Rum Nitty vs. Chef Trez

[Round 1: Chef Trez]
This battle gon' be fire ain't it?
I mean, y'all say he gon' wash me
I'm thinkin', "Not me"
I'll grip up and show you what that blast 'bout
Nah, I could just take the rap route
Out the gate wit' it, behind these bars I make 'em pass out
It's 'Survival Of The Fittest', so I cause Hell On Earth
It ain't no stoppin' me, the 'Shook Ones', 'Get Dealt Wit'
I 'Keep It Thoro', you see the God in me
But y'all real gangstas? Where y'all get the 'Quiet Storm'? That's the silent heat
I'll leave you and half ya Mob(b) Deep in the Earth
Smack, rest in peace to your Prodigy
99% gun lines, right?
Nigga you barely blazin'
Don't try to run, got ya back like retaliation
Let me show you how I'm really plottin'
It's all dome shots when the milly poppin'
The gun old but got a young soul; Andy Milonakis
I said, you gotta do more Rum, and stop dumb, all that actin' is funny
But I got everything in store like I'm packin' the buggy
But let me guess, your gun talk to niggas and when you snap it get ugly
Well my choppers so foreign when it spit, the first thing it say is "back in my country"
Red beam, spot my target, they help me see clearly bro
You wit' ya Crips? I got my Glock, I'll give off 6-1-9 my Glock Mysterio
You packin' and mailed off hats? The only way you'll box a Brim
I'm not with [?] and knock ya chin and twist ya cap on stage, you'll battle Roc again
Yo, I'ma come correct witchu?
Whatchu want? TEC? Missiles?
I give your set issues
It's like they all in relationships when I spray this bitch
It won't be a single person left witchu
I will beat yo' ass, and I put that on the house like my salary large
Drop him and kick him like AA
But to double that, I might catch a battery charge
You know what's sad? You don't get respect when you livin' and write rhymes
They say you really gotta die to get the best promotion for your nice lines
And don't you want that promotion? Alright, fine
I'll kill him and turn Nitty into a name that lasts a lifetime
"A turn Nitty"/"Eternity", ah fuck it, it's ya turn Nitty, bullets burn Nitty
Two guns I don't know who to pop, so I'll test both per turn Nitty (paternity)
I got Devil intentions, nothin' but demons inside this weapon I'm grippin'
This .38 Special Olympics
Cause you can still receive the metal for Crippin'
When I flip out, you know you gettin' drawn like the old razor
Chrome blazer
What y'all want? Two .4's or one tre next to this West nigga? This the old Pacers
I'll come to ya block and open shop, make you hold a shot
It's gon' be a surprise when the Tommy poppin' in ya face like when Ghost was locked
I can't say much about you leavin' the squad I left
Plus they on the past
But I will say you a bitch for how you did it
Cause you left the Bloque (block) after strugglin' on the Ave
You awful nigga
I'll take my gun and off him wit' it
I brought it from Georgia but it get raised in New York cause the cost of livin'
We all gutta, I make you feel my presence
I make you all stutter, big giant, small fucker that bulldog touch ya
Don't try to floss sucka
Cause the pops will make it hard for you tryin' to ball brother
This how I'ma target the lame
Stomach shots, shoulder shot, look like he walkin' in pain
Face shot, rib shot, look like he pausin' to think
Leg shot, now you and Chess walkin' the same
You gettin' pistol whipped to a new millennium if this bastard try me
Face bloody, can't even tell who he is, you gotta ask somebody
After I gun, butt a (butter) head, the face won't match the body
I'm in my bag, this type of shit gon' cause fam' trauma
Get him wrapped up, I got (k)Nit' in the sheet like grandmamas
That's round one

