Arsonal vs. Calicoe

[Round 1: Calicoe]
On the real, Smack, you finally had the battle in Detroit
Somebody about to get killed, Smack
I told niggas they was good if they came through
But to keep it real, Smack
Only thing I told my goons is don't kill Smack
See, I'm supposed to put them goons around Randy
But fuck it, Darrell can get it, ‘cause I know he can't stand me
I can improvise, pull out that swami, or I can slam him
But this clip is gon' feel like a hit from Laron Landry
See, fuck Darrell, because he staging an actor
Tsu Surf number one in Jersey, he just play as his back-up
But either one of them niggas get tough
I'ma start waving the clapper
They think I'm good, but I don't throw bottles
I'm jumpin' in this crowd, like I play for the Packers
Aye, where Shotgun Suge at?
It's crazy that he ain't come with y'all
‘Cause every nigga in this crowd was waiting to gun him off
I'll smack everybody in your house
From your brother, sister, mother, dog
And the way I keep hittin' his daughter
You would think I was his son-in-law
Bitch nigga, always talkin' like you clap lead
Arsonal Da Rebel – one of the reasons that rap dead
Come to me on some coked-up shit
And you'll get a cracked head
You in Detroit, them Jersey niggas'll find you in the trap dead
I hustle every fuckin' day so I can stack bread
You a snitch, you probably get on a case and attach feds
But when that MAC spread it's gon' hit back-head
And if you don't die, you better lay down and act dead
Aye, but I doubt if he survive the poppin' and pointin'
‘Cause after I give him these shots
I'm following up, like a doctor's appointment
So be a good patient and sit still, before these clips spill
And I can show you it can get real, now that's how a Crip feel
And for not taking this battle as a big deal
You gon' end up battlin' in the Proving Grounds against Big Will
You in Detroit, you ain't got protection now
Chopper knock your section down
Grab him by his neck and drown
Hitman, out here we don't wait 'til the second round
Landslide, we been in the streets, I know you heard of that
I'm from Brightmoor where them young niggas'll serve you at
Or I can get my Joy Rd niggas to get you murdered, scrap
Tryin' to get a double cheeseburger from the Murder Mac
My Schoolcraft niggas will catch him at Universal
And my Dexter niggas, they do torture before they merk you
And that ain't even half of the niggas in Detroit that I fuck with
In other words, I ain't one of them niggas to be fucked with
I even got some Mexicans out in Southwest that'll cut shit
And some Vice Lords ridin', that's Qleen Paper and Luck, bitch
So once that black and gold rags
Wrap they black and crome mags
You a Grape Street Crip, right? It'll crack his whole crab
Hold on, no disrespect to the Crips though
I just hate niggas that's fakin'
‘Cause it's real Crips in the building that'll give him a violation
Back in the day I heard you was a look-out man
Now, I ain't sayin' when niggas put in work you actually looked out, man, but when it was beef and they grabbed burners
They was like, "Look out, man!"
So do your job and watch out before I bring Glock's out
If anybody say one word they get knocked out
They got me and my nigga Big T battlin' Crips
The URL feel like a league I'm 'bout to drop out
Because the only reason we over C's
Is ‘cause Lux and Mook was in a lock out
I know y'all tired of me speakin' on Lux and Mook
But fuck them fruits! Any battle rapper that purposely puts themselves below them is a dumb-ass nigga
Plus them niggas broke
I got more money than them bum-ass niggas
Last time I saw Lux at a battle he was talkin' lame
Bummy as fuck, smokin' a square
And when he left he caught the train
So I guess everything he say ain't slick
‘Cause we was in a whip
So the fastest way to Harlem ain't the A train, bitch! Landslide!

[Round 1: Arsonal]
All the tough talk, save it, ‘cause that really isn't you
Me being away from home
That's regular, this shit really isn't new.
You told Math your pops actually killed niggas, right?
