Tekst piosenki
[Round 1: Aye Verb]
Aye Verb vs. Math Hoffa, I ain’t glad, I’m mad, potna
Y’all threw me in the ring with y’all battle rap bully? Mr. “Jab Proper?”
A nigga that sucker-punched an 125 pound man and didn’t drop him?
That’s obnoxious, why y’all treat him like he Batman like the battle world is
Gotham?
That’s why he got that chip on his shoulder stuck like a shotgun
But there’s one problem: real niggas never get accused of fucking with fags
Hoffa
Let’s break you down, lyrically you ave, Hoffa
But you funny as a motherfucker, you make niggas laugh, Hoffa
??
I will homie-don’t-play-that sock this clown, the padlocks in it
Undercover rapper slash copper
I tell my niggas to shoot, you tell and get my shooters locked up
I’m going after gold with Mook, why in the fuck should I chase copper?
He swing on me, I swing back but I’m waving that damn chopper
Shots pop him, he in the hospital propped up
Shit bag, small TV, soap operas, Jell-o cups, nurses, doctors
Them rappers you punked, we’re not them and they’re not us
Tonight, your voice get out the pocket, just one octave
I’ma show you how I’ll do Math: reach in my pants, gun by my abs, cock it
Blast and knock a fraction of his chest away, now y’all looking at half Hoffa
It’s something strange about you dirty, I ain’t saying you ain’t real
But I sit around gangstas all the time back home and Hoffa you just, you just don’t get me that same deal
Type of nigga, broad day, Timberlands, “Math Hoffa! Brooklyn!
Night time, it’s half top like “Hey, poppa, I’m Brooke Lynn!”
Down low brother, when that round blow, brother
You better take cover and get down low, brother
Niggas acting like his dad’s great
Till you see Verb in all black, shotgun with that kick that boom! Sound like a 808
Go ahead nigga, start a few, I’ll murk all you fools
I quarterback my team, I move when I tell em, it’s like a audible
Math get home before me, get the shinin, I want all them jewels
Huddle up with my linemen and tell em, “Hit that nigga and take that shit” just like a toilet stool
Don’t get gassed Math ‘cause I got this killer look
Like I won’t wet that windshield, hop out, put that pump in your side and squeeze just like a Fill’er-up
This nigga’s nuts, I told you Smack, I’ma run through these rappers
Y’all threw a antelope in front of a raptor
If you’re static, I come get all y’all, it’s the rapture
Fuck what he believe in, Baptist, Christian, or Catholic
That bell ring and Verb standing here, he needs a casket
‘Cause the whole match-up is bad biz
Y’all know how you order something and the bubble paper around the package?
Well to me, that’s what Math is!
This nigga’s ass, I’ll chew his ass as is
??
Everybody know you there but we ain’t listening for you, you a motherfucking ad lib
[Round 2: Aye Verb]
Now we just heard all them jokes, and watched you just play mad mobster
But the fact still remains, real niggas never get accused of fucking with fags, Hoffa
I ain’t feel comfortable when I walked in here, ass watcher
Ey fellas, this room get packed, he gon get a grab, watch him
Old aggressive ass punk, go in the bar, see a nigga he want, spot him, throw a drink at him
Dude get mad, Math jab him, grab him, pull him chest to chest like he finna slam him
And then wink at him
I gotta turn URL to Mortal Kombat 6
‘Cause y’all playing flag football, St. Louis? We on that contact shit
Before a battle, Math be in the mirror, making sure his eye contacts fit
You a fucking fanboy I’m scared to make eye contact with
Far as your squad? Niggas nice, Hollow and Con, that’s it
Prob? Yeah, I bomb that fist and palm that fifth, you better calm that shit
Heard about where you from, Math, y’all produce the kind that snitch
I’ll show up on his block like “who’s sayin?” (Hussein) then Saddam that bitch
Killer piranha in the ocean yeah, I’m that fish
I’m nice hard, this as deep as y’all wanna get?
I can swim through Math with anchors on my ankles, no lifeguard
I can make your life hard, you write light bars, I write light “ah’s”
Strike pause, when you battled Solomon, you was getting killed, you had to play the white card
You battled Rex, you was getting killed, you said he was a Mike fraud
I wasn’t even gon take you, niggas don’t take you serious, Ill said “do it,” I said “you right, dog”
I’ma put all your little stripes under my wing, yeah, use your little record like Right Guard
Speaking of records, Math said he should’ve been had a deal, he spit that hot lava
Question: Who’s gonna open a budget for you, buddy? You have the image of a truck driver
I ain’t tryna hear all that superstar shit that he be talking
Kids be riding with their parents, see Math, hang out the window and go “EHHNG EHHNG” and he don’t even be driving, he be walking
Acting like your team is sick, dog, your team ain’t shit
I’ve got one question for every member in your team, your clique
Cortez, how long will it take your Mexican ass to make a 99-cent bag of Dorito chips?
