[Round 1: Caustic]
I said, so you the Washington guy
The best Seattle had to offer us, right?
But you not from Seattle; you from Federal Way!
You moved to Seattle 'cause that shit sound better to say
Honestly, fuck wherever you stay
'Cause no matter how far you go, you'll always end up second to Jey
You from fuckin' Federal Way
Where every day is fuckin' Presidents' Day
Fuck around and go out the John Kennedy way
When I pull up and put a bullet through the head of the state
I said, now Jey the Nitewing's the URL star that you never became
Calls himself "Stue" and wonders why they don't get him a plate
'Cause it's a soup, you idiot
I said, you a birdbrain
Who you supposed to be, fam?
Jey the Nitewingman?
'Cause Jey the only Washington rapper that anybody's ever gonna remember
Just because you don't know how to represent the hood like a public defender
Fun fact: you are the only URL member who's never got to make songs with Meth
And that's fuckin' ridiculous because you look like Raekwon the Chef
I said, I'm really 'bout that action, put that on everything I love
Conan with the big arms; I'm sendin' messages in blood
Said I'm ridin' with that bitch on me, feelin' like Terminator with the pump
Now, it's Arnold versus Predator; you ain't never seen a white boy to get it out the mud?
Said, ain't you, like, thirty-fuckin'-one, tryna act like a young guy?
But if shit kick off in here, this shit'll be a actual gun fight
Put the .9 in his face like, one wrong word and it's a wrap for this tough guy
Now, you lookin' like some OFF-WHITE Js (why's that?) 'cause the strap got you tongue-tied
I'll rip yo' fuckin' throat out like Roadhouse; that type of shit doesn't even happen any more
Said, "Nah, this is Newton's law." He won't understand the gravity of the situation until his apple hits the floor
I said, you ain't packagin' the raw
You work at the hotel with the rest of the staff!
You a professional bed-maker so it makes perfect sense that you mad
But whenever you rap, it's like forget that you're that and you just start embellishin' facts
You ain't frontin' kis to the guys then collectin' the cash
You at the front desk, givin' keys to every guest that you have!
You a broke-ass butler so even at your profession, you're bad
'Cause you're a fuckin' bellhop that don't know how to get to the bag!
I said I'm notorious, feelin' like the legend that passed
So you better hope it's life after death when somethin' big stops you dead in ya tracks
Play with somethin' safe, man
[Round 1: Stuey Newton]
Yo! King Of The Dot! Season 1! Let's get it
But first off, I don't work at the hotel no more
But that angle was better when Prep did it
And you're sayin' that I'm second to Jey? That's cold
But without me, there is no Jey like Jaz-O
Now, no gun bars for the rest of my battles; I gotta give 'em somethin' useful
All real-life bars, Caustic, 'cause in real life, I'll fuckin' shoot you
They got me on King Of The Dot—wow! I can't believe it!
So many times, he gon' come through and rap and y'all really think it's real?
Nah! His shirt says it all; I'ma aim at his T and just let that shit peel
You know what rhymes with "Caustic"?
"Be cautious."
Long grip
In ya grass; it's a yard stick
On the fence; it's agnostic
Heavy smoke; it's a bong rip
My mind cold; it's frostbit
Where my heart at? I done lost it
He live by his name? Same for his death; the cause: sticks
Finally!
They got the knee bar GOAT on King Of The Dot
They say I shouldn't rap 'bout guns
Bitch, I'm keepin' a Glock
It's still KOTD
You [?] dot
Try the games!
One phone call and ya life get [?]
I told my Crips, "[?] the water then the price arranged."
It'll start with a C and end with a C... like his name!
Speakin' of your name, your name Daniel Steh-fanny
[Caustic] Stefani, homie
[Stuey Newton] Fuck you and however you pronounce it, bitch!
You Daniel Steh-fanny!