So either you dry-snitching on Daddy or that really isn't true
And he like Martin and Eddie Murphy
He doing life for a murder that he really didn't do
Nigga, once again I'm here, I'm in another nigga's state
On another nigga's stage, up in another nigga's face
I went to Canada just to disrespect another nigga's race
Machette blade across you rib
Detach your stomach from your waist
Wait, you told Ill, niggas is scared to battle in Detroit
Because of the murder rate
This look like we in mothafuckin' Detroit
And right now I feel like I own the place
You remind me of the Cowboys quarterback with your 9
‘Cause you ain't throwin' straight
And you'd rather run from niggas instead of lettin' bullets fly
Same mistake Tony make
I got all bars, no jokes
You gon' think this prison after the job done
I sit back and reflect on all the damage that I've done
I took tack on a little person, Conceited never grew to see 5'1"
Calicoe wouldn't throw a bullet on Madden 12
Forth and long outta no shotgun
You, X-Factor and Miles, you dirty muthafuckas
Y'all the new Chauncey, Sheed and Tayshaun
Don't get me wrong, y'all three of Detroit's best ever
That niggas is scared to take on
But once my shank drawn
I'll cut him from ear to ear, get my shave on
And he'll be Rip Hamilton of the crew
Before battle he'll have to put his fuckin' face on
Nigga, I sit back and observe with a blunt and some popcorn
My niggas O-Red and Surf got that Ruger cocked
My nigga Suge got that shotgun
We in that 2004 Indiana Pacers state of mind
I'm Ron Artest, I got that Glock drawn
Let one of these niggas act up
And everybody in the crowd gettin' popped on
I will Shang Tsung this nigga, snatch his soul out his body fast
You probly mad, ‘cause my bitch body Buffie The Body bad
I'm Rocky fast, Jason hockey mask with a Nazi flag
One shotty blast'll probably knock the tumor outta Monty ass
I came, I saw, I conquered this nigga
I Super Nintendo spread gun Contra'd this nigga
I even tried Hulkamania leg droppin' this nigga
I told him eight words made Aye Verb
Man, I hit him with every shell in my clip
Then brought another box for this nigga
Now should I put the gloves on and start boxin' this nigga?
Turn into Mook and put imaginary dots on this nigga?
Or should I earn my fame like Math and just pop on this nigga
Don't worry, Jersey, y'all know I got the drop on this nigga
I don't audition to make bands, I fight, I don't shake hands
Talk tough, I'll break both the lenses in your Ray Bans
Tag my name on your front door, leave the spray can
You come out rowdy, you getting stomped
With the same Jordan's that nigga Mike had on in Space Jam
Then I'ma run in your trap house
Snatch the bricks off of the nightstand
Put your mother in the headlock under the left
Give that bitch a noogie with my right hand
Then head to your bedroom
Where I'm sure to find your hype man
And knife him on some jail shit
I'll make the shank out of a Sprite can
Now, respect to Bill Collector
‘Cause I feel that he the next to blow
Nigga sayin' they got the burner
They got the burner out in Mexico
Well, Ars, he got the burner and the bullets, and I'm lettin' go
I got on OJ glove and I got the burner from Plaxico
OJ glove, Plaxico dirty Glock
Extended clip stickin' out, so that make it a thirty shot
I show up to your house, front door, turn the lock
And hit this nigga with a MAC
Blacker than the one they buried in Bernie's box
Now, whatever happened to when you see me you robbin' me?
Obviously you ain't half the man your mommy tried to be
Your sister right in front of me, your auntie on the side of me
I told all those bitches drop low
And suck my balls through these boxer briefs
I'll put big balls on your nanny
Then shove dick all in your granny, mush Toranio all in the face with the discharge from her panties
You ain't tough, mothafucka, I been callin' you candy
T-Rex, nigga, you next, I been wantin' you, Randy
I already know how you feel, Smack
Why you won't have the battle in Newark?
‘Cause everybody gon' get killed, Smack
You and Beasley fuck around and get pealed back
But I can't control three thousand Blood and Grape Street Crip niggas with steal MAC's – nigga, that's real rap

[Round 2: Calicoe]
Didn't y'all just hear this mothafucka
In this round say he don't shake hands?
