[Round 1 – Bigg K]
I did your man 9D real fuckin' dirty
That's why you set this up like this?
You handpick your opponent? Pre-write all that tough guy shit?
And that's cool, but what happened to that footage out in Portland? Somebody cut my shit
Before the third round I told that whole room
Him included, to suck my dick
True story, I was in your city, showin' no respect
In the crowd, spillin' Henny, givin' shoulder checks
I would stretch your whole hood like a cobra neck
Punch your fuckin' face in half
And headlock you 'til the bones connect
This was your idea, I said as long as them bills right
We hung out once or twice—bitch, I know we ain't real tight
But how you ask to battle The Saurus, Ness Lee and 9DM
You know what this feel like?
You set up battles ‘cause you too pussy
To tell people you don't like them in real life
When you was in Scribble Jam
I was in state boots and prison tans
We both rap, but no wrap, I'm a different man
Real rap, I'll lift Illmac through a ceiling fan
And drop money on his grill like a dental plan
Let this faggot teeth bang on the concrete
You're 5'1", I bet your feet hang out the car seat
This right hand knock your ass from Oakland to Long Beach
And you gon' make it to Smack when your nose and my palm meet
Like, "Hey, hater!" – showstopper, face breaker
Throw a haymaker, wake up a day later
With your cap peeled, Mac built like an 8th grader
I will quick-slice your windpipe with a straight razor
You act tough when you rap stuff, play gangster
But you really pussy, that's fake heart: pacemaker
You come from a nice crib in the 'burbs with a gay neighbor
I was runnin' through the fire and rain like James Taylor
'Caine slangers, chain yankers, and gang bangers
Fuck a vet, I'm in this spot for my rep: weight trainer
And I ain't come here to out rap you, just disrespect
So go ahead, spit that nerd shit
For all these nerds, so I can get my check
[Round 1 – Illmaculate]
That shit was good, but what everybody's thinkin' is
That outfit is flavorful and bright
Right now, everybody's wondering
How bumblebees are capable of flight
I hope you take this personal
‘Cause when he's focused, he's incredible
And we've all seen the worst in you
When your emotions get the best of you
To me, this is a walk in the park!
To him, this is a walk in the plank
For him, this is a shot in the dark
But for me, this is a shot in the face!
They ask me, "Where you been?"—stayin' polished
Meanwhile a lot have came and gone, I remained the hottest
Deregulate the game: Reaganomics
Take him hostage, breakin' eggs, makin' omelettes
Don't mistake us, pay me homage
You comparin' satin to Satan, angel cake to Pagan prophets!
That's an ominous thought, my style is ungodly
Now you have to ponder the quandary
You got in boxin' the combo of Ali and Rocky
This is honestly a body, a homi, homie
I'm small, but you tiny beside me
I'm tall when I hop on the pile of bodies that I leave behind me
You said I was top five on your account
I was watchin', I saw it, I was like, "Aww, he can count."
The respect is mutual, except when you alone
With your thoughts in your house
And all that salt in your mouth
Callin' the homie, "What was you talkin' about?"
I was talkin' him up, he thought I was talkin' him down
I was callin' his number to see what he thought of this, now
Fuck it! I'm moppin' him up, haulin' him out
Callin' his number on my list of bodies to count
Instead of *click*, it's *CLICK*
This the difference between callin' you up and callin' you out
One thing I don't wanna hear in this ring is
"I'm fuckin' up… Go 'head, man!"
That's like showin' up to a fight, and right before you swing
Being like, "I'm fuckin' up… Go 'head, man!"
I got a trick that might help you choke less, fam
Imagine a strap on your temple like an old headband
Soon as you forget your shit, then that chrome lead blam
Would you show up to a shootout
Forget the clip, and be like, "I'm fuckin' up… Go 'head, man!"
He's used to rappin' locally, he does that shit openly
He's got some shit, he's above average vocally
But if you can't remember the raps you wrote for me
Battle's over, please buy a ticket, leave the ring
And watch from where the fan's supposed to be
[Round 2 – Bigg K]
Now, when you listen to him rap
You'd think he on some Mafia, some wise guy shit
But you talk to him after the battle
He talkin' about the government and sci-fi shit
How he do research on his computer
With like a turbo booster Wi-Fi chip
And in his spare time, he sit up in Oregon and tie-dye shit
Yeah, you little fuckin' weirdo
Where'd the rest of your beard go?