Math, when the last time you gripped a machine gun or seen a brick?
Let me ask your manager, you fat motherfucker, when the last time you seen your dick?
I’m what you call a boss, my dogs, I don’t call em off
Tell em that hollow’s off, introduce Brooklyn to the holocaust
Instructions: kill anything moving and you, haul em off
You, cotton soft, your slick game is average
They nickname me NASA the way I let them rockets off
No, I’ll bring the bitch out y’all toughest nigga
He a sucker nigga, main nigga that’ll suck a nigga
He’ll sit in a man lap, and let him run his fingers up your backside, you little puppet nigga
Man, fuck this nigga!
[Round 3: Aye Verb]
Gee whiz, wasn’t expecting those bars, yeah right, ha ha
But the fact still remains
Okay, I’m off that shit, y’all get the point, time to switch lanes
Nigga, your bars ‘bout as exciting as a Knicks game
You ain’t dope, you can’t kill me
When Smack asked if I want a hit of Hoffa, I rolled up my sleeve and said “which vein?”
St. Louis know, he in the presence of a shooter, know how his tone switch and his pitch change
He rap wild at them timid rap clowns, I’m that back clowd that’ll thunderstorm and rain on that big name
No homo, this the round when I get in your ass, shit stain
Looking like a big bitch-ass holiday heart Ving Rhames
You’re just a New York battle rapper, this battle in New York
I’m on your house like “Fuck your couch nigga!” – Rick James
Surprise, y’all didn’t seen that coming
Like old girl from Dead Presidents hopping out that trash can, blasting
I’m ‘bout to smoke him, all y’all that gas Math gon need gas masks
He just signed Tsunami Surf to Team Hoffa, Surf text me like “Verb, he treat me bad, fam
He said it was all love, he just come to the studio, get behind me, grab me, fuck me all flash fast
Got me walking around Jersey in a ass cast!”
Math said he the devil, nigga you gon have to let a ??
I’m ‘bout to smoke this nigga, tonight I play the trash man
Yeah, listen to it, he don’t have bars
He do shit like bring up niggas real names to gain laughs
Well, mine’s Chaz, and I’ll let him shave me bald on Smack
If Justin could book a plane ticket under the name “Math”
*Bleep bleep* “Newsflash, breaker, breaker, this just in
Math Hoffa, a.k.a. Justin, was caught with two loaded .45’s and an ounce of crack cocaine
He said he was influenced by Rick Ross’s Hustlin
When interrogated by authorities, we found out the Brooklyn native’s heart was tucked in
Found out he was facing years just ten
And Justin agreed to cooperate with the authorities, gave up the ‘who, what, when’
And I quote, ‘It was Cortez, Liaison, and D. Chambers too, I can’t go down for those niggas officers, fuck them’”
Back to business! Brooklyn, how y’all produce a dolphin and y’all said shark?
Nigga please, I’ve been around wilder animals in Pet Smart
You’ve been active for six years, I’ve been active for a year; taking me, was that smart?
And he’s still losing this race with a five year head start
I needed dirt on Math, I hollered at Math lil broad
I said “what’s up, baby?” She said “What’s up, my man’s a fraud”
I said “Your man’s a fraud?” she said “yeah” so I said “tell me more”
She said “First off, that shit on his face, birth mark, he been had that scar
Trust me, Verb, he ain’t half as hard
Don’t nobody know him in Brooklyn, he ain’t even half a star
He 32 and still battling, embarrassing me with these average bars”
I said “well I’m over in Queens, so holler up baby, roll through” she said ”I would but we don’t have a car
And my lights finna get cut off Verb, we have it hard, what can I do?” I said “Oh, you need some cash at large”
Flew her to St. Louis, introduced her to a Vessona and some caviar, had her selling ass to stars
I used my mind to control her body, your bitch is now my avatar
My homie Jun is locked away, so losing? Nah, not today
If I feel in my heart, this win got away
I’ma show up on his sets with my crew aiming machines with lights on this actor
Trust me, this is not a play but someone’s getting shot today
Heat seeking shells, I toss in the air from like a block away
He can run, skip, buddy, hop away, till they get a hit, them shells gon be after Math (Aftermath) like Dr. Dre
I ain’t worried about Math on no street shit, he can roll up to me waving a loaded handgun
I would probably, “Tuh, come on, quit playing, huh”
I’m from the show me state, you gotta show me, I don’t give a fuck where this man from
Yeah, we heard, but I ain’t never seen you fucking with Clips, he like Cam’ron
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