Lyrics
I stand tall wit da mic, Theory and DB are gonna die tonight,
You wanted violence right? Ya’ll two rhyming hypes,
What’s a joke is ya life, ya’ll were never tight ‘n could never write or ever fight,
Ya’ll two forever dykes, your production sucks, like,
“Man! Fuck! We were gonna get help from Mic”
oh, right, my bad, that sounds original,
ya got no skills, ya crew name should be “At A Minimal,”
ya raps are pitiful, sorry to break ya hearts,
ya’ll ain’t artists when you fake the art,
in rap, XPK will never make a mark,
soon as they dropped me, the whole crew started to break apart,
to many brainless remarks, like “Fuck As Is!”
DB, you’re a wannabe audio text has been, never meant fa rappin,
Theory’s even worse he brings more garbage than a trash bin,
Ya’ll two manicans, it’s clear ya fake like you write on laminates,
How you gonna handle this? I can’t lose when I battle the talentless,
It’s 2 on 1 ‘n you still can’t even the balances,
Do ya even know what talent is? Check credentials,
It doesn’t mean you’re skilled when Jaycee says you have potential,
I got twice ya mental, this diss is essential to beef,
Between DB, Theory, and me there’s two fakes I see
What’s ya reason for startin beef wit As Is?
It’s a fact that Digital could never Blast shit,
Wanna match wits? The truth is, Theory’s a hypothesis,
You thought you were nice, but the opposite is obvious,
Transitive Thoughts should call it quits,
So take this diss like a blow job and swallow it,
Follow this? Why do a stupid thing like that?
You should do like Nyasia, and sing on tracks,
Ya raps just bring on laughs, ya getting no where like a seesaw’s path,
Now all of LW will see ya’ll pass,
I gotta passionate grasp on the talent you lack,
Let me breakdown how these fake cats act,
DB lays the tracks, edit, effects rack,
Reverb ‘n that’s that, Theory’s emotion is flat,
Punches attempt, but never attack,
They suck, yet they claim they better than that,
You decide whether it’s fact, but back,
To killin these lames, fillin they graves,
I’m workin these dames, like I was a drill or a crane,
If ya think ya ill, ya ain’t sane,
The train of though came and passed ya two peanut brains,
I spit, sit back, ‘n watch ya dicks raise, just give praise,
Ya’ll are easy to kill like sick slaves, I script dismay,
The only time ya CD is heard is when one of you hits play,
These dudes are bitch made, More pussy than two lips between legs,
I’ve seen eggs, that last longer under pressure,
Only time you come sick is when yer under the weather,
Remember this, you 2 ain’t better than Unheard,
I wonder why you suck DB?
A month ago you were dissin Theory, now you both rep TT!
30 days ago we agreed, now DB and Theory are dissin me and can’t breathe
Now Gambit, I saved an entire verse for you,
So you know you’re as lame as the other two,
Whatchu gonna do? That’s a nice name ya got,
An eX-Man turned bitch, bein gay is the only way ya flaming hot,
Ya brain is not, developed quite like mine,
I rep D.O.A. you die when you fight my kind,
You could write my lines and still lose,
You must jerk off a lot, cuz only you could feel you!
When’d you diss me dude? I ain’t heard shit,
Ya talking like priests, nothing you say will ever hurt this!
You’re the furthest, of all 3 from As Is,
Gambit, ya rank should say “Way Below Average!”
Damage, is somein ya lines will never supply,
Why ask why? Transitive thoughts need 3, I use 1 mind,
Ya flows is still nothing combined,
After I spit ya gonna be runnin rewind,
Runnin behind, tryna catch each and every one of my lines,
You’ll run, but you’ll never find a clue,
Answer this…How come one guy can out rhyme a crew?