And this won't be the first time I dismantled a Danny
So for thinkin' you doin' me a favor, meet ya maker
Shots hit ya! Get dropped quicker than I did when URL seen the trailer
So remember: don't start none, won't be none
Don't worry; won't talk through your rounds 'cause you can't talk through these ones
[Round 2: Caustic]
Said he named himself after Huey P. 'cause of his African pride
But you more like Kamala Harris 'cause since this bitch been around, the gas has been high
Shit, a sixteen from this dude will suck my fuckin' Challenger dry
We get halfway down the block and have to ask for a ride
But every round, he loadin' up gats, shoulderin' straps
It's like them stupid-ass gun bars the only way you even know how to rap
Reminds me of when these corny-ass battle fans like to over-react
'Cause all them arms in your rounds are what's holding you back
Actin' like you wanna fight but you know that it's cap
You ain't tryna see me like an opening act
I'll fuckin' fold you in half
You try to call the police and your fuckin' phone's gettin' smacked
Plus Stuart little so I know you a rat
Said, you a little dude
Go ahead and keep that bullshit to a minimal
I'm Zack Morris: once the bell ding, I'ma whip yo' asses off the principles
I said, I'm not of this world so Lord help you if it get physical
I feel like [?] Man: I'm whoopin' this mark's ass for thinkin' he's invincible
I said, I think I seen your bitch, my dude
If that's your wifey, you better hope that your life insured
'Cause you will have a fuckin' aneurysm tryna compare mine to yours
I mean, with a body like that, I can't understand what you wife her for
I mean, that bitch built like a T-Rex and I don't mean the dinosaur
I mean, come on, brodie; you knew she'd get a couple of mentions
Plus I seen her in the background of all your battles so I'm sure she wants the attention
I mean, I was tryna be respectful... to your bitch... 'cause I thought yo' lover was pregnant
But it turns out she just got a FUPA with a stomach extension
I mean, every time I hear this kid rhyme, I'm like, "What the fuck is this kid doin'?"
Like he really with the bricks; he serve base like he's Rick Rubin
He SIG-shootin'
Stick boomin'
He gon' break every limb in my body until I quit movin'
But you a little fuckin' fruitcake so... how do ya fig, Newton?
That's two, baby
[Round 2: Stuey Newton]
Get lost!
They set you up to get washed
I'm here for the hundred K
But Caustic can die for less than what the stick cost
I'm pissed off!
'Cause they actin' like you should be on my bucket list
I mean, I can't lie, you used to be somebody that... wasn't shit!
Suck a dick!
I'm in the game—EA!
One fo' met calfs—DK!
Heat rise, heat wave
Heat bang!
Shotty shell in a slug when these spray
Black flag on it; that's a tie on the judge like Freeway
I get busy!
Seattle hitter—Ken Griffy!
And I'm strapped with two fo's so I'm connected to the machines like Witwicky
I see red—Sin City!
When this point, season over—[?]!
But they say you a King Of The Dot mainstay; I say you a fuckin' bum
If you ain't a Trump supporter, you come from some
Either way, you was excited for Trump to run
Closet racist but put yourself in black culture like you wasn't—
In fact, he's workin' on a mixtape right now called Hitler's Motivation 10—
This shit is sad
Probably say "n***a" at home by yourself and think it isn't bad
But I'll kick his ass in front of all his black friends
He'll feel the wrath
[?] for help is the only time he'll get the n***a pass
But "caustic" means somethin' that can corrode even steel
If this is true, why don't none of Caustic's substance be gettin' through?
Only the shit you wrote for Arkane? Oh, I get it, fool
I remember when the plug gave us too many bricks and our 'caine needed assistance, too!
You think this guy finna stop me...
With false angles and fake personals? I should fire the shotty!
If Caustic get rid of me, he had to lie for a body!
Since they scared to tell you, I'll say it
You got a style that would make Soul Khan smile and we all hate it
Christian Mingle: you come across dated!
I'm tired of you!
On the best white rappers list, even 100 Bulletz is ranked higher than you!
If Organik don't got plans for him after this then I brought some
I expect him to try to flee; long distance mean a long gun
So don't worry; I'ma keep him around for the long run!
I'm on one!
Dress down!
{whispered} Movement's quiet but the TEC loud!
Catch rounds!
They'll throw his body in a meat grinder and press down!
It'll spit out Caustic—reptile!
I be spittin' shit that's flammable
Gifted with intangibles
And a taste for death, a sweet tooth
So you mixin' with a animal
I'm committed just to damage you!
My mind is made up
Oh, you one of them gangsta-ass white boys? You got time today, cuh?
You finna die today, bruh!
You had a good run but your luck suck
You got no chance at the hundred K; all I got for you is one buck!

[Round 3: Caustic]
Alright...
You caught me: I'm white
Maybe it's time we take a breather
I don't know if we had, like, a misundertanding somewhere along the way but, bro, I don't like white people either
I mean, it's fuckin' battle rap!
