Tekst piosenki
[Round 1: Charlie Clips]
So they call you B „Muthafuckin'” Magic
But your real name is June
I just wanted to get it clear
So y’all got me battling a nigga named June, while we end June
On so many levels, this battle isn’t fair
Cause if I squeeze ratchets, it’ll be magic the way June disappear
I’ll slap the shit out of you every day in July
I’m trying to knock June into a different year
I dare you to walk through my hood, let’s say, around June, trying to say hi
Them goons on the corner – cold as December, you better say bye
I brought a four, named her April, I hold that bitch yay high, squeeze April, a bullet march in June, and then he may die
I said, June, May, March, whatever
I know it’s extra scary how I come up with these schemes, but I need another month to make it legendary
I should walk you to the roof and make you leap, yeah, but that ain’t necessary
I’ll do anything to make black history, that’s February
Wait, did y’all get that?
Did y’all get that?
Black History, leap year, like when you extend February
Show y’all what a query is, like he was born in February
The deuce’ll give him one, like it was trying to begin February
But the two-two’ll give him eight, like it was trying to end February, look
I said, nigga, your name June
That gotta make you mad, Magic
You named after a month you wasn’t even born in, that’s so sad, Magic
I’ll run in your house while you fucking your bitch, load up that mag, Magic
You’ll die while doing that trick, now that’s bad magic
Your style ain’t been hot since Shaq was in Orlando
That’s why you ass, Magic
They know you gon’ die, your whole career, you’ve been known to pass, Magic
These labels giving you no looks, cause you trash, Magic
Oh, you sick? Well, nigga, it’s hard to tell
You’re like the last Magic
Your career is ass backwards
You started out spitting that heat, dog
You was the man in the Proving Grounds
Now your career is on a see-saw
The only nigga he bodied was Rosenberg
After that, he took a detour
So I got a question, why y’all on Magic Johnson, if all he could do is beat Raw?
But now y’all wanna give him Charlie Clips
Well, this a bodybag y’all can blame on me
See, he was riding, y’all had him gassed, but now his tank on E
I got a new tech, no duet, but it sing on key
I rock him like Sean Carter, and put a ring on Bey
Magic, I like you, but you should recycle, cause every battle is the same trash
You got these fans under your wing, but this the plane crash
You put in all that work against Tay Tay, with your lame ass, and then let the Roc get rid of you, you Dame Dash
With this 40, I aim, blast, that’s a caliber
These bullets large, you should dodge, that’s a Challenger
I give ’em 30, you ain’t even know it, that’s a silencer
It’ll put June in a box, that’s a calendar
I said, these bullets’ll go through everybody in your house when that tool flare
They’ll start off in your bitch, but they’ll end in June, like a school year
If they happen to survive, then I’m picking up another tool
Shoot him first, now they start in June, like summer school
Whoa, look, that was ahh, but peep this one
I got a shooter named Twiz, right? He nice with that cannon
Peep the way my G roll
I tell him edit your life, then he giving you tubes, no VEVO
I tell him cameo, he give a face shot, you get a peephole
So if Magic acting tough, these clips’ll make B roll
I knew y’all wouldn’t get that
I knew y’all wouldn’t get that
You get it, though, I get it, though
Aye, look, I’m not an oldhead
I just like to make the young feel wack
I’m on my shit, this the flow that made Verb chill Smack
They saying Ill on drugs, if that’s a one real fact, then these cocaine lines should bring Yung Ill back
[Round 1: B Magic]
I said, yo
I will pop on a mark cause my set go
Jump around and get beat fast like techno
When I re-release these two threes, it ain’t retro
Walk in the place with the blazer on me like it’s dress code
Techs blow, jump any cappa nigga, step show
Get blunt objects across your mouth, less smoke
I got something in store for you, dog, Petco
A liter of blood’ll run out him like Death Row
I said, yo
Magic hands on, like a palm reader
No stunting, I’m upfront with it, like the line leader
Grab the 40, smacking a magazine with it like Don Diva
Hop out the crowd with the steel like John Cena
Clips, these rounds don’t come with a timekeeper
What I carry’ll leave him red, I’m in my prime, yes
Carey, leave him red, prom, my rhymes’ deeper
Chilla Jones strapped in C4, I’m a bomb schemer
Look, I’m at your crib strapped, chillin’ with your boo, we in
Ash Kash lovin’ it, she damn near moved me in
Heard the front door open, Charlie and his hooligans, dumped at ’em
He ain’t get the chance to guess what room we in
I ain’t trying to force it
I spit sick, something magic
Think I had a fuel card how I grab a pump and flash it
And it stretch marks like card girls at Summer Madness
And I ain’t trying to settle down when I’m dumping ratchets, get it?
What, this ain’t going how you planned, nigga?
Let’s say you argue with a Calicoe, like Hanz, nigga
You can get your whole team homi’ed, like Amzilla
Wouldn’t make it to the AM with a transmitter
See, with them Disney-ass bars, good luck, Charlie
Factz said, I heard you had Boosie, I said, fuck Charlie
I’ll put some shells into Clips if he need the slugs
We’ll come with open arms like he need a hug
See a thug, understand, my peeps, we deep
Clip’ll take the steel and pass, like CP3
If the first strap don’t make this nigga see we G
I’ll bring out another bad creation like B.B.D., bars
I say, catch up, homie, I’m leaving you
You gon’ need this work, it’s a wrap in front of these caps like T and Surf
I mean, this iron’ll do more than crease your shirt
These clips just right for you, like DNA when he need a verse
I say, so Beas’ told me that Charlie Clips wanna fight
The nigga you said who smoked feet? You know who you calling, right?
Yeah, Magic, but chill, this always been a part of Harlem life
Remember? Quick even did it in Harlem nights
Set it up, hung up, thought of some mean shit
Like Clips gon’ come before the Smack like DreamWish
You better take cover with the sweeper like Teen Witch
Or you’ll be done 'fore the third round on some Qleen shit
Okay, so you Charlie Clips, well, whose bars piff and very potent
Well, now you looking at the nigga who do heavy smokin’
Steady loc’n, run shit, Jesse Owens
He got wheezy after a hook, like Kelly Rowland
B muthafuckin’ Magic
Holla at your motherfuckin’ boy
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