JC (Battle Rapper) - JC vs Chilla Jones lyrics

[Round 1: JC] I used to say it was hard to look at a n***a And tell who capable of aiming the chrome But if we both said we sparkin' That's like Martin; they all know you playing, Jerome And I know where you staying, Jerome I'm a cash crook, I can get your stash took You don't want your apple in your lap Then when I air MAC's, book I mean, image ain't everything, right? But you nowhere close to tough What you got, a couple schemes and some slow it downs? n***a, you rap slow enough See, you the type we can tell frontin', I got Hell crumplin' This Training Day, I see anything or smell somethin' We clapping birds, like Denzel comin' So, n***a, talk or sit the f** down If you ain't tryin' to get involved ‘Cause I will drop this f*g with one shot 'til the chin chilla soft Now wait, we all heard Ciddy say that, right? He said it ‘cause a chinchilla's soft I said it ‘cause the chin on Chilla's soft And we all know Chilla's soft Nobody feeling Chilla, but Chilla feel he the realest out ‘Cause he spit filler but that shot to Chilla chin Gonna knock the filling outta Chilla mouth Let's pop it, see, you gotta convince these real n***as that you a real n***a and the best way to do that, be real, n***a So let me guess, you got rocks to move? You sell it? You on the block with tools? Armed with Glocks to shoot? Stop it! For profit you seem like you would drop some dudes' Names in this game, try to tell, them knuckles Leave him balled up, like when Sonic boost Or I could make a phone call, get this lame f*g murked Bang metal, like a train crash I bang mags, let that thang blast Hit n***as and the clip bigger if I aim bad See, in my own eyes I done noticed the top spot get rusty So I'm co*ky, ‘cause ain't enough n***as to stop me, trust me Plus you do minimal damage, b I mean, damn, it's me, the fans'll see Beef? I'll let hammers speak We all know Boston can't handle heat So once that chrome spit, his dome split I'm a boss, ten'll leave his bean baked in a box Since he homesick Now, why every time a n***a gets close to another n***a He gets certified for acting tough? But what about that other n***a that don't budge ‘Cause he already know the n***a acting tough? I'ma tell this f*g actor once: get out of line, pa** or bump I'ma react with the fastest punch They ain't gon' have no choice but to turn this b**h from Smack to Snuff. You just lost round 1… [Round 1: Chilla Jones] I rap depressin' and lack aggression, right? Simple Well, I punch nice as Kimbo Homie, you wanna bet? It's curtains I'll bring pain if you try and win dough You couldn't duck these bars and now your life's in limbo See, my men so un-f**ing-stoppable, that when I tell 'em bring heat to the crib he in it's nothing tropical The topic though, I belong in every top five But since you close to the Motor City, I'll show you I got drive My shorty hood with junk in her trunk, the flair concealed With a silence to muffle her sound, so break if she air the steel So don't bump her, look near her grill, and forget her number Tryin' to ask'll offend her more than staring will She get a tonic and gin, then when it's gone and expired I'll spoil her with the D, Cal, 'til she's exhausted and tired You rep Pontiac on that G sh**, but you don't own a gun, liar So I'ma give this G six for y'all thinking that son fire And here's why you ain't a punchliner ‘Cause versus Time Bomb you said "When I come around, that jazz go out the window, n***a; I'm Uncle Phil." But using bars like that against me, and you'll be done for From what I've seen, Jazz be getting thrown out the front door So why would you say window? Well, this reason makes the best sense You from the glove, right? So you never seen fresh prints He stepped tense, what it is then, G? I'm real too Them slimes keep one mag Get scum bagged with that steal too So act filthy rich or talk grimy they'll k** you That's for a stack, dirty, so imagine what a mil do See, children created the rules, I'm a straight threat You beat Raw, now they thinking you ill? Well I'm the AIDS test I'm on my Bean Town sh**, cover his eyes to squeeze the pump on his tongue, like Dee Brown kicks Let's cut the clown sh** Carter, you'll do anything for big bills Vince in his prime; he want a fast break to win mils But I heard you down with Battle America, no promo But for a belt and some kicks He'll do what ever sin say, like a dojo. Boston! [Round 2: JC] I hate all your f**ing schemes Let me slow it down… I hate all your f**ing schemes You do exactly what I think you gon' do Y'all just took another hit Feel how y'all want to about Chilla I just think y'all booked another b**h ‘Cause when they want a n***a to k** I'm the crook they come and get, ‘cause like that hoe on Don't Be A Menace I be cooking up some sh** Now, y'all don't even know who y'all stepping to You