[Round 1: Shotgun Suge] Let’s get ONE. THING. STRAIGHT!
Certain shit about you is fake
Like how you be snatchin’ purses, that’s worse than boostin’
These his last days, it’s no recoupin’
Slam, Shut 'Em Down, it’s no regroupin’
Ironic, think Onyx: I got bucks for Twork in Houston
BOW! BOW! This shit loud like an angry woman
That flamer comin’
I’m at the gang, who want it?
I tried to show lil' bro the ropes, but now I gotta hang you from it!
Your “Before” pics, niggas memed that!
You choked your last N.O.M.E, I seen that!
I mean that!
Let two ring in Houston, the cops think The Dream back!
Washed-up vet, that’s what a rookie think
‘Til I let it rain and slide on Twork like the pussy stink!
Nobody on your staff goon
Your man Ryda don’t ride, he a half-goon
If Twork show his ass tonight, he’ll get hit with a half-moon!
Man, fuck that!
Black van, two baby Locs slidin’ out the back
Clip curve look like curly fries hangin’ off the MAC!
I knew you was a sneaky bitch, with a name like Ravonne
Ravonne? You love that fuckin’ ho-?
BAOW! The world gon’ mourn over you like Trayvon!
You STRAPPED IN!? Well, pull it off the belt, then!
You cold as ice, I’ll let him melt, then
He get dealt, then
I’m shootin’ everybody: Ray men (Raymond) even felt ten
I’m the biggest baby Loc on the street
.45 a beauty
I had to ring this bitch bell: he done woke up a beast
I get cool wit’ him, then get his son trust (Suntrust) like where Atlanta play
Carpool wit’ the goons in a Santa Fe
And a K, drag Ray across Jersey like Tampa Bay
I ain’t scared of nobody wit’ the same gender
I got that four in, that Ray Catena
LeBron: I been coachin’ these niggas, the game-ender
The King put Ray in the corner, he wide open for the game-winner!
RAN-DOM!
You battled on a homo league?
You from Jersey!
That’s not acceptable on these live streets!
You gon’ tell me you did it for the money?
So what? That’s like gettin’ booked for Pride Week!
The culture like weed: I done smoked me the best
You like a roach: I’m just smokin’ what’s left
As my pump raise, I’ll put smoke in his chest
You know how I rock, shootin' straight wit’ a gun, B
Gun me!?
Houston, this Bun B vers’ Chun-Li!
I’m like Birdman
This my son, y’all! Please believe me!
I’m the type to do him greasy…then take a picture wit’ him like he Weezy
I said, BANG on him: Shaq Attack!
Commit the murder, my younguns need a rack for that!
Oh, you like to snatch old ladies’ purses?
Well, lemme get you BACK FOR THAT!
JERSEY!

[Round 1: Nu Jerzey Twork] I say, yo, hold it down, please, please, please…
I say, my MAC is black, and I have bullets bangin’ out a 10
This nigga said “Shaq Attack”…
He forgot when he was BRINGIN’ DOWN THE RIM!
I don’t wanna have to say ANY of this more than once!
Anybody here ever smoked weed and held on to the roach?
Good, I’ma keep this short and blunt
Bigga 9!
BIGGA 9!
You see that I been clutchin’ on the same!
But it started to get rusty from all the sufferin’ and pain
‘Til I gave it a 30-clip, a beam, and I even buffered off the stains
Gave the Cannon a whole new look…Love Don’t Cost a Thing!
I’m riled UP!
You’s a coward!
Assault rifle, the shell with the point…Bowser!
Wowsers! I’m SO reckless!
You know better
Fuck a heart, I’ll look in ya eyes and soul-ch-

[Shotgun Suge & Nu Jerzey Twork] YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHH! YEAH! YEAH!

