Dizaster vs Math Hoffa

[Round 1: Math Hoffa]

Right now, Diz is like, finally
Abu is spending time with me
Let's get to it, a battle or a fight?
What you people really trying to see?
Cause I don't give a fuck, either one of them is fine with me
I'm a G, it's too many hypocrites in this society
How many times y'all watched that Jones clip? Don't lie to me
It seems y'all got a fatal attraction for my variety
They tell me grow up, I'm Peter Pan, they get fly with me, I'm stealing
My hook's like piracy, but I agree
Battle rappers shouldn't act violently, it ain't a nice look
But this is hip hop, so you can blow up with the right hook, I'm back, y'all
Haters form a line on my sack, so you can say you stood with me when you heard I got blackballed
My chances with getting a match were slim as a scratch-off
But thanks to these wack, soft, amateur jack offs, and top-tier niggas that slacked off
Now my phone's ringing off the hook like Jones when he backed off, let's talk facts
Before your first match, I was that nigga, the click-clack cap peeler, that Brooklyn vernacular
I held you back in Canada, you wanted to scrap
Them white boys saw some Math in D like Mac Miller, you rap filler
Your flow's easy to track, if Eminem held a class on how Arabs could rap iller
I'll look at you and see a star pupil, you Jack Thriller
In that Total Slaughter match, yeah, I choked but came back killer
Looking at my phone - I ain't never do that, nigga
Thought I was watching 24 with your battle with Pat
Cause you choked, but to save the day, you ran to that Jack, nigga
You was on the stage, looking all suspenseful, coming off your temple
But you lost your tempo, what happened to that freestyle that we thought was special?
You looked in your phone to look at the rhymes Caustic texted you
Flashback, I catch Diz in a whip, I pull him out the Jag
Chop his calf with a machete until it drop in half
Flip him over like, is you ready? Then I pop the mag
Things a black man gotta do just to stop a cab
Remember that? I should've killed you sooner
But I knew you'd come back this road, I see the future
No, I'm lying, I needed Uber
You Jesus in L.A.? That's cool cause I reviewed the scripture
They booked the Matthew for Driveby, a crew should fix ya
If you don't throw a strike, then Organik 'bout to lose a picture
I came on stage with a tool to stick ya
I said, if you don't throw a strike, your organs is going to lose a pitcher
Stupid, I'm talking about your fluids, nigga
Who you fooling? I was chewing you in Brooklyn, you just some leftovers
Escaped the belly of the beast, guess you the next Jonah
This where Dizaster reign? It's time he met Noah
You delusional, this your funeral, you a meth smoker
Get sober, they gon' say that nigga Math left BOLA
With the head of the heads bolas dead soldier over his left shoulder
You don't got bars like that
I know y'all like, why he doing Akbar like that?
So try not to fall asleep, you know his bars type wack

[Round 1: Dizaster]