[Round 1: Rum Nitty]
We got...Rum Nitty vs. Santrez Jackson
Nah, this real Crippin' vs. false flaggin'
And tonight, you gon' need more than one of them thangs
Two of them thangs, bitch you gon' need everythang
Stop gum bumpin', talkin' all out ya neck and have me goin' off, I'll cut somethin'
And raise an arm on a Chef if he throwin' salt
Who the fuck want it?
You know I'm 'bout it, big shit unloadin' out it
100 bucks, you doin' 20 flips like Smokey countin'
You not wit' the shits
Last time a nigga auntie got mopped in this bitch
This time ya Unc (ankh) get a round on his tee (T) let's see how conscious he is
Look how the shot made a mess
This .9'll raise you up to Isaac Hayes, you finna stop playin' Chef
Prepare to die though
I'm too rounded; Ferragamo
You want smoke? I'll R.I.P. you it's like I'm tearin' pronto
Shoot again, he losin' limbs when I'm airin' autos
The kicks, will cost you an arm and a leg, like a pair of Lonzos
Listen, I barely gotta squeeze to let it off on ya set
Cause the trigger, like a hair on the mil' (meal), let me talk to the Chef
I even popped at you, you get too close then I cap off a baldhead, it's like my Roc battle
Who you thinkin' you foolin' like you really out here with the tool and you be shootin'?
If I'm lookin' for you then get to movin'
Get low first, then I'm walkin' up right to a Caveman, this is human evolution
Aye, this shit is traumatizing
I killed so many niggas that they ghosts follow me, you don't gotta like it
When you said, "you move regular cause you used to it"
Crucial crucial
If I give you the deuce deuce in the boot, shotgun in the leg
You'll lose all your use of movement
I stretch teams
Crazy I went through Roc to end up givin' this little bitch a shot, that's a Fresh scene
You know what I'm about and what every line about, I'm no joke with gun bars, that's Hitman on Wild N' Out
You don't load the clip and shower rounds
Little Blood ain't gon' hurt nothin'
Like you told your bitch to put the towel down
Nasty, you talk crazy I'ma piece you up
You even look at me crooked, I (eye) gotta bang over that like Aaliyah cut
Try keepin' up
This bitch gon' fail, this a black long sleeve with a red beanie, you fit for an L
Get the biggest of shells
Out of big ego for ya ego fam'
Then 3-0, I wash a nigga from the Cave like Encino Man
Fuck Writer's Bloque, I couldn't make myself at home so I left
You got left off 'Bad & Bougie' you ain't Takeoff on ya own
And I smoke Cave niggas
But if I paid killers
This the nigga I'd put paper on Roc(k), that's a game winner
Fuck you!

