You know I'm godly with lyrics You talk words but don't do 'em, go decide on your image That heater blast, it's like eating a**, he probably don't get it A p**y get wet, but I ain't gon' tell nobody I did it Like I said, man, it's been a couple months, but it feels like I ain't go in years I want to give y'all cla**ics, but all my peers are frozen scared I did this for my fans, cause me and Chilla, yeah, I know, it's weird I'm like D. Rose, I shouldn't be playing with these lower tiers Hoffa! [Round 3: Chilla Jones] This just in If y'all ain't know, this Justin The first was for Math, the last two was to diss Justin Rounds like this just tend to hit harder, so let's get started What happened with Diz, Justin? Let's jump in He said I should punch you in your face You started talking hard, dropped your guard Turned the other cheek, and let him rock your jaw I was in the crowd when it happened; I was shocked and all I started popping off, then Dizaster's crew got involved But, now you got a lawsuit? Saying King of the Dot is unprofessional like your injuries were their fault? So how the f** is this stuff respectable? And to this day, y'all still put him up on this f**ing pedestal Like Justin credible, but to me, it's just incredible? My question to the crowd... is this how real n***as behave? How the f** you suing n***as with the reputation he made? But let's keep pace, and talk about how your ex, Bonnie, knew Drake He hit her online, and asked her out on a true date To sip wine, have some good convo, chew steak She told you, watched you hate, and made you lose faith You told her she better not, or you would catch a new case So she [?], waited for you to leave, and packed her suitcase You came home, found a piece of paper on your food plate It was a note that said, "if you're reading this, it's too late" Is you that insecure? That ain't a good look, Hoffa You was out of town, having n***as from your hood watch her But if you used that wood proper like you should, partner Bonnie would've came straight back like good posture But you lost her, she moved out, hoping another guy wife her You got evicted, your future was in a shelter like Mekhi Phifer Your new chick want to be Bonnie, but ain't fly like her Shawty's just a plain jump-off; that's a skydiver But hype up your pain, say you getting more than me For the same reason those situations ended horribly It's cause you feel a immaturity and insecurity Looking like you should have a job in security And currently, you've been running around badmouthing 'em Quit talking about about your ex, why? This ain't algebra, I'm bounded, bruh You really got a nerve calling me sweet Y'all ever seen Math versus Day? Well, if not, here's a sneak peek When you was rapping, sh**, Daylyt was at your feet, sleep When he was rapping, he was pouring water on your cheap sneaks When I battled Davone Campbell, we gave the streets heat The sh** was epic, ask Method Man if he agrees, G Imagine Batman and Superman having beef, peep My wordplay made the world marvel versus D.C See, you remind me of that one old man that's so cynical Recalling everything from his era that's so memorable Like, "when I came up, it was all about being original, and if you made threats, you had to be ready to get physical" Typical grandfather sh**, old man Math, stuck in his old ways Saying my generation lacking respect for the old days Cause now in battle rap, we got hybrids and flying cars, times evolved, advancing the whole page And here he go, still talking about inventing the wheel in the Stone Age Okay, you probably that old man that fall asleep on the train and wake up at the last stop He put his face close to the screen and type with one finger on his laptop It's like you so old on them bag blocks, you ain't sell crack rocks, you sold cracked rocks You probably sit in rocking chairs with brown sandals and black socks But here's where the act stops, cause the same style I'm using now The same style Math had for years that got him losing ground You don't got bars like that, that's why you losing now Against Mr. Jump to Top Tier from the Proving Grounds Bosstown!