You ready?
I said, you better not do something stupid
Cause they gon' lose you out in Cali, Math
After this, we gon' have a shooting battle from the Cadillac
You didn't hear me, I said if you do something stupid, we gon' start shooting in the middle of the battle like Cadalack
Now we out the west, he coastin'
It's Math Hoffa, accepts two battles in one week's span so the other one gets less promotion
It's true, in a week he's going to step to O-Red
He has a death wish, let him go then
If he survives here, in a week, he'd be leaking everywhere just like Edward Snowden
Last time we battled, you choked, d-d-duh-duh-did I hear Math stutter?
Long blade like this hands smothered with all types of saw buzzers and slab cutters
Catch a butterfly to your mouth like the bitch from the Silence of the Lambs cover, damn, brother
This is the last saga of Math Hoffa
Hat's off, he's a slap boxer, why you mad?
Punchlines never land proper so he'll put hands on ya
For the sake of shock value, he's a black Blanka
He said if we piss him off, he gon' let the gat "blaka"
HA, HAHA
One false move, we gon' feed you all types of shells from clam pasta
To crab lobster to trash off of a can if you keep acting like a trash talker
You gon' get the large can till they start calling Math Oscar
You get your ass shot, operation Black Water, watch Math drop so fast
He hit the floor flat on your back like an ab rocker
That Glock in my hand cocked, you will see clips from the smith flying like Hancock
Damn, Hoffa
It's Hoffa doggie, here to fuck up another classic with one of his sucker tactics
But today is like a court date, we all get to judge who Math is
He went a whole round with Jones, and no one reacted
Till he finally swung on him and that was his first punch that landed
Yo, go get a punching bag next time you wanna practice
Instead of feeding your brother a knuckle sandwich and shutting down Summer Madness
Your words don't connect, so you swing to get your punches across
That's how much of a buster Math is
Yeah, that's why you never get no respect
That's why you never get no respect
What happened? Why you want to punk dudes like little Mookie and T-Rex?
What happened last time you came to L.A.? Where was your reflex?
When you got water poured all over your shoes and you got G checked
I guess you could say it was his first time in L.A. and he was still getting his feet wet
You socked so many skinny motherfuckers that didn't drop, I'm somewhat amazed
Just off of that, I could call you a pussy in hundreds of ways
But I'd rather sum it up in one phrase
Your battle with Daylyt's the only time you've ever slept someone on stage, shit
If he's an N.Y. thug, I'm a Star Wars militia trooper
If he got his pistol, I'm set tripping in the missile cruiser
But I got the pistol, too, I'm a skillful user
Click-click, you end up missing from the clip, like the hidden blooper
Ain't shit that you could do to convince me that this kid's a shooter
I'll have the homie catch him in his Mini Cooper with the 50 Ruger
Leave his brains hanging like Mr. Cooper, then blame it on a Crip from Hoover
On everything, but fuck all the violence
You supposed to be a good influence on kids, like a physics tutor
But ever since your name didn't end up holding as much weight, you became the biggest loser
If only you could take a time machine back to before you punched Dose
So you could see that in the distant future
You'd end up killing yourself like Bruce Willis did to the kid from Looper
Yeah, look what fucking battling did to you
Now every single camera interview, they harass and they question you
How are you a real man when you let rap lyrics get to you?
You said you believe in god?
Least you could do is respect the talent he's given you
And be proud with the powers you're gifted with cause there's thousands of kids that would die to be able to experience half of the shit we do, but you
You're just a piece of shit I met countless amounts like men like you
Take everything for granted till the universe decides to snap and get rid of you
The laws of attraction is principle, but you never had a dad that disciplined you
And tell you that as a kid, all you had was your inner you and that's what you listen to
But look what that shit done did to you
Now you smack every single dude that gets within half of an inch of you
Cause you have to disguise that trapped little bitch in you
In some type of Anderson Silva move

[Round 2: Math Hoffa]

This is battle rap, two emcees hit the stage
With no beat, they compete with rap schemes and displays
Now some bitch-ass niggas like to fake beef to get paid
But at the end of the day, he ain't mean, he just gay
And he don't mean what he say
Like when you said you retired, I guess you didn't mean that, fool
You said I was scared to come to L.A., I guess you didn't mean that, too
You said if we scrapped, then that's gon' make your team scrap, too
Well, tell me who gon' block the shot after I cream Abdul?
You a bitch, it ain't enough your battle see mad views
They respect you, but you want to be a street cat, too
Well, I was tailored in the streets, just cause I seem mad cool
You press me, you on your ass like your jeans tag Trus, dreamland, snooze
Wake up with your cheek mad bruised
Teeth cracked, getting the recap, it's that Summer Madness 3 bad news
Where your team at? You niggas want to react? Oooo, you lucky K.O.T.D. made sure we had food
Batty man, I'm 'bout to murder the Taliban
Banana clips, somebody call in the Tally man
I was eating, Diz wanted piece like the Dalai Lam'
You slip and drop that chicken Parmesan, boy, it's Ramadan
If I was hungry, I'd beat up anybody hanging with D
Especially Okwerdz, I get the feeling when he hangin' with me
That he's so racist, his favorite movie is Hangover 3
Ok', you come out of retirement I'ma put you on bed rest
Send techs in his mouth, boom, all you see is a red neck
I'm from the Apple, y'all try to give me the beats
I'll make your fucking doctor rich with no headset
Surprised you ain't dead yet
You be taking all them methamphetamines
DO me a favor, never get blasted off of heroin
Cause that'll get you outclassed and out of your element
Cause on Smack, you was the wackest that you ever been
You battled Rex, round for round, you got pound to death
Cortez put you in a box, spitting out your best
Ars, you was out of step, Aye Verb counted, yes
Now you gon' catch a bullet to your temple like Malcolm X
This gon' be a view of what a Jew would do with Hitler
I'm using Hitler cause your man think that you's a nigga
You speak in person, you be using nigga
I guess you Donald Sterling and your Krack City crew's the Clippers
I mean, why you hang with them? They bang you out in the Crip house?
This asshole is like his asshole, it got a big mouth
I bet when y’all be sparring and Dizaster start to wig out
After 40 bars, Daylyt pull his dick out
Straight disrespect, that’s how you wanted it, brother
I take it a step farther and cum in your mother
It don’t matter if I’m home, if I come with the hunger
I’m whipping dog on the road like Dumb and Dumber
Cause you don’t got bars like that
Why your uncles be slipper-skating next to cars like that?
So try not to fall asleep, you know his bars type wack
And I’ll be here next round to bring the bars right back

