And y’all already know who I’m better than
Y’all know T.I. can’t fuck with me
You a featherweight, you don’t even weigh a buck fifty
Nigga you lucky my plane got delayed
Cause I woulda knocked your punk ass off the stage
You a seven-time felon, what you care about a case?
Yeah you got outta jail early cause you working with the state, snitch
You a bitch, been a bitch, still a bitch
And yeah, that leprechaun suit got me filthy rich
I shoulda known you was a snake
When you was at The Source photo shoot just smiling at my face
Trying to get on the “Game Over” remix but I told you no
I only do tracks with niggas that I think are dope
You niggas know in the streets I’m the hardest
So why in the fuck would I diss a gold artist
I’m from the dirty dirty and I represent
I get head like the muthafuckin’ President
Southside and we ride on 20 inches
I got a million dollars I’m not a penny pincher
Holla back I’m straight from the streets
Jump out the jeep with the K and the heat
I’ll put ya lame in ya lap ya brain in ya lap
I’m reppin H-town I put the clover on the map
I got my nine and my strap
Everybody you better get the hell back
When Flip pops up I leave ya ass droppin’ dead
Southside we don’t trip over blue and red
Ill leave ya crippled with my pistol in ya backend
Make ya chest do a fucking backbend
Holla back I’m from the streets, dawg
And I’ll knock ya ass off ya feet, dawg
What’s beef? Beef is when a nigga like you can’t eat
Wake up with no appetite and you can’t eat
Better look both ways before you walk in the streets
Cause you don’t want to bump heads with a nigga like me
Rubber man with that AK shit
First album flopped with that reggae shit
Holla back nigga
- Lil’ Flip’s response to T.I.
How long you think it’s gon’ take real niggas to realize
There ain’t no subject matter in half these lil’ guys
I stay with a flashy look
Even though half the industry crunk with a catchy hook
See, the majors wanna sign what’s trendy
Fuck it, I’mma wait shit out, put it down with everything I got in me
Got a Cardier worth what they giving you up front
So I don’t give a fuck what they giving you up front
You chumps ain’t a part of us
I’ll give you my address, nigga, if you really wanna come body us
And Tek got my cell, he’ll give it to you
If you really want it with Dot, we’ll give it to you
If I’m pussy, nigga, better prove it
I still come through the Venetian, nigga, prove it
Man, you actin’ like I’m scared
Nigga, I travel with thugs
We turn G4s into ConAirs
Me and ya boy ain’t battle, stop lying
What I did, hit his hoe or somethin’? Stop crying
- P.M. freestyle (DJ Rob-N/DJ Ideal Memorial Day mixtape)
They tellin’ me Flip signed, Slim too, but Koopa he ain’t true
He ain’t due to be the next, why he ain’t blew?
I went to New York and I made a mention of DJ Screw
All the industry A&Rs was lookin’ at me like, “DJ Who?”
Are you serious? Oh, that’s the reason I flew up here
So you could treat my culture like a flea market souvenier
My confidence ruined here, what the hell am I doing here?
Ain’t no choppin’ or screwin’ here, I knew it was true, it’s clear
What happened to your ear? I swear I’m the hardest
I heard the artists you signed before me, I swear they was garbage
I’mma be back like Terminator, and I swear that’s a promise
‘Cause industry niggas go to college just to end up retarded
Yeah, I said it: retarded. I ended up at Kay Slay’s crib
We chattin’, he tellin’ me ‘bout how shady the game is
I felt like I stepped out a dream and into the Matrix
Kay Slay was realer than them niggas that claim it
It’s a shame it’s the lames in the highest positions
The real niggas be spitting and the lames don’t even listen
To get ‘em out is my mission, maybe I’ll start a petition
Okay, I’m prob’ly just wishin’
Forget that mission, I’m trippin’
I hit Scarface on the phone and he was giving me game
And Charlie Braxton in Mississippi always give me the same
They both let me know that ignorance is really to blame
Only an idiot don’t realize he’s touching the flame
How could you not feel my pain? You gon’ feel it regardless
Record labels and their artists are smelling like rigamortis
From market to market, rappers dead where I park it
While you talk it I’ll walk it, and I’m just marking my target...
‘Cause they’ll never understand me, them niggas is cotton candy
They just envision another Grammy, don’t give a damn about my family
Now that I think about it, the artists are never happy
They can’t convince me that I’m not a prize, I won’t let ’em have me
My brother can co-sign how many times I done changed my mind
But I never slowed down, all the time I stayed on my grind
The phone ringing all the time, I pick up the other line
“Chamillionaire, it’s you know who, and we really want you to sign”
- Chamillionaire, “The Mixtape Messiah Walks” (DJ Smallz’ “Southern Smoke 12”)
Here comes the boom, Pit’s gon’ rip to clear up these rumors
I didn’t want to do it but I feel that I have to
Hopefully after your tears come laughter
Vegas, come on, Pull Up’s just a hot line
But Culo? That there is a hot song
Worst thing is, I was at Spring Fest and your own people showed no love
Lyin’ to the people, telling ‘em Pit robbed you, dawg what’s up?
Lyin’ to OZONE, telling ‘em you hollered at me and Jon, dawg, what’s up?
It don’t take a genius to figure out why your song ain’t playing
Matter of fact, it’s quite simple: no one knows what the fuck you’re saying
Mr. Vegas, looks like at the end of the day you need Sean Paul
And to top it all off, I heard you’ve got a glass jaw
You’d be straight if you could break records like they broke your jaw
Oh, my bad, you only make records cause they broke your jaw
We tried to be gentlemen, but now it’s time we break you off
I seen your contract, they pulled your skirt up and broke you off
- Pitbull (Mr. Vegas diss)
Email your 16 bars to
JB@OZONEMAG.COM for consideration.