[Nu Jerzey Twork] I’m SO reckless!
You know better
Fuck a heart, I could look in ya eyes and soul-check ya
Then a lil' bitch come in between: it’s a homewrecker!
Where it’s at!?
I turn up wit’ a Desert like Coachella!
I’m strapped wit’ a big black AK: they bold letters!
I’ll line a can' to him, pistol-whip him woozy…
The barrel look like a Venn Diagram to him!
I’m readin’ routes
Like, do you really got them drugs in your home, or you just seekin’ clout?
I bet your bitch will go and give us the bricks if I beat it out
Hansel and Gretel: I head to your sweetie house
In a outrage
Niggas in the crib: house slave
I’ll line and shoot, .45 with the silent screwed
Extended barrel stretch the bark like, “I am Groot!”
Dick-sucka!
You dick-sucker!
I’m a SIG-dumper, Paul Mason drink-hugger
9, HK, SK: this shit a VIN number
Big fucker
Nah, two Cals, they twin brothers
In Texas creepin’, Tippin’ On Four Fours (.44s): I Slim Thug him!
This a Bull thing!
A pistol whip that’ll make a mood change
Nina, give you the butt
Well, show ‘em how to do it now: shake your groove thang!
I shoot things!
And you don’t wanna see my chrome dump
Gun butt, jack up the stock…”Fee, fi, fo, fum”
Hold up, pole dump
William Larkin to him
Wooden stock, with the scope
Every target doomed
Chris Brown…
Excuse me?…Miss!?
I SAW YOU FROM ACROSS THE ROOM!
I spark wit’ goons!
Drive-by, in a drop we cruisin’
Pull up – errt!
I chopped and screwed it
If I hop out, and he pop out, it’s a chop’ I’m usin’
If I go to the trunk, I gotta get somethin’ out of it like an opportunist
I got the drop on dude crib
Breaking and entering, we all got hands on a gun
Leave the whole house trashed: Sanford and Son
I’ma be the champ when it’s done
Sniper rifle
You ‘bout to see what how many gets
With the kickstand
Danny Myers: I’m on the ground with this shit
It’s appa-
Jersey, man! Jersey!

[Round 2: Shotgun Suge] Kick his door in! He-
Hold it DOWN!
Kick his door in! head shot!
Ichiro right on his [?] My two sons’ll have the Goonies runnin’ through the crib like Mama Fratelli!
Heard he a rat, he Fed bait
Heavy steel, that’s dead weight
Gun be cut in his casket, a dome shot change his head shape
You fuckin’ geek!
You fuckin’ weak!
You a fuckin’ thief!
Street cleaner: I’ll shoot up your block, like, once a week
I could split his wig wit’ the biggest SIG’
But why…when I could beat Twork up like Rich The Kid?
‘Sup, nigga!?
Fuck nigga!
If I slap Twork, the shit come wit’ a buck, nigga!
The death of his men got him highly upset
Body a wreck
Kill his kids, let him live: I demand the respect
Big blade under the flesh
I’m makin’ more than a mess
Type shit to make him stop believin’ in God like NWX
Nasty!
South Central
Bobby Johnson got the deuce pointed at Ray-Ray
He can get picked behind bars like JPay
Have him on the race in Houston, but catch him back in Jersey like Tay-K
Ain’t shit changed, but the state where crime pays
He owe me bread? He got five days!
Paul Wall, metal in his mouth, the M.O.B days
We in Houston parking lot, trunk pop, he’ll be sittin’ sideways!
I send one hollow
Like Magic, four'll follow (Afflalo)
You’ll be underground, king (UGK), with ya pride too hard to swallow
I’ll have ya baby mother head missin’ for the goofy shit
Or shoot her dead in the pussy: I’m makin’ tuna fish
Movie scene, I’m used to this
I ain’t crazy…this a ghetto boy (Geto Boys) wit’ the mind of a lunatic
These .223s will break brick
You’ll be strapped IN!? He don’t shake shit!
He just Rap-A-Lot, and it make sense
We got a problem, Houston: I’m holdin’ down the Drac' (Drake) like J Prince!
I’m out of state wit’ it!
If it’s beef, send the cargo
Two goons like a Marlo
Glock in the car low
Shit lightweight, but hit hard like twin Charlo!
I’m on his block with my four brothers, makin’ noise again
I’ll have him runnin’ down the block wit’ his boys again
But at the End Of The Road, four singin’ like Boyz II Men
Strike when the iron’s hot: let’s have a steam-off
I’ll break his team off
Revolver spin like Qleen, and knock him clean off!
Stop frontin’, you heard I’m crazy
I’m talkin’ psycho
Head shot the kid: he a Gerber baby!
I keep the steel, Ray, I heavy creep
It’s bodies on the steel, Ray, I’m heavy street
But we could put the guns down and guns up like…
I steel (Still) Ray like Raphael Saadiq
Jersey on Jersey: that’s block drama
Shells burnin’ like hot lava
Face shot, ma dukes gon’ have to cremate him like 'Pac mama
Remember that!
I never lost to nobody from the state…I’m the KING of that!
Jersey!