[Round 2: Chef Trez]
Why the fuck I always get these niggas on their return bro?
I mean this nigga Rum back, and y'all glad to see Rum back
I cut him in pieces, he be missin' from his mama, mail him back
She be glad she got these pieces of Rum back
See this shit different, right?
That's like a half of one of them thangs
Just to set me into some other shit as I load and snipe you
Somethin' 'bout the arm salt
Nigga is Emerald "BAM" when I do it you know it's goin' viral
But I know y'all another one
That first shit? Was some "Sike I lied" Charlie Clips shit, it was my biggest mistake
But you said somethin' 'bout "hair on food" that let's y'all know, BOOM, I leave ya wig on the plate
I said, y'all niggas be pussy for real and that's why I don't be around y'all
Lil' nigga always lettin' rims off gettin' pounds off
You like a kingpin that got locked, that's why I clown dawg
Cause you made a mil' on the app but the but the Roc was ya downfall
I'm wit' the static
Chrome Glock for a chill nigga, I'm on that rah-rah shit
That's what the .4 give (forgive) Mello niggas quicker than Lala did
20 in the clip, damn near dumped 'em all to leave the target froze
I damn near dropped a dog on Rum like he Bacardi Gold
You ain't the coldest
You talk about guns but what about that work?
That baking soda, with a few junkies that taste the yola
You know it's right when the dog bite and they can't control it
The stash in the whip, MLB ain't the only time base is loaded
Chopper in his mug, 'bout to end his shit, yeah it's Rum's time
Point the sticks in face like Nick Cannon, then put "Rum" in the middle of this Drumline
You not doin' shit, really what do you do?
Cause you don't even take care of ya kids, that's foolishness
Well his plot too legit
Hit ya baby mama's spot, tool'll spit, a roof get split
Bullets bounce and go through the kid
Shots'll raise ya child since ya not doin' it
I'll kidnap him, make 'em slide in ya trunk like a waterpark
Send you to your creator
He'll identify his maker when I bring watermarks
You throwin' up Fourth Homi
Well after the fourth homi I'll tear ya squad apart
Smoke three more niggas, now seven missin' from ya pack, you a Quarter short
You not an issue
But you [?] action Rum, I'm poppin' pistols
Well word to them struggle 12's you had on, your two trays not official
Well my pump nice, with the pistol grip attached
Said, fuck the long handle and it's silenced, so the Shotgun I muzzled 'em
That's Suge in the Charron battle
Knowin' 99% of ya lines fake how could you sleep right?
200 movies, what his week like?
With all of them hours in front of a screen how could you go out and squeeze livin' that street life?
He just wanna be creative, that's how I know dude frontin'
But his style you just gotta watch movies
To get my shit, you gotta go through somethin'
And y'all thinkin' he can see me? Stop it
This an easy body
This your house, well I'm goin' Nutty on this Crip Blocc, that's Geechi Gotti
Peep how the Sig' work
Shots go through his door and hit his head, it's a big burst
Expose the Crip knowledge but it all started with the crib first
You had the streak, well today it's over
I'll spray the toaster
Drum under the .9, the round under the can' look like a table coaster
I can flip it, like how Rum is dope, well I bartend so shot or pistol whip which one you want the most?
I can put the barrel underneath him and make Captain Morgan
Or smack Nitty with the can' and make Rum and Coke
First off, don't do punch after punch, the shit suck
With ya style you gotta switch stuff
What you think is sick, yep, well everybody Glad to be in they bag, 'til it get zipped up
Hold the heater, [?] jaw bump, this hoe a diva
Don't talk nothin', I want the Nina
Dome shot, ya thoughts runnin', he an open thinker
Well guns my coldest feature
The arms will come across ya frame, that's Mona Lisa
This faggot done
Your whole style is a copy of Magic's bum
You pussy, it's easy to spot this bitch in this nigga that's playin' Magic's son

[Round 2: Rum Nitty]
Aye, this muthafucka said my 12's was fake
That was real true
But the recoil on this .40 enormous, just like them Jordans, this kick unreal too
Calm it down or take the violent route
I'll show you what givin' someone a shot about
And afterwards you shout 'em out
I clap back with a shotty out
Real shotta, make me draw on Blood like Mad Max with the body count
I'm hot headed
I'll let a mop wet him, a shot stretch him
Then he get a box to pic(k), a crop edit
You not ready, 'Hit 'Em Up' like 'Pac said it
Unload, then I take off with the arm, it's a prosthetic
You wanna die? Bet it
All these niggas drip, shit I even gotta stick myself like I'm diabetic
But you was a thug drippin' and snub livin' and drug pitchin'
That shit fake, hell I can't believe ya gang real (Gangrel) when Blood spittin'
Why not Summer Madness to close this casket?
But since we on Born fightin', you get left with the punches, you chose this (Joseph) Jackson
What's happenin'?
You shittin' on Bloe when he got you on the map
Just like a Chef put on an apron, you put on a front then go behind people's back
Get clapped for the bullshit
No help, I (eye) shoot it out myself, like Bushwick
Just me, I don't need a team to stretch you here Paula Dean
Just one "nigga" can end a Chef's career
Fuck ya status, I'm baggin' you very clear
A bitch cryin' out her eyeliner I'm blackin' on every tear (tier)
But he gon' rebuttal all the heat that I'm sayin'
Cool, the Hollow's in the Clip knock DNA out, I can give you three of them thangs
I can't get this thought out my mind
I mean, how you gon' give this bitch credit for flippin' my hottest lines
That ain't shit but on the spot John John Da Don, what's poppin' five?
You want the chop' or nah?
Whatever the Kid's Choice, I award you wit' it, then I'm droppin' slime
Aye, you heard me correct? I ain't concerned with his set
This bitch cookin' just for you if it's personal, Chef
I'm clappin' it urgently
Hit ya back and [?]
I like Jackson, with the nose like after the surgery
And you lost to Ryda? Ryda? Ryda? Ryda?
He 30'd you
And you lost to Ryda? Nigga you should feel stupid
Now Trez you're (treasure) gettin' hunted down by a real Goonie
I will shoot him
[?] shoulder stock on a lil' Uzi
Bllllllt, it'll make me do the Lil' Uzi
Aye, why you ain't put me vs. Twork then?
Cause I'd have took him out and had his team in the game without jersey (Jerzey)?
Shirts vs. skins, I've been active
And Sig' packin'
This bitch gon' get it out the window wit' it when I slid past him
'Bout 18 shells hit the crib clappin'
Lettin' it rain at the house in ATL, I won't miss ('Ms.) Jackson'
I'll have a couple Bronx shooters stretchin' out Chef
It'll be an nigga from the X bodyin' (body in) Blood like Flesh Of My Flesh
Let him go

