JC vs. Chilla Jones

[Round 1: JC]
I used to say it was hard to look at a nigga
And tell who capable of aimin' the chrome
But if we both said we sparkin'
That's like Martin: they all know you playin', Jerome
And I know where you stayin', Jerome
I'm a cash crook, I can get your stash took
You don't want your apple in your lap, then when I air MAC's, book
I mean, image ain't everything, right?
But you nowhere close to tough
What you got, a couple schemes and some slow it downs?
Nigga, you rap slow enough
See, you the type we can tell frontin', I got Hell crumplin'
This Training Day, I see anything or smell somethin'
We clappin' birds like Denzel comin'
So nigga, talk or sit the fuck down if you ain't tryna get involved
‘Cause I will drop this fag with one shot 'til the chin chilla soft
Now wait, we all heard Ciddy say that, right?
He said it ‘cause a chinchilla's soft
I said it ‘cause the chin on Chilla's soft and we all know Chilla's soft
Nobody feelin' Chilla, but Chilla feel he the realest out
‘Cause he spit filler, but that shot to Chilla chin
Gonna knock the filling outta Chilla mouth
Let's pop it, see, you gotta convince these real niggas that you a real nigga and the best way to do that… be real, nigga
So let me guess, you got rocks to move?
You sell it? You on the block with tools?
Armed with Glocks to shoot?
Stop it! For profit you seem like you would drop some dudes'
Names in this game, try to tell
Them knuckles leave him balled up like when Sonic boost
Or I could make a phone call, get this lame fag murked
Bang metal like a train crash
I bang mags, let that thang blast
Hit niggas and the clip bigger if I aim bad
See, in my own eyes I done noticed the top spot get rusty
So I'm cocky, ‘cause ain't enough niggas to stop me, trust me
Plus you do minimal damage, b
I mean damn, it's me, the fans'll see
Beef? I'll let hammers speak
We all know Boston can't handle heat
So once that chrome spit, his dome split
I'm a boss, ten'll leave his bean baked in a box since he homesick
Now, why every time a nigga gets close to another nigga
He gets certified for actin' tough?
But what about that other nigga that don't budge
‘Cause he already know the nigga actin' tough?
I'ma tell this fag actor once: get out of line, pass or bump
I'ma react with the fastest punch
They ain't gon' have no choice but to turn this bitch from Smack to Snuff – you just lost round 1

[Round 1: Chilla Jones]
I rap depressin' and lack aggression, right? Simple
Well, I punch nice as Kimbo
Homie, you wanna bet? It's curtains
I'll bring pain if you try and win dough
You couldn't duck these bars and now your life's in limbo
See, my men so un-fucking-stoppable
That when I tell 'em bring heat to the crib he in it's nothin' tropical
The topic though, I belong in every top five
But since you close to the Motor City, I'll show you I got drive
My shorty hood with junk in her trunk, the flair concealed
With a silence to muffle her sound, so break if she air the steel
So don't bump her, look near her grill
And forget her number, tryna ask'll offend her more than starin' will
She get a tonic and gin, then when it's gone and expired
I'll spoil her with the D, Cal, 'til she's exhausted and tired
You rep Pontiac on that G shit, but you don't own a gun, liar
So I'ma give this G six for y'all thinkin' that son fire
And here's why you ain't a punchliner
‘Cause versus Time Bomb you said: "When I come around
That jazz go out the window, nigga, I'm Uncle Phil."
But usin' bars like that against me, and you'll be done for
From what I've seen, Jazz be gettin' thrown out the front door
So why would you say window?
Well, this reason makes the best sense
You from the Glove, right? So you never seen fresh prints
He stepped tense, what it is then, G? I'm real too
Them slimes keep one mag, get scum bagged with that steal too
So act filthy rich or talk grimy they'll kill you
That's for a stack, dirty, so imagine what a mil do
See, children created the rules, I'm a straight threat
You beat Raw, now they thinkin' you ill? Well, I'm the AIDS test
I'm on my Bean Town shit, cover his eyes
To squeeze the pump on his tongue like Dee Brown kicks
Let's cut the clown shit
Carter, you'll do anything for big bills
Vince in his prime: he want a fast break to win mils
But I heard you down with Battle America, no promo
But for a belt and some kicks, he'll do what ever sin say, like a dojo
Boston!

