Lyrics
(DJ Frank The Tank)
God, when that faggot gets here.. He better.. he better not duck me this week cuz he did last week.. I'll fuckin' blast him in the face... with a baseball bat..*Laughs* I'm not even lyin'. I got a Louisville Slugger in my fuckin' closet, and he'll get it upside his goddamn head.
Then, he's gonna try to rap somethin'. He's gonna be like, "Yo, I didn't write this last week."
I'll be like, "What? I didn't even ask you about that."
And he'll be like, "Uhh, I mean, let's freestyle guys, cuz I'm the best freestyler ever. I can.. I can freestyle pretty good. Like I mean, I've been practicin'. I couldn't last week, but this week I can freestyle."
*Music Starts*
(BJLethal)
Aight, this is probably gonna be shitty. But, here we go..
(Crowd)
Choke! Choke! Choke! Choke! Choke!
*BJLethal Throws Mic*
(DJ Frank The Tank)
We'll just have to use the five times you messed up, and we'll just mix it in with the written one you had. And, we'll call it a freestyle.
Man, I think I fucking shit my pants... Dude.. Oh wait.. That's just.. that's just my skills. I got skills comin' out the ass.
*Beat Kicks In*
Aww, man, Rob had his cell phone on, I think he was actually callin' an ambulance.
How come?
You can fuckin' be so dumb.
To run up on Frank The Tank. The Kid don't play
Rob knows that, he fucks around anyway.
and I heard it through the grapevine your even beefin' now,
after all the shit you seen me do.
Rip up your whole crew and your writtens too.
Yo, I don't slack, I'mma fuck up you.
Here we go, docey do, bitch. I get on the mic,
and I flip the coin, and you got the first balls to write.
Wanna recite that shit, it's all bullshit,
and yo, you know you ain't nothin' mutha fucka, whatcha comin' with.
You ain't got shit, yo. From your feet to your ball cap,
you think your hip hop, you ain't all that.
You ain't about shit yo, where's your throwback?
Got on your chain on yo, he thinks hes all rap
But, he ain't about shit, just standing like a bitch,
He ain't got shit. Got his fuckin' on his clip.
He's got his little fuckin' cell phone talkin about this bullshit,
He's gonna call up ambulances. Motha fucka, yo we knows this.
Kid ain't rap, he ain't even close to it,
I get up on this mic and bomb exposes shit.
Bouta show this whole crowd how Brad can't even rap,
he's sad as fuck, motha fuckas, we all know that.
This is probably the closest you've ever been to a hood, *Grabs his hood*
in your whole life, you think you a rapper, but you know you no good.
That's right, I said it, you ain't no fuckin' thug,
You a fake motha fucka, yeah bitch whats up?
*beat cuts*
(DJ Frank the Tank)
I know, I'm fuckin' sweet. Like, if Brad was rappin' that, It'd just sound like, it'd sound like. This or something. *wierd noise* I just rubbed the mic on the carpet. That's how fuckin' bad it was. Because thats how Brad raps. That's.. That's all I have to say. It's like shittier. It's not even like carpet. He raps like.. I should've put my microphone in the toilet, but I didn't want to ruin it. But, that would have been the equivalent of Brad rapping.
(BJLethal)
You talkin' shit, you talkin' shit I gotta battle..
*beat kicks in*
(BJLethal)
Yo, get off the mic Frank you say it up I'm sick like you a dyke.
Listen up man..........
(DJ Frank the Tank)
Bradley-One Bar-Jones.
Man, this ones for my dog, Veeney. I gotta give my boy some revenge on this shit. I'm gonna fuck you up Brad.
Man, Imma make this G-Unit shit sound better than it does.
Hahah.. Keep laughin' faggot.
How am I supposed to do this Rob jumpin' up and down, my house is gonna fall apart.
I been bad ass, been bad to the bone,
yo, I refuse to be surpassed by some Bradley Jones.
Little bitch faggot ass mutha fucka, can't condone,
You gettin' a little too close, back the fuck up holmes.
You stepped inside my zone, yo, I'm bound to explode,
Bound to smack your bitch ass up mutha fucka, what