realize I can do anything y'all come up with? Better, too He wifed a b**h off Facebook, now I bet you gon' regret it too ‘Cause she just tryin' to get poked So she'll net work 'til we all get effin' blue Now, look, y'all get that ‘Cause the F icon is in a blue box, right? That's how I'll do it We all know his type, this f*ggot will keep going Like, "I hit her on Twitter Got at his BM through a DM and that bird blew Now, regardless of how black plan it, we mob, n***a Violate my space and he gon' always have to Watch his back, like Tom picture See, that's Chilla The Boston battle scene is the worst thing poppin' You play for the worst team and you the third string option You getting your a** whooped And everybody on the first team watchin' b**h, we clap hammers here Batman premiere; that clip release got at least 13 droppin' Now, I watch URL often, so I know your quotes And you told Cash d**h will come in threes So that's exactly what I hope you wrote See, these n***as let anybody approach 'em We approach with toast, send him home to coach 'Til the dock off the rivers, hope them hoes can float There won't be sh** left to disclose your ghost Hit plenty more, them acting b**h Gon' need Demi Moore to disclose your ghost Look, d**h come in threes, now, Demi Moore got two movies Disclosure and Ghost, get it, disclose your ghost? Moral of the story is, get this close you're ghost It's an honor for you to meet me, I'm the next problem Run in your crib, pop your mom; I'm your step father Drop Jones in this ring, remind him of when he met Tarver I'm a new n***a, fresh lines But not one n***a ahead cut like me; I got the best barber You tryin' to graduate, but I make that test harder Going bar for bar for respect, I k** n***as That lead pop, Red Foxx; I'm putting arms to his chest Now, the fans can make it a cla**ic But the rest of you and your mans debatin' ‘Cause you see-through, I seen you; sacrificial laminated I said, you see-through I seen you as a sacrificial lamb and ate it [Round 2: Chilla Jones] You can do what I can do, that's your idea of clowning Chilla? Well, I can do what you can do But I don't have room in my rounds for filler You co*ky, but let's admit it, your brain is really gone, cuz You thinking you can stop me, bro? He must be on d** Think about it, he hoping his career gonna blow with Smack The first battle we seen from him, he was smoking crack Eventually he had Raw and he was dope with that But coke is back, these lines got 'em Tryin' to keep they nose intact You just sour ‘cause Factor got a lot more respect for me Well, since you feeling yourself, I gotta k** you for X to see I clap shots, so when you reach Heaven You can rep your team in the skies, like a mascot Cats thought I'd give this coward a chance, I tell my guys pull Close range, tower in France; you'll get an eye full But speaking of France, your ex is from Paris They should've told you 'bout your last wife We used to record her, sh**, we made a flick last night She keep a tube of K, why? She the take-it-in-the-a** type She's a French who*e and, trust me, whoever bag pipes Off the base you be mad hype, they like, "Be calm, bro!" But you didn't, so they banned yo' a** From going where the bong goes Steal a P and O or dub sacks and watch that war begin If we don't get our loot then we shootin' up that Accord he in I snuck that 40 in, we drum sets, firin' I'll punch through son chest, hit his organs and get violent 'Til there's bruises on this square and he loses all type of air Then when they pronounce him dead it'll be music to my ears But if he survive, I grab the knife And poke some holes in his top While he in that hospital bed, then his pulse gonna stop They saying "Breathe! Breathe!", but he froze in a shock Like a Celtics player, now you getting coached by the doc Stop! See this? This the try-me face, get your life erased Pencil style, like a stencil how your body trace If I peek inside that Jeep you drive and I see papes I'ma follow you with that chopper, like a high speed chase I need space for JC, right? Mr. Ain't Lose A Round? Against Mr. Jump To Top Tier From The Proving Grounds? You understandin'? What I fire I call Mariah What I carry gon' get you broke up if I dump the cannon [Round 3: JC] In my first two rounds I showed y'all it was easy to do what they do, that's how the game go But what type of n***a would I be If I ain't give you the n***a you paid for? I been too nice, hopefully your supporters Can keep you clothed and fed It's my turn to spit, that permanent casket close his bed What, y'all thought there was more to this? Honestly? This boring b… Boy, we bout to send this b**h back packin' on some Dora sh** What, you gon' flip and spazz out? b**h, don't try us There's four n***as in each car with about six more riders We heavy armed, like Precious, extend more fire The wrong