I'm gonna say whatever the fuck I want, you gon' dap me up, and that'll be that
So leave all that race shit at home; all praise be to Cadillac
'Cause this ain't the Special Olympics, homie; I never needed race as a handicap
I said, I'll never let this little pussy-ass bitch try to emasculate me
You can try to white-boy them other kids but that shit ain't me
I feel like I'm the motherfuckin' GOAT so I tip my hat to Brady
'Cause I did five years in jail and never attempted a pass for a B
You talkin' all that mob shit but it really kinda irk me, though
'Cause I got real family ties and I ain't never said a word befo'
Don't ask me who I'm workin' fo'
[? - Italian]
Yo, I'll get you stripped in Seattle like Frank Colacurcio
Yo! You talkin' about that mob shit 'cause it's popular
All fun and games till a dude that look like Pauly D poppin' ya
Let the homies stroll on you, walk on ya
Twenty good fellas in a parkin' lot, stompin' ya
You would have to get the Mafia just to get 'em offa ya
You wanna wear Gucci, Versace—all the clothes that we makin'
He wanna drive Lambos, Ferraris, but on the low, call us racist
He wanna scream about the Mafia even though he know we got open cases
Then he gonna turn around and accuse me cultural appropriation?
I think the fuck not!
Yo! You flopped on URL so I guess they didn't like you
Got a bunch of bitches off TikTok but... you know... they all in high school
I'll creep up from the right with that Draco behind you
And knock ya whole left side blurry like ya boy Drako behind you
Ooh! This shit just got incredibly real!
His homeboy killed a baby and he's fuckin' friends with him still
Shit, just for that shit alone, I should bang his head with the steel
Bet that I will!
You gon' fuck around and find out like a gender reveal!
This shit just got me pissed off
This where all that false-flaggin', punk-ass shit stop
'Cause if you really so pro-black, why don't you get the fuck off of TikTok
Instead of tryna explain to white teenagers how the Bloods and the Crips talk?

[Round 3: Stuey Newton]
Yo! Is you crazy, wigga?
I would never fuck with no baby killer
But I'll just a baby kill ya
Now, you talkin' about some Italian cars
Ain't that some shit?
I'll pull a pistol out and smack this bitch
I know it's Juneteenth and the last thing we wanna hear about is cracker whip
Now, I didn't put on none of your battles to prepare for this; I hate watchin' 'em
All I did was keep watchin' Jake Paul vers' Nate Robinson
They keep havin' these celebrities box like it's the thing to see
Well, this white boy'll get punched down like Aaron Carter till he take a knee
You fake to me!
Wrote some bars to get ya partner poppin'
But musta recieved a hot deposit to turn into a opp for profit
So I gotta pop ya
You a dinosaur, not [?]
Arms up; you are not the father
I brought Metal Gear; revolver for a snake—Shalashaska!
I been runnin' through these dudes
It's mummies in them tombs
You should know I'm growin' on a streak, runnin' with the Moon
You fuckin' with a goon!
You gotta prove you thuggin'
I'll beat yo' ass! If ya homeboys run up then the Ruger bussin'
Fuck battle rap! I really roof tops and I ain't finna loser-jumpin'
Man, what we doin'? Fuck it!
I gotta ask you this shit: why he had to be picked?
I know some cats who need this but y'all don't hear me, though
And I ain't finna let politics steal the show
Y'all said y'all wanted a dead man in this season, right? Here you go!
Bang! Let off a few shots from the oo-op
The show over—get it? You'll hear a whistle behind Boondocks
That's the elephant in the room; here's the knee from [?]
I'm nasty with it!
You just a bad statistic who's Kryptonite is gangsta who be rappin' wicked
You tryna emulate the shit we facilitate; that's the difference
From Seattle to Grape Street, you ain't ready for no active n***as!
I'll smack this wigga!
Reach and get shot!
Leak from ya top!
He needed some dots 'cause he bleedin' a lot
And the body twitched but it ain't up to King Of The Dot for the streamin' to stop!
You think you a opp?
Bitch, I'll rob you for practice; it won't even be survival
If you don't wanna die, bro, then watch where ya eyes go
Don't look at me when these clippers on ya face—it's guy code!
Happy Father's Day! If you a part of Good Dad Gang then I fuck witchu
They say it's rare for a father to really care but that's what we do
And it's my son's birthday... but here I am, sonnin' you!
You gon' fuck with who?