[Round 1: Rum Nitty]

It took you 56 battles to finally get your foot inside the door

You had all them shots though, my nigga

All them shots and you finally made it

That’s why they criticize the form

And for the record, we was never cool, let’s get it correct

So you personally talkin’ ‘bout me leavin’?

You can dead it, nigga, simple as that

Or a kick behind your head

Soon as you put the Bloque in your mouth all that history’s X’d

I’m a cool nigga, but I’m still with the shit, mil in the grits

I got shots for everybody here in this bitch

It’s a gun line in every lyric I spit

‘Cause I’m honestly next to a Tommy, I’m bein’ sincere as it gets

I put a beam right here on the stick

I gave this SKS dots, now Carter gotta deal with the kicks

You see what talkin’ gets you?

They think my lines ain’t special

‘Til they lose in the ring ‘cause the flow on point, this a Sonic level

All kinda action, clip long as a Bible chapter

Fire, let one ring with the arm like a tribal pattern

Die in fashion

Your heart rate on the EKG machine tryna flatten

Now the God Pen depend on God to get line reaction

I let lead cook, your set left shook

One shot give ya top the T-Top Chef Trez push

Let it bang

Arizona heat, put one in your mind soon (monsoon) as the Desert rang (rain)

I keep a stainless

But if I don’t shoot you, I’ma noose you

If you don’t get the pound I leave you hangin’

Nah fuck that, bring two bangers

Point ‘em y'all way (Yaweh)

Then yes you a (Yeshua) be missin’ J like the Hebrew language

You bitchmade, timid

I walk up on ya whip then raise wit it

Then put the five on the glass like a inmate visit

Big gauge grippin’

I come after the Bloque wavin’ one like Dikembe did it

I’m dishin’ shots out

You know I been wit the joint, by the leg where this located (dislocated)

You get hyper? Extended pop out

I’m in yo city wit a rocket

I hit Michigan and pop it

If Rum run in the Yak, a prohibition couldn’t stop it

You get the heavy chop

Off the chain wit it

Draggin’ a piece through J hood since I left da block

Get ya momma, uncle, auntie popped

Shootin’ wit two arms

But shit a get ugly for him when his granny shot

Then Danny knock and Danja get the cannon (Kannon)

You know the story

Then after I turn up in J’s spot, I’ma .40 40

Catch Chilla bitch ass, load the chrome

Somethin’ little blew (blue)

And traveled through his body like osmosis, Jones

You thought I left the fo’ at home?

I keep it loaded in the grey hoodie, I never leave my nose alone

I couldn’t coincide witchu bitches

Stand on the same side witchu bitches

Yo niggas got punches that land

Mine don’t even fuck with the cam

J, our riders (J.R. Rider) is different

Fuck you, you can’t keep it real to yourself

Nigga suicide or I’ll do the job, you decide, kill yourself

[Round 1: JC]

Summer Madness 6

It’s Rum Nitty, versus…

You do know you got me all the way fucked up tonight, right?!

Every line I’m dumpin’, Rum

Absolute respect to your new team

And understand where I’m comin’ from

It’s one-on-one

Do not jump into a round tonight

Unless you will jump in front of one!

Because me, I’m willin’ to pull right up

Niggas like us don’t like to hear them stories from afar

I made a way in (Wayan), got Loc-Dawg'ed

I’m talkin’ empty .40’s in the yard

This will not be that great sequel, nigga face it now

Buck fifty when they see you with the razor out

The scar gon’ haunt you, I’m talkin’ Ray Finkel with the laces out

This ain’t just about grabbin’ weapons

We don’t tolerate ship jumpin’, that’s the message

Now it’s like, who boy is this? He food, poisonin’

And ever since you been wit Homi they done had a staff (staph) infection

If we both great at what we do

Then why do I leave Earth and they give you sky limits?

That’s ‘cause I’m different

I mean, we both gifted

But when you bring that gift to JC, be wise wit it

Because you all do it, you bite and don’t even know the author

I mean, you might’ve sharpened the kick like Logan daughter

But y’all reincarnations of the last Jew, hopeless wit' it

And off that, you are as innocent as… O.J

You see where I’m goin’ wit' it?

His bars? The verdict and that trial? No conviction!

All that for nothin’

Every time somebody mention “Crip” you gotta throw a C up

Well, if you wanna talk doin’ some bars

Don’t try to hold that shit until now

Lettin’ them give you holiday heart

Then we gotta hear a nigga bitch through a round

Naw! NAW!