[Round 2: Nu Jerzey Twork] I say, YO! Hold it down…
I say, yo…
I said I’m untamed, but my gun game great
Glock, line up perfectly…let’s get one thing straight
This gon’ be some of your poorest moments
After this, no more opponents
You pick and choose who you pocket-check, and we don’t respect that or condone it
You gotta have heart on these cards…organ donor!
I done-
I done been to war with soldiers-
I ain’t bringin’ it back!
You ain’t catch it, you ain’t catch it!
I done been to war with soldiers, the streets is hot
I’m from The Town
Everywhere I go, I bring a Glock
Little 9, but (*chk-chk*) BOW! This thing’ll POP!
Then wipe the prints (Prince)
Blanket over the baby like the King of Pop!
I do BIG damage!
Play wit’ a MAC, ya take your roof off…Sims family
Big van spin: I got road rage, nigga
Two shotguns for Shotgun, and both gauge bigger
I don’t care how tall and big you is (ambiguous): it go both ways, nigga!
There and back!
I played off everything you fear, in fact
I said, “Fuck Trick Trick, he get a shotgun for real-”
That was for you, ‘cause you were scared of that!
Now it’s a (*chk-chk*) shotgun for Shotgun
LET’S HAVE A MIRROR MATCH!
You did a truce!
You made comments ‘bout them niggas from Detroit…but I’m the living Proof!
Livid, too
.22, deuce-deuce, .45
All them numbers on your back: prison suit!
Lift it to-
I said deuce-deuce, but that’ll graze and hit him
But let this 9 wit’ the laser hit him
Docs will have to show this one better treatment…it’s favoritism
You know what it’s been ‘bout wit’ this tool?
Ever since I picked up, the arm forces…scouting recruit
I was confused
So many bodies, I was countin’ ‘em, too
Went through counseling, too
Then I got it
Silencer: it sound like it had its tonsils removed
So it come out with lesser rage (age) like the Fountain of Youth!
I got a thousand to shoot
Long Smith n’
Been doin’ the same repetitive patterns since small kid shit
I shoot, then get rid of the gun: no false witness
I keep dumpin’ the gun, then dumpin’ the gun: I’m autistic!
Get caught slippin’
ERRT! Car rippin’!
Pull up wit’ a large biscuit
Let it point all around ya head: Bart Simpson!
I’m all fists, and- listen
I’m all fists, and these hands work
But I’ll let it blam first
I’d rather let a big can’ burst
Shotgun with the shoulder strap: it ain’t you wit’ ya man-purse!
FAGGOT!
RANDOM!
But damn, Surf…you sly bitch!
You in, you out, you in, you out
Why you don’t do ya time, Crip!?
I’m sittin’ back, thinkin’ ‘bout it…shit got my mind sick
Cause nigga I know told got wet the fuck up
How he the only dry snitch!?
(*chk-chk*) BOW! BOW! BITCH!
WHAAAAAAT!?!
JERSEY!

[Round 3: Shotgun Suge] Lemme talk! Lemme talk!
He said yes first, I ain’t sent for this
I brought the deuce from the Garden, it was meant for this
Your voice: I’m limitless
You flew here from V.A
You ain’t in Jersey no more, you on the Injured List
I get the Mossberg on the string, fam
I ain’t gon’ discredit you like that
Yeah, you from Jersey, but you not authentic: you a swing man
If he swing, man, I’m like Lennox Lewis with the wingspan
You ever been shot nine times?
No, so miss me with the Curtis shit
Like you murkin’ shit
MAC-90 with the 30-clip
Shit’ll flip his body onstage like a circus trick
See, I like your moves
How you really got it mapped in
I even love “Strapped IN!”
But I’m from the era where we battled outside, and we was really strapped in
We had the toughest battles, the roughest
I had the MAC-90, Jai had the fishbowl Cutlass
When I battled Young Miles, we was gripped with chrome
Shit went left, Smack said, “Suge, leave them wild-ass Crips at home”
Point is…how you King of Jersey and call yourself a soldier?
You ain’t never been in the battlefield and had to look over your shoulder
What his life like?
WHAT HIS LIFE LIKE!?
While I was gang-bangin’, he was lane-changin’, puttin’ holes in his face
Piercings, lookin’ swole in the face!
You threw the King card out too early: I’m still holdin’ the Ace!
WHAT HIS LIFE LIKE?
While I was puttin’ work in
Grape-Street-Crippin’, started rappin’, chasin’ for a change
You was twerkin’, turned Piru, now you rap
You just practicin’ the game!
What his life like!?
While he was in that parlor, gettin’ his nose ring
I was hangin’ out an Impala, lettin’ that nose ring!
He ain’t never slide on nobody with the blicky sparkin’!
He empty talkin’!
I’m from South Ward, where it’s the biggest market
I was Home Alone in the trap like Macaulay Culkin!
If you wanna be the King, it’s some shit you should not do
If you wanna be the King, don’t spread rumors about ya niggas that’s not true
If you wanna be the King, and you want that top spot
After a couple battles, and you’re not hot
Just don’t hate on the rest of Jersey when your stock drop!
If you gon’ be the King, don’t be a snakey one!
Just act right!
Everybody say they royal, but real Kings don’t back-bite
Listen, King, I’m just tryin’ to tell you some shit not to do
Don’t change crews, don’t get jealous
Stand behind your soldiers
I’m just showin’ you how a King move
But fuck that! I just copped a TEC
He gon’ get hit, with or without the vest
It’s about respect
Muslim brother point one to his head like Malcolm X
Head shot
I bought the coffin, stick this bastard in it
I’m disrespectful
Type to cut the funeral line, and shoot his hearse up with his casket in it
Twork a church saint
He be preachin’ like he hold the chrome
Superfly: takin’ shots at the priest like Snow Patrol
If you got it, then show me, nigga!
I’m the type to kill your brother, show up to the funeral like, “Where that bread you owe me, nigga?”
Jersey!