[Round 2: Dizaster]

You try to rap to me Jamaican like you got a Rastafari Alliance
But you a fake Jamaican, like Snoop, dog, you lyin'
Speaking of dogs, I’ma give it to his bitch, Bonnie, raw dog
Next time he calls me Abu, I’m going to invite her over for a motherfucking hot dog
Listen, pay attention, it’s like hunting season ever since they run from me
I’m like the first shooting game for Nintendo, I was on everybody’s screen
I aimed at everything that was ever considered fly above from me
And even though they dogged me in the end, this whole scene started with everybody ducking me
There’s level to this, meet the game designer
You said you've been through a lot of shit, well, you have a lot of kids
So that’s probably baby diapers
You think I’m scared of you? I’m from Lebanon, we raise survivors
Train Al-Qaeda snipers, you do drive-bys?
We do car bombs like my block's sponsored by Jagermeister, what?
I can’t believe they pay you for being such a basic rhymer
Safe to say you're 35, you haven’t blown up
So you'll never be a fucking famous major label writer
You gon' be stuck in the underground for a long time, like a Chilean miner
If they put you in a cage, you’d be an amazing fighter
He’s a big-ass giant cyclops that hits people from the blind spot like an Asian driver
I’m 'bout to get rid of this mathematician with a thousand different algorithms
Made up of the foul decisions in life that cloud his vision
But what'd knocking them out prove? That if your rounds ain’t hittin'
You’ll swing in the middle of the round and hit 'em
And show up without a second round like you did out in England
And maybe you allowed to, but not in our division
Out there they might be proud of you, but I swear to god
You show up without a round two, Math, we’re going to beat the living algebra out of you
And I ain’t even power tripping, cause rather what I would do is
Out-rhyme you and algebraically out-style you
Triangulate on all of your ground moves
See, the root of the problem is there’s nothing positive about you
So I focus on the negatives and try to subtract them out of you
Minus all of your foul moves and that’s how you
Calculate Matthew’s absolute value, yeah
We seen you against Calicoe in New York
We seen the whole crowd give up
You got booed trying to make your style adjust
Your man Cortez battled with Cal, got slumped
I seen Hanz try to get in Calicoe’s face and his ass got punked
If you take the three of y’all together and you add them up
It means half of your squad went against a Cal, got crushed
Which proves we'll always be better at Math
Cause we would never let a Cal kill us
But I know who Hoffa, Math is, got everything dog-shit backwards
His bars don’t cause no impact so he starts socking rappers
Cause if he had fire, he would go lighter
And wouldn’t have to strike 'em on the side like boxing matches
Pay attention, if he had fire, lighter, box of matches
Yeah, now I sound like all you faggots, hah
He’s a fucking nice guy, he’s not even bad, that’s what he wants you to misinterpret
He’s like Richard Sherman, he only switches when he gets behind the filming curtain
He smiles in your face, then gets on a track and quickly turns into Math, the killing version
He’s like Dexter, cause every time he gets in the lab, he becomes a different person, yeah
But I’ma tell you now Math, be cool, 'cous
I’m serious, Math be cool, Blood
You said you gon' smack me, you said Math gon' do what?
I seen you the first time, we was chilling with Triune once
You stood up in the corner like you was gon' do something
Soon as you seen him, you was like, my dude, what's up?
Fucking fruit cup
I’m trying to show you the large picture
No, like serious, Math, I’m trying to show you a large picture
No, like pay attention, I’m trying to show you a large picture!

[Round 3: Math Hoffa]