Bonnie and Clyde, I throw a shot, then a nigga bitch threw a round

I strike the iron while it’s hot

The silencers music to ears, damn near musical chairs

'Cause soon as it get silent, niggas drop

And this new wave, it’s a lot of niggas rappin’ ‘bout cartoons, Nitty

I like burners!

I don’t got shit to say about anime (Anna Mae): I’m Ike Turner!

But every bar, he gon’ bring my family harm

Wit these king-size… candy bars

You really gon’ walk over me?

You need to stay off the grass, please, like, like… Stanley yard

‘Cause that ain’t nothin’ but dirt any damn way

I know, ‘nother Friday line, right?

And I told y’all I would like to be done

But it’s too easy to make a punch bowl

And you know you gotta spike it wit Rum

I done changed the whole style for this nigga

But not only ‘cause y’all miss shit

Instead of takin’ a slit wrist I took a big risk

And made every step count like a Fitbit

Well, it’s a new sheriff in this bitch

Why? ‘Cause I’m back and deadly

I don’t pull cards, I pull up, and y’all niggas have them ready

Nigga, chest shot, big revolver, more than one go through

Now his core openin’ up like Tez in The Untold Truth

Pull your heart out, ‘cause everybody get on this stage wit war stories, you niggas is awful

Got shot and let it burn like Usher?

Yeah, well, when these ratchets talk they gon’ literally cost you

It’s certain niggas that move real presidential with this shit

That’s me, I’m that cold and Powell (Colin Powell) just another nigga in the mix

I’ve been crazy

And you’ve never warred wit a nigga who pen crazy

But I’ve been fightin’

And no matter how much crack you stuff when that pen lightin’

They only know you for the punch

I get him drugged through a setup, I’m indictin’

And of course, I heard all your past callouts

And I didn’t wanna be the one to say it was lame

But nobody else heard it

You see how that placement done change?

I mean, that was live, but I’m more 2K

So remember how you got your face in the game

It’s bodybags at every battle

Make sure your homie found one

But do not jump in that bitch yet ‘cause this is only round one

[Round 2: Rum Nitty]

A casket what you catch

I pull up on your set y’all, give y’all a strap

You’ll hear it barkin’ from the whip like animal neglect

Then I left dawg in Pontiac

If I catch you playin’, its reverends prayin’ and heaven’s waitin’

Then J get some type of angel wit him like Hector laced it

Somethin’ heavy wavin’

It hit, then it push back the block (Bloque), we on Tekken playin’

I put the steel up to cuz

Let it give J the fire (Jada Fire): your whole career gettin’ fucked! Let’s get it poppin’

I leave a nigga from the Bloque (block) shot wit his wig out

I been the wildest

If a nigga try me, it’s gon’ get you bodied

Behind the mic, I dead dancers: you a Thriller zombie

My nigga Murda was pushin’ you all across frontstage

You wouldn’t say shit

Stood there lookin’ like a shy nigga when he bumped J

We all for trouble, load up let off a couple

Get dropped from the grip easy as carpal tunnel

Knockin’ pieces of your body off when the hollow spark

This .50 sick, it can make all things fall apart

They said I was sittin’ on bars, I had to laugh

Nothin’ old, I keep a current flow with the pen, this is Alcatraz

Niggas know that I’m ridin’

Suppress the gun so the .40 is quiet

The nigga died and had a moment of silence

Try me, play and it’s a homi

Smooth Criminal, you know I took the angle for a body

Stop it, ain’t no bitch nigga gon’ play me

‘Cause it’ll be a wrap (rap)

Wit two arms behind his back like the old JC

Nigga, play then you’ll get stretched

You from the gang then throw your set

You Vice Lord, right?

Well I put you under the 5 and bang it to the left

That one a let you down

If you thought this Vice verse a (vice versa) kill me it's gon’ be the other way around

But niggas tellin’ me, I get all my bars from actin' scenes y’all

But my rounds is live, you think 'cause it's from a movie you gon’ die: that’s what Brandon Lee thought

I don’t understand him, same scenario

You cannot criticize the stance if the punch is landin’

Beam on it so I aim better

He try to run, then this a take a nigga back, it’s a slave catcher

But who killed you is the main question

‘Cause I ain’t show my face and kept my mouth zipped

I’m a Bape sweater

Gang member, give a fuck who came witcha

Black 12, red both sides of J, I flu game niggas

And lil Tay Tay flatline told me

He brought a bag out for you

South Central: they tried to give J Roc and it backfired on you

I pull a piece he pray “please”

You know how niggas talk to God when they dyin’, right?