I'll smack your bitch-ass
Then turn around and smack your bitch ass
We ain't always gotta talk gangsta 'bout how we let a clip blast
Let's talk about your bitch had gave us head 'til whiplash
Or, we can talk about how you say you get cash
But you only got them dirty-ass dreadlocks in a rubber band
Nigga, your whole life is only worth a couple grand
This is what Wale would look like
If Rick Ross ain't give him another chance
Nigga, your flow is as played out as the running man
I'll show up to his house, no mask, gun in hand
Empty bottle in the other, actin' like a drunken man
Somebody pullin' up, I say: "Oh shit, that's his man!"
I could've let a clip fly
But the neighbors would've seen the barrel sparkin'
So I pistol-whip the window, broke the glass; Darryl Dawkins
Jumped in his daughter in the back seat as I clutch the fo'
Look at him, let the Glock blow, touched his soul
Looked back, I could've let the fucker go, but fuck the ho
Put the car on cruse control
On Tucker Rode and tucked and rolled
But let him owe me and not pay up
I don't wanna see no new clothes
I don't wanna see you shoppin' with no new hoes
You can't run forever, nigga, you still gotta do shows
So he gon' end up like Kobe; even if he change his number he still can get ate with these two fours
Hold on, I say eight, two, fours
His number was 8, now it's 24—however, eight is two fours
What you about, 5'9"?
I don't even matter, he's still from Grind Time
I'm crushin' all y'all Grapes until y'all fine wine
When I was battlin' Shotgun Suge
Your bitch-ass needed some pom-poms
Tried to walk up on some gangsta shit
When he heard me pursuin' his name
But he fell back quick when he seen Mo' Dirty doin' the same
But we was strapped in NY with a few of them thangs
Ever since Surf been hot
You only worth being a coach pursuin' the game
I wish Conceited was here to slow that down
I said that since Surf been hot
You only worth being a coach, put Suh in the game
My hand will cock and he'll be as worthless as the Lions D line without Vanden Bosch or Suh in the game
I mean, lately niggas been draggin' you through the dirt
They got the Rebel lookin' like a horseshoe in the game
You can snort coke, pop pills, sip lean, whatever you off
You a Crip with bandanas on your head
That's gon' get it blew off
I know he lookin' like, "Damn, that's too tragic."
So from here on we just gon' call it that Blue Magic
I already killed Shotgun, that's two caskets
Verb and T got y'all other Grapes makin' a fruit basket
I swear to God I told Yung Ill that I had a Glock 9
But now I got a chopper, man, when these shots flyin'
You'll be on your block dyin' and leave you with a hot spine
The bullet's so big, when I shoot the bitch it can stop time
Aye, Jay Rawstein—and I'm not lyin'!
I swear to God when I'm standin' with the K
Any nigga can get it if they standin' in the way
I pull out, bang, and start damagin' your face
You a Crip, I ain't a Blood, but just to disrespect you
Read flag in your face, nigga, I'm challengin' your play

[Round 2: Arsonal]
I'm tired of niggas talkin' this Grind Time/URL shit to me
My one Smack battle
Got the most YouTube views in URL history
How is it that I only battled on URL one time
And got a million views in five months
You could do that shit sometimes
Me, myself, I prefer bars over punchlines
Like slugs slide through son's spine
As soon as you cross than gunline
Yo' punk-ass daddy did one crime, one time
Now he only get an hour worth of sunshine
You want yo' cornbread lil nigga
While he standin' on that lunch line
Now, I just caught two bodies and I got off twice
Smack, fuck the time clock in none stop I got all night
Told you, when I catch him I'ma beat his ass live on sight
Video-chat, make your mother watch it live on Skype
You got a Skyper Riffle, right? What the fuck is that?
I got a Glock, but the Gauge better
It's bigger, it's made better
You think that bitch you pulled on stage at Summer Madness is hotter than suede leather?
