Mic Galper - Reality Check (Chris Webby/Tim Gallo Diss) lyrics

Chorus (Mic Galper): You going to get ridiculed, lyrical or physical Run up in your interview, co*k back finish you I've been on some whack sh**, f**ing with you amateurs Off the bat I should have made you make me f**ing sandwiches I can beat you anything, any sport, any game, even little things, competition is my middle name! Verse 1 (Mic Galper): All these f*ggot want to know, Yo, why you diss Webby? b**h I don't need a reason, but reasons, I got plenty He was acting like a bully, in reality he p**y taking shots at random rappers who just trying to make their money He dissing the innocent rappers, minding their business just rapping Acting like he's the biggest lyricist when his lyrics is average He want to rumble with the rookie make him crumble like a cookie f** him, snuff him like Snooki start smushing this p**y Because my previous diss, it wasn't even a diss, it was a little jab b**h just talking my sh** Me and Cash k**ed a bottle before I started to spit And we recorded some sh**, and it was funny as sh** And did we take it overboard? Dog, come on of course I'd let it go back to before, but some lines have been crossed, so f** it Timmy, you could rap. That diss could have been crack. If you really had your man's back and wasn't a rat If you really talked like that, if you really walked like that, if it wasn't all an act, man it would have been not bad You could fool the whole World, but I know what you did, and you know what you did, we all know what you did You did a lot of fabrication and exaggeration plus a lot of Galper hating deceiving misleading with miscalculations Blatant false information. Delivered out of desperation. And I don't really got the patience But I got phone conversations explaining why Webby on probation. Explain to people how you folded in interrogation Police statements, confessions that helped investigation for a BB Gun stick up? D-mn, you're some f**ing Gangsters Timmy's a grown man, snitching on his own fam(Family.) Timmy belong in the Witness Protection Program That's why I had to dip that sh** was to fake for me Back in my Hood for good I rep(resent) it faithfully I'm not a Gangster, no, I don't got to lie I got an honest job, you know, a nine to five And I don't drive, the Q Train right down the block You, you got a lot of guap, courtesy of Mom and Pop I use Webby, now I must abuse Webby Remember when we had you open up for Wu Webby? Tell the truth Webby, what happened, they booed Webby Everybody felt like the corniness was to heavy You can verify with anyone, son, I never lie I spit a true story, surely, every time New York City like, Yo, who's this herby guy? Suburban and nerdy self-proclaiming that he's certified And if I want beef, then he's serving fries. What? And apparently he murders guys? Get the f** out of here. f*ggot queer. On stage getting sloppy after half a beer Webby and Timmy watching Sex and the City, Webby yelling at Timmy, Eat the celery with me, shoot these chemicals in me, shrink your testicals with me, start flexing your titties in front of twelve year old biddies You aren't brother, you're bis**ual, lovers s**ing each other Sitting next to each other, giggling and texting each other Flexing, squeezing, hugging, rubbing against each other There's some f*ggot sh** going on Corny a-s s**ers, find me on 23rd and Voorhies you s**ers That little f*ggot Wave isn't for me you s**ers That's why I left and dissed you, can't respect what's not official I'm from the home of greasy crooks, you f*ggots want to be us, but please give up Because I took Webby to the Brook(lyn), son, he was shook, my people looked at him scheeving like Easy Jux I'm trying to bring that real sh** back fast and you're k**ing it No, I'm not feeling it, your style's not legitimate I'm 18 Years Old, I can't wait for my career to unfold, I hope they scream, f** Galper at your shows Hope a Brooklyn Mother F-cker throw tomatoes at your nose Hope those same tomatoes stain your f**ing clothes I want all the posers to hate me so my face get exposed, meet the enemy, the bad guy, I'm making it known I'm taking your throne, I'm breaking your bones, you send your gay friend Timmy you couldn't face me alone Timmy's a clone in the making, no, he faker than clones. He faker than that voice that Drake make in his songs. No he faker than a m**m eating bacon in the morn(ing). No he faker than Can*l Street, Fugazy, Vitton The definition of fake, is a b**h and a snake, and if Webby is the b**h that mean that Timmy the snake Whispering about my camp but can't say sh** to my face. When I see you, I'm going to see you, I'm going to spit in your face f** the chit-chatter. I make your whole sh** splatter, p**y. I make your whole clique scatter Witness the hungry Emcee diss the rich Rappers. Swagger Jackers man they got they whole sh** backwards Conneticut Suburbs, I call it Buns City They aren't rapping they're flapping like Big Pun's Titty No disrespect, but I rep(resent) one city Still the throne and that home of that one Biggie I sh** on you, son you like Kim who sonned Nicki Actually, she daughter her, me, I'm going to slaughter you I was rocking LRG while you was rocking Nautical Then you bought a couple shirts and thought I wouldn't notice you? Biting my clothes, my flows, scribbling down my formula Trying to talk like you from here, I'll send you back to Narnia Scope you then I'll corner you Poke you in your cornea Choke you until you're coughing blood, homie I'm just warming up And am I warm enough? Sonny I'm like Florida, The Coroner going to scoop you Timmy tattled to an Officer Because Gallo is just soft as f**. Soft as what? Soft as bu*t. Softer than a little munchkin pumpkin why you talking tough? When you know how soft you are. How soft? Soft enough for me to come dolo and f** both you up Chorus (Mic Galper): You going to get ridiculed, lyrical or physical Run up in your interview, co*k back finish you I've been on some whack sh**, f**ing with you amateurs Off the bat I should have made you make me f**ing sandwiches I can beat you anything, any sport, any game, even little things, competition is my middle name! Verse 2 (Mic Galper): Mic came and conquered it, spectacular vernacular My knife game immaculate, my gun game is accuarate My knuckle game laughing at your tongue game, you're flapping it, the Rap Game went f*ggot man, nobody battling Everybody's smiling, kissing a-s grabbing it, nobody spitting, bunch of metaphor yabbling Babbling, swagging and bragging and I'm not haven't it, but if, Webby is famous then I'd rather be nameless Chill in the basement, face L's, laugh at your lameness, because I'd rather be, oh so hated then overrated So I'm dissing both you ladies it's over baby. Webby you waited to long, so sh**, even if you respond it's going to be whack now, because you backed down, could tried but instead you send some whack clown Could of have some pride, but you just ga**ed inside, could of given me competition Chris but your body stiffened You got that feeling like you couldn't memorize a written You not a real New Yorker, you haven't been through 9/11 How you going to walk around saying sh** like, "I'm a legend." You're not a real spitter, no, you're just rhyming different I mean come on son, what do you really rap about? At 15 I was rapping the sh** you're rapping now? At 16 I was bagging the b**hes you're bagging now At 17 I was a smooth kid singing for b**hes At 18 I said, "f** that, singing's for b**hes." But then I back peddled, because, singing takes some balls. I mean Frank Sinatra, he was singing for broads Anyways, back to dissing the whackest of the whackest, the over animated f*ggot with the exaggerated accent Because I battle for respect, and you battle for checks, this isn't a diss track b**h just a Reality Check