Well in that situation is where I’ll be leavin’ (believe in) JC

Fuck you! You can’t keep it real to yourself

Nigga suicide or I’ll do the job, you decide

[Round 2: JC]

This whole punch setup delivery shit y’all do, not impressive

It predates y’all, that’s why the lane small

They all talk about the same killin’

I can make killin’ sound better than Nate Dogg

Rest in peace to a real one, because that’s one life

I’m sure we could glady exchange for this one by sunlight

I go AWOL (a wall), you don’t make it past, I’m Trump-like

I make the call, it’s a done deal

Ain’t no helpin’ receivers, relatives either

Shit if I holla “Gram” (hologram) you gon’ need Coachella to see her

We will never be the same

You take your throwaways you post ‘em on Twitter

Where nobody check for it

I take my throwaways and make somebody (some body) a throwaway ‘cause I get a check for it

Today of all days, you can expect the madness

Weapon blastin’, get all of ‘em smoked

Old school wit the stick like Atari remotes

That just mean I’m pressed for action

You called me out often, damn near askin’ for a feature

But in complete fan mode, every jab was from the bleachers

And I’m like, “Well, this ain’t Good Burger, but everything I send bad and that drive ain’t the same when you crash into the teacher.”

Nigga, you be wit a different team every visit

So the next time you switch sides I’ma be waitin’ for the shot, just cherry-pickin’

The shit you do ain’t even killin’, it’s barely crime

Two niggas, two nickels each, change the paradigm (pair of dime)

Now you gotta shoot, rock his roof

Mouth open, shit spillin’ out

The choppa put him in his place like real estate

And that’s not a punch, it will flip a house

Yes, I brought somethin’ in this bitch that could leave him on the floor

But it might sound arrogant

And that’s ‘cause they ain’t check my Eagle (ego) at the door

Headshot, all the way up until 2017 I’ve been killin’ plenty

Liftin’ arms without lendin’ any

And what’s worse, I got the vision to run this shit ‘til 2020 (20/20)

That throwaway you posted on Twitter

What’s that? Trash, at it’s best

I couldn’t even wait to hear what trash was next

They knew this Michigan nigga was sick when he left

But that’s why me comin’ back to play was such a magic step

Oh, but I’m not here to pass Roc

I’m ballhoggin’, I want the last shot

Got all his people clogged in the Camry

Ridin’ down the street and just hear a ratchet singin’

And I’m talkin’ all in the family

What makes it worse, the fuckin’ timin’

Dicaprio in Shutters Island how my patience (patients) work

This is a illegitimate stepson

Who left the Bloque for Homi and couldn’t catch one

But that’s why I spark y’all

And what a coincidence, the moonwalker’s arm strong (Armstrong)

Nigga, kneel (Neil) because son can shoot

But the pops louder than Lavar Ball

One time he was apart of all these crews, just like flashin’

Jumped ship one too many times, now he need a life jacket

That’s it, I’m done y’all

[Round 3: Rum Nitty]

Most of your best performances is when you battle your teammates, that’s when all of your bars hit

I get it, it’s easier to land punches against somebody you spar wit

Makes sense, but then you stay snappin’ on amateurs

Debate this, when the last time we seen J black (Jayblac) on a champion?

Your soul liftin’, one in the dome hit him

Now Carter can’t feel his face and got no ceilin’

Hit yo city, pole wit me, dome kickin’

Takin’ a whole family out in Pontiac, I’m road trippin’

Your shit oozin’ if I snuff you

A cracked head expose inside of Carter

That’s Pookie with the buckle

Fuck you, I don’t feel his style

I mean, I understand wit the pen he wise (Pennywise)

But he still a clown, you get it (It) now?

Simmer down, I don’t feel a clown

Your whole side get hit, no choir shit when I fire sticks

Big round, make a ultra sound (ultrasound) inside this bitch

They talk but duck Nitty

And for the record, you’ll get the .50 thinkin’ Con a punch wit me

Dome shot, you fallin’ on your face

If you anticipated me droppin’ Carter, sorry for (4) the wait

He throw up a gang, I’ll lay somethin’

I guess since you doin’ all this actin’ out I should raid (charade) somethin’

Trey dumpin’, I don’t play wit no marks

This a grown man bodyin’ (body in) a bitch like when Baby Boy start

Right in, put your G to sleep, and he’ll go clean to sleep

They’ll have to ice JC whole face, now he a Jesus piece

I run up on Loaded untucked and gun butt

If he go under the ladder, Lux gettin’ fucked up

But if that match is too much to ask then you gassin’

‘Cause facts is, I ain’t earn my respect, I snatched it

I grip a big Desert, that shit’ll make a rider (Writer) book

Off top like Karrine Steffans

It’s an adrenaline rush, lettin’ off shots

No audition but I really get stoked (Chris Stokes) when the arm pop

He wanna die though, I pull a special-made custom auto

Then I raise iron like Cus D’Amato

I said what strap you peel wit?