I mean, her body was made clever
I forgot he a lame, never did he realize
That bitch voice ain't no higher than Swave Sevah's
You fuckin' these dirty bitches
Nigga, I'ma tell your mama on you
I'ma visit your dad in jail
And tell him I'ma pull the llama on you
He gon' get mad, hit the glass, look down at his dick
And say: "I should've threw a condom on you
‘Cause what you shot out and named Toranio grew up to be pussy, now them real niggas is ridin' on you."
Grandmama in a wheelchair
This where my disrespectful shit need to stop
‘Cause I don't give a fuck if that bitch pigeon-toed
And her knees are knocked
I'ma sit that chair in front of fifty steps
And give her thirty seconds to reach the top
I don't need a watch, I'ma jump in the G ride
Light a blunt, bleed the block
I come back and she ain't half way up the stairs
I'm chokin' that bitch until her breathing stops
And I wish yo' punk-ass daddy was there so he could watch
When the fuck he coming home, nigga?
You gettin' all this battle money, when the hell you bailin' Dad out? I know he got a phone, nigga
Text him, tell him he gettin' bad-mouthed
Tell him, on his release date I'ma wait at the gate
Slowly pull this flag out, and hit that nigga harder than the nigga that knocked Joey Jihad out
Now, you said you wanted to fight at a Smack event, right?
I'm in your state, you say you got the drop on me
I'm all up in your face, so all you gotta do is pop on me
Math did it to Dose and instantly he got his name up
Let Toranio try that with Darrell
I guarantee he don't have the same luck
‘Cause I'ma see it comin'
Looked at my coach, he signaled change up
So I audible the formation, you know I start to rearrange stuff
I even put a man in motion so that other nigga can't rush
Then threw a bullet at Cal
And since you playin' safety, that means you can't bust
Now, what you know about 50 big in a shoebox?
And shootin' at cops like midget did off that roof top?
I'm in too deep… aye, God, pass me the ooh wop
He 'bout to get Jam Master Jay'd, Biggie and 2Pac'd
Thats two shots, from a new Glock
I knock legs out of tube socks
I swear to God I wish death upon the nigga
That got Big L and Big Proof popped
Rest in peace, Proof, ock! You ain't nothin' like dude
You a animated cartoon, like a version of Boondocks
I run in the dinner, one in your head
While you flickin' through the jukebox
Fuck this battle! Fuck this ring! I got my gwap, right?
And right in front of the camera I got that inferred spotlight
You think you beatin' Math mean you made it to the top, right?
Beatin' Math gon' get you
The Harold treatment at the stop light
And all the bloggin' back and forth and the small talk
That'll get you cut quicker than playin' Spades havin' all hearts
Gun in my stash box, it zoom as soon as the car starts
Nigga, I ride with that 9 iron, but I don't own a golf cart
You got that DNA dirty-nigga swag, and everybody knows
You smell me? I know X-Factor do, he got everybody nose
Y'all niggas been filthy since overalls and a snotty nose
Them chucks, them kicks
Wouldn't be fly in a dojo in karate clothes
Now let me ask you somethin': Have you ever been on MTV Hive? Have you ever been on MTV U?
Even though I lost that competition
My video in rotation right now on MTV 2
Do you got 40 Worldstar videos and a iPhone app?