This nigga blew up a picture of me with no shirt on
That's some other shit
But I bet off of the strength of that picture, tonight, I'ma fuck a bitch
But you, you dropped Islam just so you could suck a dick
Cause ain't no repercussion for faggots up on the mothership
Now let's get real
When Pac died, the whole west side fell in depression
When B.I.G. died, the whole east side was mentally stressin'
See Pac wrote songs that led the black man to progression
B.I.G. said, “Sky's The Limit” before his death and ascension
But this is why they fear battle rap, cause of how we vent our aggression
If that aggression is genuine, this shit could end in a second
I still remember the question, is there a ghetto in heaven?
I don’t know, but after tonight, there should be a 7/11
I enter the session, calm just to censor the tension
For them stacks, I kick that shit, I’m Benjamin Beckham
You do a lot of dumb shit just to get some attention
It’s like if people think he hard, this nigga gets an erection
You a Arab-American bragging 'bout a weapons collection
I’m surprised the FBI hasn’t sent an inspection
But since you talking guns, them shots gon' be denting your chest in
Arabs love oil, he getting drenched with the Wesson
See, I came into this battle with the plans of a mover
You disappear from where you stand in the future
Reappear in the past next to a corn field and hammers’ll shoot ya
That’s how you see an end, faggot, Anderson Cooper
This suicide, Diz you know you gon' die tonight
I’m like a steering wheel in London, I be riding right
But this was probably part of your plan, an Al-Qaeda strike
What happens when a Arab’s rapping with black dynamite?
I rack, putting bodies in Glad bags
I can’t even tell my pops what I do, I might get bagged, dad
I heard Daylyt really box, and he ain’t half bad
But Math jab faster than a Dot Mob ass-grab
You been taking Daylyt’s style, give it back, fag
Trying to stay ahead of the trend? Guess you a hash-tag
You lost on the show and broke out, you was mad sad
Ain’t even say bye to your homie, that’s a back-stab
I guess your ass really needed the guap
Cause you ain’t pay back Marvwon for the meals that he copped
Cortez for the weed when you needed some pot
You ain’t even pay back Big T when you needed some socks
You bum-ass nigga, you gave me writer's block, the worst of this year
I watched your battles till your fucking voice was hurting my ears
I put the pen to the page, hoping verses appear
But this is why I hate Scrabble, sometimes I got no words for these squares
I mean, shit be all set, I got my target in sight
But the shit I’m wanting to write ain’t part of plight
Cause everybody spits the same and y’all reward 'em for bites
I’d rather narrate the Wonder Years and talk through your life
See, niggas know I spit hard, but they be caught in the hype
Vers’ Math, you get the draft, either a bar or a fight
So Diz gon' stand on the stage and try to offer advice
But I’m ten steps ahead like when you walk with your wife
I mean, Diz, let’s keep it real, how bad could I be?
You took the bargaining price, they paid me top dollar
You even paid for part of my flight
Last time we spoke, you was broke walking dog in your night
So when the fame’s gone, D, you gon' be starving for life
You got a broke nigga swag, your face says, “I browse”
All these fans and you can’t even count five thou’ right now
As far as I’m concerned, all of us should be iced out
But let’s talk about how you cried out in that Bed Stuy house
You told a room full of battle rappers that you wanted to kill yourself
Cause you 30 plus and broke and can’t find a way to build your wealth
You had the same sweats on for three days, to keep it real or help
I slept in my jeans just in case he tried to steal a belt
Wake up in the morning smelling curry chicken
Diz hanging in the basement like a dummy twitchin’
Feeling fucked with no love, that’s the buddy system
I told Muhammad treat life like it’s Sonny Liston
One of your mans got cancer, and he fighting for life
But you'd rather take yours cause you light with your price
If I was him, I’d slap your ass twice with a right
When we die, we die as men, you gon' die as a dyke
All you are is an emotional bitch
All you wanted was attention when you told us you quit
All you wanted was attention when you told us that shit
Your parents raised the blade, you should go for your wrist
And when you die as a atheist, and your ghost in the midst
And god ask, “Yo, Bachir, who told you to quit?
I gave you so many gifts, now I gotta kick his soul to the pit"
Spoiled brat, couldn’t adjust after growing up rich
Real shit, they’ll never take that from me
That’s why a nigga still smile when it ain’t that sunny
He was crying cause he broke, ain’t that funny?
Well, I give him a couple bucks, that’s that Arab money
You fuck rapper, I split you and spill your guts after
Look, Ockie, you sloppier than a nut catcher
This how Brooklyn do, every time I look at you
(I wanna put a fist, knife, bullet, or a foot in you)
No, I wanna say, “give me two loosies and a Dutchmaster!”
Hoffa

[Round 3: Dizaster]