I get at you, real shit

If I send you the pound your whole pack get aired out like I vacuum sealed it

Trap talk, you know nothin’ ‘bout it, but you do be snappin’ on ‘em

I can’t lie, he’s unbelievable

But you not believable, that’s your problem

Bitch-ass nigga, do somethin’!

I ain’t even have a bar right there, I just wanted to prove somethin’

Who want it? You gon die in the long race

This TEC, Pineapple Express, get fired across J

Fuck you! You can’t keep it real to yourself

Nigga suicide or I’ll do the job, you decide

My fault

[Round 3: JC]

Dome shots, won’t shit survive

If it do, it’ll leave a nigga blind

Shit, he gon have to feel for you

And every nigga in the field for you gon’ have to sympathize

I’m talkin’ open arms like when I’m cleanin’ my .40

Put Rum down when I’m squeezin’ my 40

You niggas basic, nigga face it

Whatchu took, E? (Tookie)

The last time a Crip got a shot from the Terminator he didn’t make it

Smack, wussup?

I know this ain’t addin’ up

But that’s because Summer Madness 3 you don’t want nobody else to assume doin’ the math (Math) for you

And I understand that, so this all me

And witout y’all I’m askin’

Rob Kardashian, I’ll leave and get rid of the bag for you

But I need a clear mind after this ‘cause now I’m in every circle

And you gotta see me, more than a Everest commercial

That lil nigga JC, calm violence

Rappin’ like he’s some Kong giant

I’m not, but that notebook came from Skull Island

It’s that rare and it ain’t a gimmick

But this shit you portrayin’, it ain’t convincin’

I’m savin’ you the hassle

Bobby Boucher before the tackle, change the image

Newsflash: Nobody believed, from the way you handle them hammers in them videos, that you bustin’ them shots

Oooh, you make them guns look worse than Love & Hip Hop

Good try nigga

But I’m nice so say goodbye when the 5 hit ya

And snatch your soul like the right picture

Change-up (Changeup)

‘Cause I don’t think the game’s stuck on the right picture (pitcher)

And everything that I throw strike

I’m talkin’ the best shit for the record

I couldn’t rest wit no effort

And since everything witchu is hit-or-miss, we gon make sure da mess stick (domestic) to the record

I’m not a caregiver

I just work wit fire like a Airbender

And I’m this different

Tonight we shootin’ like we got a problem wit everything

And we nitpickin’ (Nit pickin’)

Especially, when they tryin’ to kill you too, oh you gotta get closer

And make ‘em pass first like Popovich coached ‘em

It’s all fundamentals, somethin’ I’m kinda mad you forgot

They still tryin’ to figure out a punchline for “after the shot”

It’s too small of a scheme

So, y’all be limited when y’all pass him his props

‘Cause he only stand tall through a dream

But I guess everybody wanna be the King until the balcony shot

But that’s why it’s not worth it

That’s why niggas criticize the form when… (the shot perfect!)

But you, oh you don’t hold the toast?

You vapin’, just blowin’ smoke

But that’s why we demandin’ the static

So cut the fraud shit

Ratchet old, but the arms ripped, I’m talkin’ Angela Bassett

I changed the game and the rules

How can you not acknowledge me?

That’s why every time I get in the ring with them

They end up in an octagon wit me

And I just tuck the piece and just say “fuck peace”

I don’t even do subliminals, I let the sub tweet (subtweet)

Like look and listen

See I never played roulette, it’s never a bullet missin’

I just untuck

And keep spittin’ wit part of the piece spinnin’ like Young Buck

I don’t care who I’m after

You ain’t even safe at home

I slide past the hood like Dukes of Hazzard

That mean, I like to blast

A son flinch, that bitch come lightnin’ fast

And we even got somethin’ for the coffin

That mean we grab the nose and spray if any sign is (sinus) bad

Rum, it is over wit

Overdosed from the dopest pen

Y’all know I wrote this shit

‘Cause Summer Madness just turned into a eulogy

My condolences