Dizaster vs Math Hoffa

[Round 1: Math Hoffa] Right now, Diz is like, finally Abu is spending time with me Let's get to it, a battle or a fight? What you people really trying to see? Cause I don't give a fuck, either one of them is fine with me I'm a G, it's too many hypocrites in this society How many times y'all watched that Jones clip? Don't lie to me It seems y'all got a fatal attraction for my variety They tell me grow up, I'm Peter Pan, they get fly with me, I'm stealing My hook's like piracy, but I agree Battle rappers shouldn't act violently, it ain't a nice look But this is hip hop, so you can blow up with the right hook, I'm back, y'all Haters form a line on my sack, so you can say you stood with me when you heard I got blackballed My chances with getting a match were slim as a scratch-off But thanks to these wack, soft, amateur jack offs, and top-tier niggas that slacked off Now my phone's ringing off the hook like Jones when he backed off, let's talk facts Before your first match, I was that nigga, the click-clack cap peeler, that Brooklyn vernacular I held you back in Canada, you wanted to scrap Them white boys saw some Math in D like Mac Miller, you rap filler Your flow's easy to track, if Eminem held a class on how Arabs could rap iller I'll look at you and see a star pupil, you Jack Thriller In that Total Slaughter match, yeah, I choked but came back killer Looking at my phone - I ain't never do that, nigga Thought I was watching 24 with your battle with Pat Cause you choked, but to save the day, you ran to that Jack, nigga You was on the stage, looking all suspenseful, coming off your temple But you lost your tempo, what happened to that freestyle that we thought was special? You looked in your phone to look at the rhymes Caustic texted you Flashback, I catch Diz in a whip, I pull him out the Jag Chop his calf with a machete until it drop in half Flip him over like, is you ready? Then I pop the mag Things a black man gotta do just to stop a cab Remember that? I should've killed you sooner But I knew you'd come back this road, I see the future No, I'm lying, I needed Uber You Jesus in L.A.? That's cool cause I reviewed the scripture They booked the Matthew for Driveby, a crew should fix ya If you don't throw a strike, then Organik 'bout to lose a picture I came on stage with a tool to stick ya I said, if you don't throw a strike, your organs is going to lose a pitcher Stupid, I'm talking about your fluids, nigga Who you fooling? I was chewing you in Brooklyn, you just some leftovers Escaped the belly of the beast, guess you the next Jonah This where Dizaster reign? It's time he met Noah You delusional, this your funeral, you a meth smoker Get sober, they gon' say that nigga Math left BOLA With the head of the heads bolas dead soldier over his left shoulder You don't got bars like that I know y'all like, why he doing Akbar like that? So try not to fall asleep, you know his bars type wack [Round 1: Dizaster] You ready? I said, you better not do something stupid Cause they gon' lose you out in Cali, Math After this, we gon' have a shooting battle from the Cadillac You didn't hear me, I said if you do something stupid, we gon' start shooting in the middle of the battle like Cadalack Now we out the west, he coastin' It's Math Hoffa, accepts two battles in one week's span so the other one gets less promotion It's true, in a week he's going to step to O-Red He has a death wish, let him go then If he survives here, in a week, he'd be leaking everywhere just like Edward Snowden Last time we battled, you choked, d-d-duh-duh-did I hear Math stutter? Long blade like this hands smothered with all types of saw buzzers and slab cutters Catch a butterfly to your mouth like the bitch from the Silence of the Lambs cover, damn, brother This is the last saga of Math Hoffa Hat's off, he's a slap boxer, why you mad? Punchlines never land proper so he'll put hands on ya For the sake of shock value, he's a black Blanka He said if we piss him off, he gon' let the gat "blaka" HA, HAHA One false move, we gon' feed you all types of shells from clam pasta To crab lobster to trash off of a can if you keep acting like a trash talker You gon' get the large can till they start calling Math Oscar You get your ass shot, operation Black Water, watch Math drop so fast He hit the floor flat on your back like an ab rocker That Glock in my hand cocked, you will see clips from the smith flying like Hancock Damn, Hoffa It's Hoffa doggie, here to fuck up another classic with one of his sucker tactics But today is like a court date, we all get to judge who Math is He went a whole round with Jones, and no one reacted Till he finally swung on him and that was his first punch that landed Yo, go get a punching bag next time you wanna practice Instead of feeding your brother a knuckle sandwich and shutting down Summer Madness Your words don't connect, so you swing to get your punches across That's how much of a buster Math is Yeah, that's why you never get no respect That's why you never get no respect What