Yo, how the fuck do you cheer for the type of shit this dude writes?
Like serious, no punchline
This dude called me rich and broke in the same fucking round
You’re the dumbest dude I’ve ever met in my life
Math, Math Hoffa, the fuck is wrong with you
With all these stupid Apu lines
And the fucking lines about Arab women?
Okay, you wanna fucking lie, you fucking racist?
I’ma hit you with a racist line that’ll leave your mind spinnin'
I will make an agreement with you, I’ll agree to cover up all my women
If you can agree to cut down on all the fried chicken
And for once in your life actually try swimming
Let me tell you some shit that y’all didn’t know
About Bonnie and Drake, when he was about to take her out on a date
Don’t roll your eyes cause you got mad at Bonnie and you started to hate
Yo, Drake was about to put Bonnie up in a fucking suite like a little ho
Why you think World Domination was booked
And we got ourselves a little dough?
And the reason why she never met with him is cause
He started to act like a little ho, and that’s why she didn’t go
And he getting mad cause I’m like Einstein
I’m exposing shit about Math that you didn’t know
You trip, I let the clip explode, you wanna act like a fricking ho
I predict the shit that you gonna say like Charlie Clips when he did the Piccolo
You try to throw a jab, I sidestep it and crack Math like the DaVinci Code
Stop looking at the fucking phone, you starting to distract me
You could play if you want to
But don’t think that I ain’t afraid to have one of the homies pull a trey eight and pop you
Bro, don’t think I’m afraid to sock you
I’m like Edward Scissorhands, I was born with the metal in my hands
But you could still catch the fade if you want to
Fuck your little fucking metaphor, little four-bar, little schemes
I came to destroy y’all regime, I catch a body like nobody has seen
And show up to your funeral and stand above your casket
And dump metal in your box like a Coinstar machine, yeah
And you just mad and all scared
Because he thinks I’m come in here touching you
Now we see you last time out here, dog
You were clearly way uncomfortable
Thought it was all Love & Hip Hop till Daylyt got on him
Did you see the way he busted you?
From far away, that shit look like Stevie J was punking you
I’m a war syndicate, I’ll torture your ass
You throw a punch and put more force into it than a Morpheus jab
There’s not a home item I won’t hit you with
I’ll snatch the plates, forks and I’ll stab you with it
Till your face warps like the Old Testament
Step on mine and you’ll get bone and a frag
Once the force of the blast will leave you with torn ligaments
Shoulders collapse, bones missing, organs attached to the floor
Like your cord's been slashed with a rotary axis from close distance
I’m so vicious, I’ll show up to your pad like Jehovah’s Witness
And force entry into your door entrance
And sulfuric acid your bone remnants till there’s no more evidence
For forensics to report to the lab
You go from shows with sold tickets to more victims
To forgiveness from the mortician to the morgue in the bag
From short visits from close friendships to identify your toe with a tag
But what good is a mortician when all of your toes missing, body cold as a slab?
His corpse shows symptoms of rigor mortis and cold stiffness
Like co-defendants in court before the witness
Let me show you the math
This is the type of hole you diggin'
I told him if he shows up trippin', I’ll be forced to hit him
Grab him by his throat and kick him
Take him to the floor and quickly force submission
Push his torso in grab his arm and Kimora twist him
Into a choke-hold position like Forrest Griffin, yeah
I’ll fucking center in a fire round the home you live in
And throw your son in the middle of it like the solar system
I’ll expose these cats and leave 'em leaving here out the door straight limpin'
I’m down to rustle in the house like Kimora Simmons, yeah
Just keep pretending it’s just jealousy and envy
It’s that next breed, they surpass him he’s a Cessna engine and they surpassed him like jet speed
He knows if he don’t do something they gon' forget him like PS3
So he needed something trendy, why you think he shut down SM3?
Everybody from the event flee and Smack lost money on spent fees
But you brought this on your own selfie
I mean, you brought this on your own self, G
You wanted to have all the muscle in the hood
You couldn’t be a normal mustang, you just wanted to be a Shelby
Cause you're selfish, fuck battling, you should enter UFC
You ain’t a real man, a real man respects his enemies
A real man uses his verbal skills and only reacts with his hands as a necessity
Cause any man can throw a jab effectively
But it takes a bigger man to know you the bigger man and to just let it be
That’s why you lost all respect from me
You could be the knockout MVP, but you’ll never be the best emcee
You went your whole life trying to be the one
But you just killing yourself over and over like Jet Li
He ain’t no motherfucking battling legend
He only has one classic battle with Serius and that ain’t no classic
He had to stab Smack in the back just to get it
You’re wack and pathetic, fuck the fans that respect it
You don’t have any ethics, you dissed Cali now you back out west
Begging the same people you dissed in the past for acceptance
Cause you’re a passive-aggressive, sensitive-ass, feminine faggot
Suffering from manic depression who’s mad
No one in battle rap wants to give his ass no attention
Even his own family rejects him, fuck, Smack don’t respect him
He only here cause he got canned, before that, we never seen his ass on the premises
So this is all I need to back up all the tracks into evidence
The only reason you’re here cause over there you don’t have any relevance
You fucking waste of life, I should punch you in your fucking face right now