[Round 3: Nu Jerzey Twork] I say, yo
I say, yo
I say, YO!
Hold it down, hold it down
I said, I’m a special species
I smell blood, and get extra greedy
Rusty knife, I bet this blade’ll sting your flesh and bleed it
Fuck a gun
You get the razor, King…Nefertiti!
It’s consequences!
Extended clip, everlasting: God’s forgiveness!
I’m wildin' wit’ it, and very aggressive
Smith on me, I told you I brought guns to the venue
You thought I was just sellin’ a message
Well, this where it All Falls Down
I slid the Wess’ (West) through the metal detector!
And get to poppin’!
It’s only one move that you have accomplished
You could pocket-check me here in Texas
Ain’t no use to me actin’ violent
When it’s my turn, you get the pocket rocket
Then, Houston, we have a problem!
I get involved!
You was ridin' Surf wave, ‘til he left you to swim with sharks
You ain’t make it here on your own, my nigga! You been a fraud!
All that “standing on your own two” bull: Minotaur!
Did him wrong!
I did him wrong!
(*chk-chk*) Old shotgun, but you ain’t livin’ long!
BOW! BOW!
The whole building get a cap: synagogue!
Extended jawn, I got a round to air you
Mario, Donkey Kong: up the ladder, down the barrel!
BANG! BANG!
I BEEN killin’!
Hoodie on: the Grim near him
Revolver, music to my ears: the spin realer! (Spinrilla)
I’m a MONSTER!
You fugazi! I don’t do favors!
I’m at the door, beggin’ for Sugar: new neighbor
Who fakin’!?
Glock 9, .45 with the blue laser
These shits go hand-in-hand: group prayer!
Who fakin’!?
Coupe racin’!
Nah, I’m creepin’ low
I don’t see Jimmie nowhere in sight: he keepin’ ghost
See, you soft, and you don’t pop out of ya hole
I see ya soul!
See, we don’t think little Suge'll (sugar) pack it: he Sweet n’ Low!
I play the post!
Big man!
BIG MAN! Let’s see if they could move me
Hit ya melon with a banana
(*swoo*) Or put a Grape on the blade: I’ll make a smoothie!
This bitch be bluffin’!
You ‘bout 6-foot-somethin’, and big for NOTHIN’!
Push my buttons
One tap to your jaw’ll drop him
I’ll tap and put you on ya pockets!
Nigga!
I’m creepin’ up to BUST it!
John John and Hitman puttin’ up money for you?
Yeah, I was peepin’ that discussion
But your cost of livin’ with 12 shells has made it Cheaper By The Dozen!
You ain’t tough!
We know how you rap, you big fuck!
“Clips dump! Switch guns!
I’m from Jersey, nigga: fist pump!”
But you ain’t write Surf one time, nigga: you switched up
Big pump
Who the shooter and the driver?
It don’t matter: I’m blowin’ the whole whip up!
I’M STRAPPED IN!
I’LL CLAP YOU IN A COMA!
MADNESS!
I COULD SNAP AT ANY MOMENT!
I take a Uzi, and get to clappin’ on you guys!
I’m headed to Hillside, masked in a disguise
What his life like?
(*chk-chk*)
He can tell you when it FLASH BEFORE HIS EYES!!!
JERSEY!
JERSEY!
I’M FROM THE TOWN!
I’M FROM THE TOWN!
Good shit up there, man