happened? Why you want to punk dudes like little Mookie and T-Rex? What happened last time you came to L.A.? Where was your reflex? When you got water poured all over your shoes and you got G checked I guess you could say it was his first time in L.A. and he was still getting his feet wet You socked so many skinny motherfuckers that didn't drop, I'm somewhat amazed Just off of that, I could call you a pussy in hundreds of ways But I'd rather sum it up in one phrase Your battle with Daylyt's the only time you've ever slept someone on stage, shit If he's an N.Y. thug, I'm a Star Wars militia trooper If he got his pistol, I'm set tripping in the missile cruiser But I got the pistol, too, I'm a skillful user Click-click, you end up missing from the clip, like the hidden blooper Ain't shit that you could do to convince me that this kid's a shooter I'll have the homie catch him in his Mini Cooper with the 50 Ruger Leave his brains hanging like Mr. Cooper, then blame it on a Crip from Hoover On everything, but fuck all the violence You supposed to be a good influence on kids, like a physics tutor But ever since your name didn't end up holding as much weight, you became the biggest loser If only you could take a time machine back to before you punched Dose So you could see that in the distant future You'd end up killing yourself like Bruce Willis did to the kid from Looper Yeah, look what fucking battling did to you Now every single camera interview, they harass and they question you How are you a real man when you let rap lyrics get to you? You said you believe in god? Least you could do is respect the talent he's given you And be proud with the powers you're gifted with cause there's thousands of kids that would die to be able to experience half of the shit we do, but you You're just a piece of shit I met countless amounts like men like you Take everything for granted till the universe decides to snap and get rid of you The laws of attraction is principle, but you never had a dad that disciplined you And tell you that as a kid, all you had was your inner you and that's what you listen to But look what that shit done did to you Now you smack every single dude that gets within half of an inch of you Cause you have to disguise that trapped little bitch in you In some type of Anderson Silva move [Round 2: Math Hoffa] This is battle rap, two emcees hit the stage With no beat, they compete with rap schemes and displays Now some bitch-ass niggas like to fake beef to get paid But at the end of the day, he ain't mean, he just gay And he don't mean what he say Like when you said you retired, I guess you didn't mean that, fool You said I was scared to come to L.A., I guess you didn't mean that, too You said if we scrapped, then that's gon' make your team scrap, too Well, tell me who gon' block the shot after I cream Abdul? You a bitch, it ain't enough your battle see mad views They respect you, but you want to be a street cat, too Well, I was tailored in the streets, just cause I seem mad cool You press me, you on your ass like your jeans tag Trus, dreamland, snooze Wake up with your cheek mad bruised Teeth cracked, getting the recap, it's that Summer Madness 3 bad news Where your team at? You niggas want to react? Oooo, you lucky K.O.T.D. made sure we had food Batty man, I'm 'bout to murder the Taliban Banana clips, somebody call in the Tally man I was eating, Diz wanted piece like the Dalai Lam' You slip and drop that chicken Parmesan, boy, it's Ramadan If I was hungry, I'd beat up anybody hanging with D Especially Okwerdz, I get the feeling when he hangin' with me That he's so racist, his favorite movie is Hangover 3 Ok', you come out of retirement I'ma put you on bed rest Send techs in his mouth, boom, all you see is a red neck I'm from the Apple, y'all try to give me the beats I'll make your fucking doctor rich with no headset Surprised you ain't dead yet You be taking all them methamphetamines DO me a favor, never get blasted off of heroin Cause that'll get you outclassed and out of your element Cause on Smack, you was the wackest that you ever been You battled Rex, round for round, you got pound to death Cortez put you in a box, spitting out your best Ars, you was out of step, Aye Verb counted, yes Now you gon' catch a bullet to your temple like Malcolm X This gon' be a view of what a Jew would do with Hitler I'm using Hitler cause your man think that you's a nigga You speak in person, you be using nigga I guess you Donald Sterling and your Krack City crew's the Clippers I mean, why you hang with them? They bang you out in the Crip house? This asshole is like his asshole, it got a big mouth I bet when y’all be sparring and Dizaster start to wig out After 40 bars, Daylyt pull his dick out Straight disrespect, that’s how you wanted it, brother I take it a step farther and cum in your mother It don’t matter if I’m home, if I come with the hunger I’m whipping dog on the road like Dumb and Dumber Cause you don’t got bars like that Why your uncles be slipper-skating next to cars like