turn, then Yak all in your backseat I'm Pinky limo driver Glocks out, car jack, hop out, take me to this b**h set I'm tryin' to get his whole strip wet He was cruising 'til his ship wrecked Hit me, you gon' get hit next Stomp him but leave him choices Timberland or Nike? Face the tree or get chin checked? And won't no n***a miss him ‘Cause he not sick, ignore all this n***a's symptoms I catch Chilla chillin', that fifth clap Boy, that b**h kick back, like it's chillin' with him I hope you and your b**h get a sweet start I'ma off your main b**h, I got street smarts ‘Cause I'm a street star, like the Walk of Fame Hawk the brain, you'll catch a shell for nothin' You can tell he frontin', that long nose Could probably shoot Homer head out the barrel of it All this real sh**, that ain't you, you ain't make money It made you, and you let it change you ‘Cause to get ahead you flip and tell; that's what change do I will get this boy chalked, snatch him and his boy heart When that TEC scream, leave a wet scene ‘Cause like Seth Green I make toys talk Ma**achusetts, that's my destination, his Boston home Took him out on that same pillow he was talkin' on But it was witnesses outside, we had to plug a few screams It's nothing new, it's actually become a comfortable thing See, it's n***as with switchblades, you get cut if you seen I edit the whole block Extend a few clips just to cut a few scenes You a b**h, that's why we laugh, cousin Every n***a out my cla** stuntin', that's somethin' This n***a front, like Rosa Park we send him back bustin' You thought you was winning? Never, I'm a sore loser I lose, you leave sore, these n***as with whatever I'm Tim T with that shotgun, but my precision better Or I call my n***a Beasy And that twelve will let loose one pump, like Cinderella Now, let me let y'all know how this tragedy ends I wanna go get drunk, and I asked Norbes if we could do this battle, we not on PG, so don't ask me again And I never feel like I lost But unless it's a clear 3-0 body bag no one actually wins Now, as far as this n***a, I'm deleting his number You Tom Myspace swag having a** n***a This does not mean we automatically friends [Round 3: Chilla Jones] The total be two K's, we handle MAC's well and clap heat So when C air a round, what I'm aiming Will leave your baby face on that black street But you like battle rap silk ‘cause them bars you be spittin' soft Soon as I sat in the chair to write, this n***a lost They persuade you to get caught in this trap, no gettin' off I will dent him for nothing, I'm cut from a different cloth See, this a loss you should've planned for But we all know you're good with defeat We all seen you on the dance floor But before I say "f** JC!" and everything he stand for Let's talk about what else them letters JC could stand for Jones chillin', Jordans clean, taking shots of Jose Cuervo He's a joke, ‘cause he be just crumping Like a motherf**in' weirdo If he jump crump, try to shoot me with heaters He getting jigged, chopped, jugular cut With a blade in his back, now he Julius Caesar But let's be precise, you ain't like Caesar to be the type The fans think you walk on water, I guess you Jesus Christ That's what you selling? Well, we don't buy bull We're just to real to pay, you dating Jaz Well, even if you and that virgin marry, I still feel you gay Your heater outside, my scouts ride Before that fire arm'll get in, I'll impale you, J So cross me with that hammer I'll spin Julian in reverse and nail you, J That's crucifixion; if you knew religion you'd get the lesson But since I got you here, my n***a, I got a big confession I'm the one your chick is pressin', she be out here dick hopping Every Sunday, she hit me and we get sh** popping I scream when she go nuts on my jimmy Without her lips stopping She a dairy queen, that's why I got her in my whip topping That clip popping, one word and watch them goons be getting the shoot and rob Julian for every f**ing j**el he in I hate calling you Julian, it doesn't fit you truly So I ain't calling you Julian, I'ma call you Julie Now, as far as battle rap, in the Bean I'm the king If you took my crown, Julie, you'd be queen of the ring But them dwellers and misfits ain't with all that Jazz, Julie With that 40 I'm precise with better aim than a QB Bullets ring, if they miss murk up the hall Better hustle or they abusing you, see, you're a star with the heart to flow, but I know you fear a funeral Remorse is rare and unusual, against hood policies I came to turn your sorry a** gang into a pile of G's So where you from? Wait, J. Dilla and Proof state? Well, I'ma son you here Let me reverse that and run through clear I hear you, son, but state proof that you a dealer, J They get weight from you, where? I had it backwards and ran them words back f**ing bezerk So tell M. Ciddy that's how you punch in reverse