[Round 3: Chef Trez]
Y'all was reactin' to a whole lotta bullshit
I'm talkin' nigga, Hollywood gas
Y'all seen the movie, Slither?
So nigga you should know that slime got a body attached
So didn't like that shit, but y'all have seen Shottas though, right?
So cool, so now I can take the body route
You said somethin' 'bout Mad Max
It is Mad Max when I BANG, kill a nigga, cause now you know Blood body count

[Rum Nitty]
It's John John Da Don

[Chef Trez]
It's John John? Well how 'bout this one bro?
It's John John? Aight, cool
See John John don't do it how I do so what's that fussin' about?
I get booked cause I can freestyle like, I'll run in his house. I'm in his crib, he gets stabbed up, right?
You said somethin' 'bout Mack and tears, right?
That's how bitches be doin', you know with the makeup, right?
That was the fuss was about?
Cause now it ain't no comin' out
Nigga, you gettin' stuck in the house
Nigga I said I'm gonna stab you, stuck in the house

{Crowd gets restless}

Aye what Clips say? Sike I lied
I said fuck your rank lil' nigga my [?] legit
See you don't know about havin' niggas callin' you from jail quotin' ya shit
What's crazy about it, they tell me about bars and how I need to create a route from 'em
On the flipside, I need to tell them about bars and how they need to stay out of 'em
That shit you rap 'bout, get me mad Rum
You think you gettin' busy? How you totin' strap, how you in the trap, well I really do that, and the shit is risky
I'm talkin' packin' my briefs, gun in pocket, lean in my bag and the grip is wit' me
If cops catch me, it's gon' be a career high on the court, I'm at least gettin' 50
But I'm sure we both got big ass guns that we have trouble pointin'
I mean we both got arms but I can do a little bit more with mine, I'm double jointed
You wanna test scrap? It's just a press strap, jet black
Long clip, with a new lemon squeeze, you get the fresh batch
I'm reloadin' quick, two toasters grip
Sammy Sosa, Mike Jackson, both black, but be lighting bodies up before it's over wit'
Yeah Chef is wildin'
Because of you this situation for your set is vibrant
I'll shoot KG, now Rum gon' be the downfall for the Poet, that's Edgar Allen
I'm in God mode, you think that fake shit matters?
Let me ask you cause it don't
And I go hard for my state, this shit I'm throwin' heavy at you
Word to Twork shit, big madness
But I still put my hood on in every battle
Gettin' ya hat violated, somethin' you gotta deal wit'
Before the twist; real nigga
After the twist; Will Smith
What up Rum? I can tell you 'bout that scary business, where we bury bitches
Put the gun by you and shoot before you look, it could get very different
It be by your basket before you turn over, it's cherry pickin'
Ain't you Crippin'? Well I'm Brimmin' nigga, red my flag
I'll make ya set die fast
When you shot first your body move, then ya head fly last
You shoot back? I still connect, yeah that lead fly fast
Even with your arm up I'm still good for the shot, I got a Hall of Fame deadeye badge
Yeah, I said I'm clearly in my bag
Don't come near me when I spaz cause I'm grippin' it to blast
I'll resort to the sniper, I got to raise that baby from a distance like a military dad
I tell him, cruise through swervin'
Deuce deuce burstin'
Masked up and never knew who murked him
You'll be another unsolved battle rap mystery like NuNu purpose
You supposed to be a thug? Please
I will break yo' shit and take yo' shit, you know how us Bloods be
Since you Crip I'll let two deuces Connect, slide through across stage, now you Dub C
But ain't you "holdin' the nose, runnin', comin' down-"
You know what? Scratch that when I tuck and dump it
In the lobby, rounds I'm stuffin', beam on it
The light pop over his head, he's comin' up wit' somethin'
And I really owe y'all a freestyle and I'm a tool blazer
Nigga, you got that Al Kapone sponsor nigga, that too major
They got 'rillos dipped in Konjac that's too player
BAOW! Nigga, now I got a chopper for Nitty now it's Rum on the stick, we got a new flavor nigga!
But Ave said he out the Cave with the tre (tray) like Batman butler
He let y'all know then but y'all ain't catch this stray
Batman butler think, you should already know that the Chef in the Cave
We carry Glocks and bury ops
Your dome the size of a fruit, and these bullets big as Jaz head, get ya cherry popped
But you was really blastin' it? Lettin' the automatic spit automatically?
[?] automobile control passin' shit?
No, you was passin' it
I beat lyin' niggas like you the fuck up
I mean, since Rum is so strong I have to mix
I'm on some savage shit
Keep it cool, I do what I want, I don't see the rules
Fuck what you've done and what you gon' do
You gettin' placed in the casket to keep it true
Fuck ya past and ya future
Nigga I'm puttin' your present in a box, that's a gift from me to you
And if you can't stand the heat, stay the fuck out the kitchen
I done cooked another nigga time to-
Chef life shit bro