No? No? Then you somebody nobody really knows
Nigga, I'm all the above, I get all of the love
Off my name alone yo' bitch wanna suck my balls in the club
And I'ma tell you again, I already know how you feel, Smack
I know why you won't have the battle in Newark
‘Cause everybody might get killed, Smack
You and Beasley fuck around and get pealed back
But I can't control three-thousand Blood
And Grape Street Crip niggas with steal MAC's
Hater pivot winner travel, that's real rap
That's why he's still in Detroit, ‘cause that's where he's still at

[Round 3: Calicoe]
I just saw you shakin' when Trick Trick offended you, nigga
But you ain't peep on how I control three-thousand mothafuckas, ‘cause I'm a general, nigga
You claim you can beat me
You say words when you play with your pee pee
You got a brother named Bee Bee and a sister named Gee Gee
Whose pussy smells like seafood and pizza from Cici's
That's the type of shit he rap about
But I'll say some shit, like, all of your fun can stop today
When I cock this K, pop and spray
And leave him in a scope, like Dr. Dre
Everything he talk about, it bores me
I told y'all I'm a regulator
And he can end up like Nate Dogg if we warrin', G
If cash is up, I blast the pup, you fags is fucked
Blast and leave nothin' but ashes, now that's corrupt
In other words, if he snoopin' on my dogs while we all rounded
That only get him a couple strays
And leave your dogs pounded
You talk about that video you got? We all clowned it
You put the link up on your Twitter, that's how we all found it
I mean, I've heard of MTV Jams, shit, I've even heard of MTV 2
But your shit came out on MTV U
I mean, I'm not even sure if that's somethin' MTV do
What the fuck? You went out and made your own MTV crew?
Oh, that's why they callin' it MTV U
But fuck the jokes, if it's beef I bring a riot through
Anybody talkin' that dumb shit, then they dyin' too
I thought Big T was the only one reppin' the Quiet crew
Then you battled a nigga named Holla and he silenced you
I mean, I say it's a difference between metaphors and real rap
You one of them niggas who ain't got metaphors or real rap
I'm one of them niggas who throw they metaphors in a real rap
That's why I'm in the streets
With them metal four's—and I still rap
Why you go down to New Orleans?
Did you get a promotion on that bus driver shit?
Or did you just get stuck in New Orleans
On some typical bus driver shit?
Well, I got a clip that don't discriminate
It even bust drivers, bitch!
So even if you ridin' with Shotgun, y'all ghost-ridin' the whip
Toe side to hip, so even if he decide to dip
I decide to trip and they'll find him on the Eastside and clipped
So if he got the bricks
And he don't bring 'em back, like they retro
The day after they do it he gettin' clipped; he a metro
Your bill due, kill who? Don't even start, bro
I'll catch you on your block and run your pockets like a narko
Y'all be dressed in all that fuckin' purple
But your skin the color of charcoal
Since she love the color purple I'ma beat him I'm Harpo
Be smart, bro, you niggas should've took the way out
He should know he can die now if I take this K out
I said, he should know that he can die now if i take this K out
Aye, he the type of nigga that'll try to play me
And I'll let the shit play out
Then a half an hour later he'll be tied up in one of they house
That clip hangin' like a fat ass, J-Lo
You never know what's poppin' out of this toaster; Eggo
When lead flyin' he makin headlines, they know
Drake, I said when lead flyin' he makin headlines
They know, they know, they know
I'll get this Grape popped and capped twisted; he a fego
You already know how I feel, Smack
You finally had the battle in Detroit
Ain't nobody gettin' killed, Smack
I told you I'm a man of my word, I'm real, Smack
Did you see I just had Uncle Trick Trick to chill, Smack?
After a nigga battle me I make him feel wack, ‘cause its a difference between metaphors and real rap; Landslide!!!

[Round 3: Arsonal]
You a bitch-ass nigga, let me tell you why you a bitch ass nigga
‘Cause you think you a heavyweight
‘Cause you just beat a bitch-ass nigga
You only Smack new frontman
‘Cause Hitman dissed that nigga and said fuck URL
‘Cause Holla ain't no kiss-ass nigga
I'ma break it down right now, this round is so fuckin' true
Every Smack event the main event was never fuckin' you
I only accepted this battle ‘cause me, Smack, Beasley, Chico and Norbs all signed a contract
Saying I'm gettin' paid off of every fuckin' view, true
I know I wasn't suppose to say that
But fuck it, not ‘cause you deserve it
Not ‘cause you just surfaced
Think deep, you stupid little mothafucka!
It's a plot behind my purpose
You ain't hot, you just all know
He gettin' gwap behind your service; I was like jackpot as soon as we decided to sign that dotted-line in cursive
Don't ever question my gangsta, nigga
I'm Crip, what you thought?