[Round 2: JC]
I hate all your fuckin' schemes
Let me slow it down… I hate all your fuckin' schemes
You do exactly what I think you gon’ do, y'all just took another hit
Feel how y'all want to about Chilla
I just think y'all booked another bitch
‘Cause when they want a nigga to kill
I'm the crook they come and get
‘Cause like that ho on Don't Be A Menace I be cookin' up some shit
Now, y'all don't even know who y'all steppin' to
You realize I can do anything y'all come up with? Better too
He wifed a bitch off Facebook, now I bet you gon’ regret it too
‘Cause she just tryna get poked
So she'll net work 'til we all get effin' blue
Now, look, y'all get that
‘Cause the F icon is in a blue box, right? That's how I'll do it
We all know his type, this faggot will keep goin'
Like, "I hit her on Twitter
Got at his BM through a DM and that bird blew
Now regardless of how black plan it
We mob, nigga, violate my space
And he gon' always have to watch his back like Tom picture
See, that's Chilla
The Boston battle scene is the worst thing poppin'
You play for the worst team and you the third string option
You gettin' your ass whooped
And everybody on the first team watchin'
Bitch, we clap hammers here
Batman premiere: that clip release got at least thirteen droppin'
Now, I watch URL often, so I know your quotes
And you told Cash death come in threes
So that's exactly what I hope you wrote
See, these niggas let anybody approach 'em
We approach with toast, send him home to coach
'Til the dock off the rivers, hope them hoes can float
There won't be shit left to disclose your ghost, hit plenty more
Them actin' bitch gon’ need Demi Moore to disclose your ghost
Look, death come in threes
Now, Demi Moore got two movies: Disclosure and Ghost
Get it, disclose your ghost?
Moral of the story is, get this close you're ghost
It's an honor for you to meet me, I'm the next problem
Run in your crib, pop your mom: I'm your step father
Drop Jones in this ring, remind him of when he met Tarver
I'm a new nigga, fresh lines
But not one nigga ahead cut like me: I got the best barber
You tryna graduate, but I make that test harder
Goin' bar for bar for respect
I kill niggas, that lead pop, Red Foxx: I'm puttin' arms to his chest
Now, the fans can make it a classic
But the rest of you and your mans debatin'
‘Cause you see-through, I seen you, sacrificial laminated
I said, you see-through, I seen you as a sacrificial lamb and ate it

[Round 2: Chilla Jones]
You can do what I can do, that's your idea of clownin' Chilla?
Well, I can do what you can do
But I don't have room in my rounds for filler
You cocky, but let's admit it, your brain is really gone, cuz
You thinkin' you can stop me, bro? He must be on drugs
Think about it, he hopin' his career gon' blow with Smack
The first battle we seen from him he was smokin' crack
Eventually he had Raw and he was dope with that
But coke is back, these lines got 'em tryna keep they nose intact
You just sour ‘cause Factor got a lot more respect for me
Well, since you feelin' yourself, I gotta kill you for X to see
I clap shots, so when you reach Heaven
You can rep your team in the skies like a mascot
Cats thought I'd give this coward a chance, I tell my guys pull
Close range, tower in France: you'll get an eye full
But speakin' of France, your ex is from Paris
They shoulda told you 'bout your last wife
We used to record her, shit, we made a flick last night
She keep a tube of K, why? She the take-it-in-the-ass type
She's a French whore and, trust me, whoever bag pipes
Off the base you be mad hype, they like, "Be calm, bro!"
But you didn't, so they banned yo' ass
From goin' where the bong go
Steal a P and O or dub sacks and watch that war begin
If we don't get our loot, then we shootin' up that Accord he in
I snuck that 40 in, we drum sets, firin'
I'll punch through son chest, hit his organs and get violent
'Til there's bruises on this square and he loses all type of air
Then when they pronounce him dead, it'll be music to my ears
But if he survive, I grab the knife and poke some holes in his top
While he in that hospital bed, then his pulse gonna stop
They sayin', "Breathe! Breathe!", but he froze in a shock
Like a Celtics player, now you gettin' coached by the doc
Stop! See this? This the try-me face, get your life erased
Pencil style, like a stencil how your body trace
If I peek inside that Jeep you drive and I see papes
I'ma follow you with that chopper like a high-speed chase
I need space for JC, right? Mr. Ain't Lose a Round?
Against Mr. Jump to Top Tier From the Proving Grounds?
You understandin'? What I fire I call Mariah
What I carry gon’ get you broke up if I dump the cannon