It looks like your feet shrink every time that your ears grow
See, I could rap like that if I wanted to star in this queer show
But let me get back to what the fuck I was here for
That gutter shit, handgun with the rubber grip
I'll lift your soul through the beam like a mothership
So who you fuckin' with? Little man, suck a dick!
You fragile, I'll break your shit wearin' oven mitts
I keep a level-head in drama, you seem shook
I'm bi-polar: nice jab, mean hook
I'll lift his carcass up one hand like, "Team, look!"
Then ride around with the body on top of the van: Teen Wolf
If he a animal, what do you call me?
All it take is two shots, the gun is in arm reach
A chrome MAK-90 up in your dog teeth
This ill MAK ring twice: that's WRC's
But I ain't givin' you props, that's just a scheme that seem sick
Broken doorbell: your two rings don't mean shit
I was runnin' to the boogie, with a gun up in the hoody
You can take them two rings and shove 'em in your pussy!
I said, fuck your track record, my shit deeper than rap
I'ma let you talk greasy for two more rounds, but leave it at that
I wanna swing with a bat upside your cheek 'til it crack
Your chin snap and the impact break a piece of your back
I draw blood for the sport like a Van Damme flick
I'm on the road with these drums: band camp trip
Some shit in the trunk that'll make a Trans Am flip
Hit this clown with a sweeper on some Sandman shit
I don't belong in battle rap, I'm in the streets with the crooks
This is where you home, ‘cause you just as sweet as you look
But as long as every time you gotta battle a black guy
You keep gettin' shook
It's gon' be a motherfucker like me that's gon' keep gettin' booked
[Round 2 – Illmaculate]
I'ma use one of your slogans
‘Cause that last line, that shit's corny
Losing to a black rapper, well, if that's his story
I don't think he realizes he don't fit in that category
It's rebuttal time! Listen closely and hold me down!
I made him cater to me, so what's your slogan now?
I made him switch his whole style
When he wrote these rounds
I thought it was all bars, no personals…
Yeah, act like you know me, clown!
I'm tryin' to get through to pimpin'
‘Cause by the looks of him
He's got issues with women, like a swimsuit edition
He's so forgetful with writtens
I ain't got a line about this fool in prison
‘Cause at least there he can actually get through a sentence
Listen, Pesci, you're unlikeable and you choke a lot
That must make you URL's Loe then
You must have been high on your debut
But you were the URL's low then
I bet the thought of me murkin' him, URL's loathin'
But this a fight for your life
So keep your eyes on the sights like the URL's loadin'
Y'all seen the trailer, right?
They didn't put his face in, but the best part?
You should thank them and their blessed hearts
Between the eight chins and the stretch marks
And the customized beard
So it's clear where his face ends and his neck starts
You want a Smack rapper? Here's what all of 'em would say
Could've called it with his name
If this B.I. actin' too G he'll get followed with the K
I'll put him in a bag when I spray and hit whoever
Then keep bustin' till there's nothin' in the mag
Like the pages stick together
I see him, I start clappin' in broad day like *claps*
He sees me, he starts clappin' the wrong way
Like, *claps backwards*
I may not have a fortune, but at least I don't have a fourth chin
Now, do you wanna battle for 'em
Or argue with fans some more on battle forums? That shit's corny!
You're here, but you're not that important
I'm battlin' my last performance—and look!
I ain't drunk, I still got a leg up on him like Captain Morgan
You said I was nerd rap, right?
You said that, them lies you spreadin'
The Kalashnikov rinse him off, pyrotechnics
Fall from the sky and wet him
Suppressors with extended clips
Like I had a motherfuckin' rifle fetish
As far as knife collections, mine's impressive
Bioweapons, a pair of Eagles
That Glock 18 like a Barely Legal
Trigger finger give him hypertension
Equipment check, ballistic vest, you final-destined
Our paths intersect, woo! Insert a violent reference
Like, I got that Larkin for a bargain
It's in the car ‘cause the pound's light
I got that carbine with a beam when I'm targetin' down sights
I made a custom potato muzzle, for that AR if a clown might
Hop that fence, that Bullpup's got a quiet bark and a loud bite
I can't wait 'til my fans hear them bars in the sound bite
But I use that part of the round right
Before you bring up Arsonal
Figured you ought to know what a real arsenal sounds like!