I can't help that if I'm Grape Street Crip in New Jersey
I'm Grape Street Crip in New York
If I'm Grape Street Crip in Cali, I'm Grape Street Crip in Detroit
I'll come to your family reunion
And all your folks can get pitched with a fork
But today I got some red rags, I brought some Piru damu's
That's ready to leave your blood in a bayou
Machete line, and that'll be all you can get; no Ken or Ryu
Just a hospital bed with a pissy cup beside you
Hit you with all lefts, I swear to God
I'll put my right hand on the Bible
I chalk you out without the blackboard
Your life is on fast-forward, you wanted it
So you got this ass-whoopin, ‘cause you asked for it
I'll slap the shit out of you with the same intensity as LeBron slappin' somebody shit up against the backboard
Now, you ungreatful mothafucka, you should learn to say
"Thank you, Ars, for this million views I'ma earn today
And to show my appreciation
Here's some ounces for you to burn away."
I came to Detroit, I'm thinkin' that's the type of shit I'm expecting for you to turn and say
I'ma turn away, burn a J, and say "Alright, alright, alright, mothafucka, now you gon' learn today."
Now, you was suppose to wake up this morning
Brush your teeth and take your vitamins
Put on your suit and tie and search to see who is hirin'
On every job application it's a box for occupation
Yours will read on Loaded's dick
Tryin' to bring Lux out of his retirement
I don't think that's cool though
And I also think you know me and Lux in the league you wouldn't even make it to, Juco
Remember ICE gave Rex a.k.a. Tango some FaceTime with a two blow? Well, I'ma do the same shit to you, bro
And broadcast it on Oovoo
No, not Oovoo, Smack, I'm searchin for a new show
Nigga, my Spanish fans love you too
Send this battle to Telemundo!
Make sure they close-caption the lyrics
‘Cause I'ma get on the mic, Joe Jackson his parents
Bury his body, snatch out his soul
I'm even toe-taggin' your spirit
Now, last Smack, no joking, I fucked you up on some G shit
Now I'ma do it again in your city
And call it the beat-yo-ass-in-the-D mix
Then I'ma break the alphabet down for you
Nigga, on some street shit, like…
Aye, b, I'll rock your bitch boat until she sea sick
My DE don't play no f-ing games, on some G shit
I'll rob you while you getting H
I steal your J's on some thief shit
I let off that K, twistin' up a L on some sweet shit
Then think about M's while I'm headed back to NO
On some fuckin' Master P shit
Quick Q, ask then, who are you? A fraud geek walking around with that S on your chest that stand for small feet
I got big guns, choppers on deck, with long beats
I got Cali dro with the real Calico tucked under that long T
So if you even think about a victory or a W
I'ma X you out, why? To let them fuckin' Z's hover you
I'll put you to sleep, nigga, my bars really trouble you
And being Ars just for a day is somethin' you'd love to do
That was an alphabetical order slaughter
My shooter starvin', they'll kill your daughter daughters
For a plate of steak and a quart of water
You old lame-ass nigga, Toranio-is-his-name-ass nigga
Type-to-get-a-nose-ring-ass nigga
Young Calicoe defines fake-ass nigga
Type-to-let-Math-touch-all-on-his-face-ass nigga
I'll break every bone in your jaw
And make sure you never eat again
I swear to God, I'm done with the written now
I'm just off the top, I don't ever need a pen
Didn't you just die last round?
Now you want your ass beat again
You like who, what, where, why you really need a win
You wouldn't impress me if you had elven kidneys
And said to me Heaven sent me
Had as much money as Floyd Maywhether
And all of Ray J's seven Bentley's
These niggas in this crowd would be stupid to bet against me
My bars go way over most niggas heads
It dougie, it funny they never get me
You already know how I feel, Smack
I finally came to Detroit, ‘cause I wasn't gon' get killed, Smack
But it's a difference between metaphors and real rap
Calicoe, you still a little pup, nigga—so chill, scrap!