[Round 3: JC]
In my first two rounds I showed y'all
It was easy to do what they do, that's how the game go
But what type of nigga would I be
If I ain't give you the nigga you paid for?
I been too nice
Hopefully your supporters can keep you clothed and fed
It's my turn to spit, that permanent casket close his bed
What, y'all thought there was more to this?
Honestly? This boring bitch
Boy, we 'bout to send this bitch back packin' on some Dora shit
What, you gon’ flip and spazz out? Bitch, don't try us
There's four niggas in each car with about six mo' riders
We heavy armed, like Precious, extend mo' fire
The wrong turn, then Yak all in your backseat: I'm Pinky limo driver
Glocks out, car jack, hop out, take me to this bitch set
I'm tryna get his whole strip wet
He was cruisin' till his ship wrecked
Hit me, you gon’ get hit next
Stomp him, but leave him choices
Timberland or Nike? Face the tree or get chin checked?
And won't no nigga miss him
‘Cause he not sick, ignore all this nigga's symptoms
I catch Chilla chillin', that fifth clap
Boy, that bitch kick back like it's chillin' with him
I hope you and your bitch get a sweet start
I'ma off your main bitch, I got street smarts
‘Cause I'm a street star like the Walk of Fame
Hawk the brain, you'll catch a shell for nothin'
You can tell he frontin'
That long nose could prob'ly shoot Homer head out the barrel of it
All this real shit, that ain't you
You ain't make money, it made you, and you let it change you
‘Cause to get ahead you flip and tell, that's what change do
I will get this boy chalked, snatch him and his boy heart
When that TEC scream, leave a wet scene
‘Cause like Seth Green I make toys talk
Massachusetts, that's my destination, his Boston home
Took him out on that same pillow he was talkin' on
But it was witnesses outside, we had to plug a few screams
It's nothin' new, it's actually become a comfortable thing
See, it's niggas with switchblades, you get cut if you seen
I edit the whole block, extend a few clips just to cut a few scenes
You a bitch, that's why we laugh, cousin
Every nigga out my class stuntin', that's somethin'
This nigga front, like Rosa Park we send him back bustin'
You thought you was winnin'? Never
I'm a sore loser: I lose, you leave sore, these niggas with whatever
I'm Tim T with that shotgun, but my precision better
Or I call my nigga Beasy
And that twelve will let loose one pump like Cinderella
Now, let me let y'all know how this tragedy ends
I wanna go get drunk, and I asked Norbes if we could do this battle, we not on PG so don't ask me again
And I never feel like I lost
But unless it's a clear 3-0 body bag no one actually wins
Now, as far as this nigga, I'm deletin' his number
You Tom-Myspace-swag-having-ass nigga
This does not mean we automatically friends

[Round 3: Chilla Jones]
The Total be two K's (B2Ks), we handle MAC's well (Maxwell) and clap heat
So when C air a (Ciara) round
What I'm aimin' will leave your baby face (Babyface) on that black street (Blackstreet)
But you like battle rap Silk
‘Cause them bars you be spittin' soft
Soon as I sat in the chair to write, this nigga lost
They persuade (suede) you to get caught in (cotton) this trap, no gettin' off
I will dent him (denim) for nothin', I'm cut from a different cloth
See, this a loss you shoulda planned for
But we all know you're good with defeat (da feet)
We all seen you on the dance floor
But before I say "Fuck JC and everything he stand for."
Let's talk about what else them letters JC could stand for
Jones chillin', Jordans clean, takin' shots of Jose Cuervo
He's a joke ‘cause he be just crumpin' like a motherfuckin' weirdo
If he jump crump, try to shoot me with heaters
He gettin' jigged, chopped, jugular cut
With a blade in his back, now he Julius Caesar
But let's be precise, you ain't like Caesar the leader type
The fans think you walk on water, I guess you Jesus Christ
That's what you sellin'? Well, we don't buy bull
We're just to real to pay – you datin' Jaz?
Well, even if you and that virgin marry (Mary), I still feel you gay
Yo' heater outside, my scouts ride
Before that firearm'll get in (Armageddon), I'll impale you, J
So cross me with that hammer
I'll spin Julian in reverse and nail you (U), J
That's crucifixion; if you knew religion, you would get the lesson
But since I got you here, my nigga, I got a big confession
I'm the one your chick is pressin', she be out here dick hoppin'
Every Sunday she hit me and we get shit poppin'
I scream (ice cream) when she go nuts on my jimmy without her lips stoppin'
She a Dairy Queen, that's why I got her in my whip toppin'
That clip poppin', one word and watch them goons begin
To shoot and rob Julian for every fuckin' jewel he in
I hate callin' you Julian, it doesn't fit you truly
So I ain't callin' you Julian, I'ma call you Julie
Now, as far as battle rap, in the Bean I'm the king
If you took my crown, Julie, you'd be queen of the ring
But them dwellers and misfits ain't with all that jazz, Julie
With that .40 I'm precise with better aim than a QB
Bullets ring, if they miss murk up the hall
Better hustle or they abusin' you
See, you're a star with the heart to flow
But I know you fear a funeral
Remorse is rare and unusual, against hood policies
I came to turn your sorry-ass gang into a pile of G's (apologies)
So where you from? Wait, J. Dilla and Proof state?
Well, I'ma son you here
Let me reverse that and run through clear
I hear you, son, but state proof that you a dealer, J
They get weight from you, where?
I had it backwards and ran them words back fuckin' berserk
So tell M. Ciddy that's how you punch in reverse!

You just lost the battle