Bitch Please Freestyle

[Verse 1: Royce Da 5'9"]

I'm the verbal-spit Smith Wesson, I unload with sick spit
The quick wit could split a split-second
Bomb with a lit wick expression
You hear a "Tick-tick," then you testin'
My saliva and spit could split thread into fiber and bits
So trust me, I'm as live as it gets
Everybody claim they the best and they head the throne since B.I.G is gone
If you ask me, they "Dead Wrong"
My flow is hotter than the flash from the click
When the hammer slaps the bullet on the ass from the clip
You wind up in a room full of my dogs
I'll have you feeling like a fire hydrant in a room full of dogs
So come, come, now, get pissed on, shitted on
Tough talk turns to, "Can't we all just get along?"
You get blazed when the mic's off, shot when it's on
You probably ducked when they laid the gunshot in your song
My gun st-stutters when it speaks to you
Utter shit to repeat to you
'Nough in the clip, to give a speech to you
Me and Premier, we kind of the same in ways
We both speak with our hands in dangerous ways
Rap now is a circus of clowns
A whole lot of lip from cliques I'd prolly rap circles around
I'm the next best to reach a peak
Formerly known as the best kept secret—I guess that I just leaked it
I don't battle no mo
I don't battle no more
I provide the gun-clapping round of applause after your show
And we could go toe-to-toe 'cause they calling you hot
Stepping around all your punches, like, "That's all you got?"
Every day, I'm meeting somebody and all of they peeps
Quick to shake a nigga's hand and show me all of they teeth
And these women—I be patting they asses
They be all dumb and googly-eyed looking at me, batting they lashes
Rappers think Detroit niggas not as down as them
Or since that I'm down with Slim that I sound like him
Quick to judge me and tell me that my hook might sell
And say faggot stuff to me like I look like L
My advice: Quit talking, it's over
I was knocking cats out when you was knocking sticks off of their shoulders
I got dirt done in my past, I know y'all sweat
I got regrets older than some of you so-called "vets"
People say I found God with the flow
Bring the police to the studio and bring The Bomb Squad to the show
Ain't nobody touching mines
When you listen to my stuff, you don't chew, you don't breathe
You might miss a ****** line
Every time I spit, I tick to show you it's hot
Leave me in the deck too long, I blow up your box—boom!
Haha

[Verse 2: 8-Off Agallah]

[Verse 3: Royce Da 5'9"]

Royce 5-9 or, twelve men in one
About as explosive as them shells in your gun
Mr. Quick To Pull A Thing On You just for your loot
Mr. Mr. Mr. Quick To Swing On You before he shoot
I'm the finest tuned rapping machine rapping a scene
Since, way back when there was only rapping in Queens
Suck my balls if you competing with me homeboy
I don't dream, I'm the type to just be homeboy
Sucka free is like a religion I honor and serve
And more common in words, a song with you, what's in it
Y'all cats is all punks and your jewels is rented
And your diamonds is all dark, like they blue but tinted
I would never kill none of y'all, I ain't that fool
But I will stomp the shit out you, I ain't that cool
You ain't even gotta greet me when you see, matter of fact
You better give me five feet when you see me, uh uh
Veteran that'll never retire
Devilish, judge the red in my eye
Judge the nine instead of my size
Ahead of my time, the second coming of a legend that rhymes
That'll shine whenever I die
We never lie, you'll never get by
You just got love, I used to roll wit big shot thugs to hip hop clubs
To act up, the fifth got hugged and blasted
Pits got dugged and filled back up wit stiffs wrapped up in plastic
Give me a heater, you givin' me a reason to shoot
You givin' me the key to your coupe
Midwest, not the middle, strick clutchin' the five
Wavin' the Tec out the window, clip touchin' the tire

[Verse 4: 8-Off Agallah]