Pat Stay - Pat Stay vs Bartone lyrics

[Round 1: Bartone] Yo, you're a s**a free boss? Well you know I'm ill This battle took way too long to start, learn how to fold your bills Ayo, Pat Stay? Patrick leave And don't rep your turf when you clash with me There's no pride in Nova Scotia, that's why they made Alexander Keys Your land ma** has the most boring atmosphere Cause when the explosion in Halifax appeared The ma**es were sad with tears But a day went by then they were like, "Wow. Something actually happened here!" Yo, you're not relevant! How you helping the scene? Or thinking you're even half as electric as me When you barely brought fire to an Elements league? And you got gangsta parties really wrong Holding fishing rods and singing songs does not count cause you guys got your fitted on He doesn't even care if the battle leagues in my favor He's just trying to flee his five acres to see a skyscraper You're tall, but had the smallest vision in all ways So I find it kinda sad you spit with adult taste That you're in Hollohan's shadow and can't fit in the full space Yo, the reason Pat's not fake, even though his writtens are wack Is cause you made a b**h of a track called 'I'm Dying' and today you get to live what you rap [Round 1: Pat Stay] I know everyone watching this battle has been wanting to say this forever "Bartone knows those hoes" is the f**ing lamest sh** ever! Like what hoes? I mean if you got some freaks let's call a b**h up If her p**y is as tight as your rhymes then I'll just get my dick s**ed You're a country boy from Cambridge, like what can you even rap about? Drive-bys on paddle boats? Gangbanging a rabbit hole? Like how the f** did this actually happen? When did Alan Jackson start battle rapping? He thought 2Pac died in a NASCAR accident Yo, you look like a f**ing billy goat, like seriously He couldn't pick up girls if he was on a cheer leading team And this s**er's fiending Ladies give him a chance, he f**ing needs it The last person who even touched his penis was his uncle Cletus But I wouldn't take my chances cause when Jason's naked he prances And you'll mistake him for either Marilyn Manson or a praying mantis Plus you know them country folk, too scared to f** a ho Only time he screws nuts and bolts is when his truck is broke [Round 2: Bartone] Ayo the truth is this I got crews that pursue the chips You? Have a canoe to fix and a string that's tied to a stick Yo, so how can you claim you're legit? When you're used to holding tuna fish in front of mirrors yelling "Who's the b**h?!" Here, we fight foul over things that matter see You read Lifestyle Nova Scotia magazine with pike out hoping you can have a dream Men, I think he'd rather fly back And why's that? Cause he you can't buy crack from a guy in a kayak Plus, [?] off the top, it's weak how you spit How senile is this? I seen you choke against Miracle you d-d-don't keep it lyrical So leave now ya b**h cause your freestyles are sh** Yo, he isn't genuine, this man's a f*ggot in the flesh He goes to Indian reserves and gets intimate with Inuits Then comes out with a big a** bag of cigarettes Yo, that's why you get cut when you're talking sessions You got topped by Jeff but didn't follow the lessons So now you'll never face Twist cause students always come second [Round 2: Pat Stay] If you beat me tonight my rap career, sh** I'll probably have to end it But the chances of that are lower than your body fat percentage But who knows, right? He could be one of them genius guys seeing signs sh** I wouldn't be surprised if he could read my mind with those beady eyes Yo I gotta admit, that was a sick verse I respect the way that you twist words And I believe that you're a real cat, but that's because you have whiskers Always rocking them black clothes He just don't even change huh? This useless piece of sh** couldn't sell his soul to Shang Tsung This guy's worthless He's so skinny, when he burps it hurts him If bird sh** landed on his head it would probably murk him Why am I battling a bulimic dude? I'm 'bout to eat his food and that's not even cool Yo his last battle he ate out Tricky P then left the scene and puked See you're the reason why I hate rap you should be speeding on a race track He's a skinny guy from the country, a needle in a haystack [?] f**ing queers a musketeers or a buccaneer But you need to shave that crusty beard, un-tuck your ears and go hunt some deer b**h! [Round 3: Bartone] Go hunt some deer? I'll out rhyme this ho You're the type of f*g that makes "trout" rhyme with "boat" Ayo, Ontario is good to me and it won't be nice to you One in three Canadian families can't afford to enroll their kids in sports So putting up cash son was kind of you But shouldn't you be playing hockey or something? Oh yeah that's what you're trying to do Yo, you wouldn't be a baller at the line of scrimmage, guys just quit it Your TV's a box with a hole that has two beavers fighting in it That makes us look bad, it's sad but it's true Yankees a**ume we say crap like "aboot" cause of f*ggots like you Yo, and judging by his actions, Pat is hurt and not honest Hollohan picks up your slack, you should be paying him hoage Since the city knows who really wrote your verses for Chronic You're not close to a boss with any vision of wealth You wanna slit your arm to catch glimpses of Hell Cause you can't be s**a free having to live with yourself I lost once, but it doesn't phase me or aggravate me And I'll never lose again, especially when my opponents name is Patty Cakes So you won't make it busting raps, I hope you're putting this all together You'll just be a lumberjack with tons of ba** in the sh**tiest province ever Now get outta here! [Round 3: Pat Stay] I don't know why he keeps making fisherman jokes cause I ain't that type of guy But you will get a hook in the jaw if you bite my lines I came here by myself and I ain't scared of no motherf**ers! His whole crew is like a Halloween in the ghetto; just a bunch of s**ers! See back in Nova Scotia we got mad respect for Toronto But your flow s**s nuts like an elephant nostrils And I'm a**uming since I'm alone your boys prolly wanna box Well we can take this sh** outside like a Johnny On The Spot! Yo, I can't wait to show the whole world the b**h in you man And I'll make it a point too, like a fifth of a gram You ain't a hard knock, you're a loser Your alarm clock is a rooster And I'm a pervert, your baby sister uses my large co*k for a soother And I'm an alcoholic but your parents must get wasted as f** Cause you're living proof that people make their biggest mistakes when they're drunk And I might be tall and lanky and drink Colt 45's But you're as soft as your grandmother's last words before she died