[Round 3 – Bigg K]
We in two different lanes, that's somethin' I found out quick
‘Cause you only aggressive when you rap
You just a loud-mouth bitch
You ain't tall enough to reach my chin
If you threw a roundhouse kick
You think all I got is gun bars, so how 'bout this?
I will smack the shit out of you, with both hands
You a grown man the size of D.J. from Roseanne
Maybe I'm real old-fashioned, but I don't feel yo' rappin'
Who is Ill toe-taggin'? You tall as Bilbo Baggins
I said, I be twistin' the cigar, that piff that's in the jar
Thirty wishes, dirty dishes in the kitchen whippin' hard
When Illmac raps, I ain't listenin' at all
I could throw him in the air and kick him fifty yards
You a suburban faggot that rap and think he hard
Like you get some type of street cred
‘Cause you caught a motherfuckin' weed charge
I will beat slob down your chest like a retard
For three large, I'll send Mac to Steve Jobs
If he ill, this HIV meets cancer
I come to any league and work: I'm a freelancer
I made your boy 9DM look like a Pink Panther
I caught a body behind your back like a swing dancer
I been to block, dump the Des' E and ride off
Swing back through, the shit sound like July 4th
Hop out the whip, stomp his head 'til it slide off
No tap dancin', I'm kickin' Gregory Hines parts
Fuck bein' at home, I want the best of the best
I'm a true gunner from newcomers to the legends and vets
That long Desert Eagle hit you dead in your chest
That's how to kill a mockingbird: shoot Gregory pec
This battle rap shit is corny, I only do it for the paper
If you say somebody nice, you a dickrider
But if I say you wack, I'm a hater
And this top tier ain't shit based on skills
This shit is favor for a favor
I don't take you serious, ‘cause you not—now pay me for my labor!

[Round 3 – Illmaculate]
He did exactly what I thought he'd do
Act like he's so damn hard
Motherfucker, you look like Roseanne's husband
Now that's a Rosanne bar!
This troop is in training, salute
It ain't the music, the fame or the views
Don't blame the rules of the game, you'll lose
Use it to train, that's fuel for the flame that grew
Review the tapes, do what I say to do
And watch the moves that you make improve
See, K, I could step my game up while still doin' the same for you
Salute when you see me, tell 'em to let them horns blow
This is my second coming, my forthcoming was foretold
This is his corpse cold on the floor, blood on the wall
Swingin' a sword slow through the torso of his torn soul
My hands reach out from the abyss
Remove the ground under his kicks
His soul lifts from the ground up and it drifts
Into cloud, cover and mist, he shouts clutchin' a fist
But feels his mouth's covered in stitch
He's now stuck in a glitch where sound doesn't exist
He could see though that he's marked for death
That revelation made him reload, even though our bars reflect
The scene with Neo and the Architect
We are connected like DARPANet
I'll fly a charter jet into your thought bubble
And park directly in front of the verse you 'bout to start with next
This is plastic army men to nuclear armament
Every dollar spent on defense in the HAARP project
Each bar: an armored mech, alarm detection
Armed and set to target threats
Each word: a sharpened edge, scar his flesh
Carve it through his heart's contents 'til my heart's content
Rewind it first, instead of threatenin'
You're goin' to die in verses, I reverse it
They're payin' me not to kill you… let your mind interpret
Soon as that contract was signed in cursive
Your life was purchased!
Rewind it further, before you lost this battle to a vet
Before you seen Organik in the flesh
Yelling "Rapper to my left!"
I accepted this match-up as a matter of respect
So you should feel honored when I decapitate your neck
Blood splashin' on the steps
In the cracks of the cement until the avenue is wet
But wait! That's when you snap out of it
Wake up drownin' in a sweat
Grabbin' at your chest, gaspin' for a breath
You look around you, but instead of a casket it's your bed
And you realize we haven't battled yet
This all happened in your head
Just imagine what's gonna happen at the actual event!