[Round 3: Rum Nitty]
I'm focused
.38 long nose what I'm holdin'
You'll get a Hollow right in the head Da Don wrote it
You not at all totin'
You'll get the Sig (cig') outside if I hear one line in ya round 'bout ya .9 smokin'
I crept in with mine on me
Then I black in the buildin' like white's only
You dope trappin'? I'll run you for your whole package
No matter what field you on, if I'm near you won't sell a bow (Bo) Jackson
With no ratchet, I'ma have to cut shit up
I get it jumpin' wit' the little Hawk that's a Spud Webb dunk
I mean, you seen how ya homie got smoked, did bad
I right/left split Ave, I put a fork in the road
But you know how the TEC sound
Like a professional Chef, gla- gla, gla, that's from a Chess round
Niggas kill me how they be killers on that internet shit
But you can't catch a body on the keyboard that's Ridiculousness
You won't win in this bitch
Real bars got Supreme on lock, that's [?]
And to me you lost to P, but your rebuttals was cold
I had this bitch givin' out headshots for Mike (mic) that's Hustle & Flow
You hear me clear? I'll hit ya head with a pair
James Harden, after the shot, Chef in the air
That thang sparkin', try me that's when you get hit
New tool, Duke Nuke 'Em grip
30 on it, smoke ya circle like a hookah trip
Catch ya baby mama at the red light then shoot her shit
Beam light on the top, this ray could roof (Rae Carruth) the bitch
I'm determined to bag 'em
A fuckin' body
Your name ain't Justin Hardy? You won't return in Atlanta, I'm still goin' in
Like Kobe with the left shootin', let's do it
You better book for ya health like a med student
Red oozin'
I'll grab a spiked bat and rope ya head to it
Then mix tape around (mixtape a round) like Rex do it
Get ya jaw laced, buck 50 large blade
Tell me, you ever 'Seen A Man Die' with a Scarface?
I'll call Swave
He'll have blood leakin' from you
Just like a mirage, my son heat will have you seein' puddles in front you
I'll pass through clappin'
The cans shoot accurate
I loaded it up with 20 bucks; Andrew (and drew) Jackson
I got ya back leakin'
He goin' in and out of consciousness, they sad grievin'
Shit lookin' upside down for the Cave, it's like a bat sleepin'
You probably think I'm playin', til I grab the sub and (in) hit ya backup
"Sub in", "backup", that's how you take somebody out the game!
Real shit!
You can't keep it real yourself
Nigga suicide or I'll do the job, you decide
(Kill yaself!)