that? So try not to fall asleep, you know his bars type wack And I’ll be here next round to bring the bars right back [Round 2: Dizaster] You try to rap to me Jamaican like you got a Rastafari Alliance But you a fake Jamaican, like Snoop, dog, you lyin' Speaking of dogs, I’ma give it to his bitch, Bonnie, raw dog Next time he calls me Abu, I’m going to invite her over for a motherfucking hot dog Listen, pay attention, it’s like hunting season ever since they run from me I’m like the first shooting game for Nintendo, I was on everybody’s screen I aimed at everything that was ever considered fly above from me And even though they dogged me in the end, this whole scene started with everybody ducking me There’s level to this, meet the game designer You said you've been through a lot of shit, well, you have a lot of kids So that’s probably baby diapers You think I’m scared of you? I’m from Lebanon, we raise survivors Train Al-Qaeda snipers, you do drive-bys? We do car bombs like my block's sponsored by Jagermeister, what? I can’t believe they pay you for being such a basic rhymer Safe to say you're 35, you haven’t blown up So you'll never be a fucking famous major label writer You gon' be stuck in the underground for a long time, like a Chilean miner If they put you in a cage, you’d be an amazing fighter He’s a big-ass giant cyclops that hits people from the blind spot like an Asian driver I’m 'bout to get rid of this mathematician with a thousand different algorithms Made up of the foul decisions in life that cloud his vision But what'd knocking them out prove? That if your rounds ain’t hittin' You’ll swing in the middle of the round and hit 'em And show up without a second round like you did out in England And maybe you allowed to, but not in our division Out there they might be proud of you, but I swear to god You show up without a round two, Math, we’re going to beat the living algebra out of you And I ain’t even power tripping, cause rather what I would do is Out-rhyme you and algebraically out-style you Triangulate on all of your ground moves See, the root of the problem is there’s nothing positive about you So I focus on the negatives and try to subtract them out of you Minus all of your foul moves and that’s how you Calculate Matthew’s absolute value, yeah We seen you against Calicoe in New York We seen the whole crowd give up You got booed trying to make your style adjust Your man Cortez battled with Cal, got slumped I seen Hanz try to get in Calicoe’s face and his ass got punked If you take the three of y’all together and you add them up It means half of your squad went against a Cal, got crushed Which proves we'll always be better at Math Cause we would never let a Cal kill us But I know who Hoffa, Math is, got everything dog-shit backwards His bars don’t cause no impact so he starts socking rappers Cause if he had fire, he would go lighter And wouldn’t have to strike 'em on the side like boxing matches Pay attention, if he had fire, lighter, box of matches Yeah, now I sound like all you faggots, hah He’s a fucking nice guy, he’s not even bad, that’s what he wants you to misinterpret He’s like Richard Sherman, he only switches when he gets behind the filming curtain He smiles in your face, then gets on a track and quickly turns into Math, the killing version He’s like Dexter, cause every time he gets in the lab, he becomes a different person, yeah But I’ma tell you now Math, be cool, 'cous I’m serious, Math be cool, Blood You said you gon' smack me, you said Math gon' do what? I seen you the first time, we was chilling with Triune once You stood up in the corner like you was gon' do something Soon as you seen him, you was like, my dude, what's up? Fucking fruit cup I’m trying to show you the large picture No, like serious, Math, I’m trying to show you a large picture No, like pay attention, I’m trying to show you a large picture! [Round 3: Math Hoffa] This nigga blew up a picture of me with no shirt on That's some other shit But I bet off of the strength of that picture, tonight, I'ma fuck a bitch But you, you dropped Islam just so you could suck a dick Cause ain't no repercussion for faggots up on the mothership Now let's get real When Pac died, the whole west side fell in depression When B.I.G. died, the whole east side was mentally stressin' See Pac wrote songs that led the black man to progression B.I.G. said, “Sky's The Limit” before his death and ascension But this is why they fear battle rap, cause of how we vent our aggression If that aggression is genuine, this shit could end in a second I still remember the question, is there a ghetto in heaven? I don’t know, but after tonight, there should be a 7/11 I enter the session, calm just to censor the tension For them stacks, I kick that shit, I’m Benjamin Beckham You do a lot of dumb shit just to get some attention It’s like if people think he hard, this nigga gets an erection You a Arab-American bragging 'bout a weapons collection I’m surprised the FBI hasn’t sent an inspection But since you talking guns, them shots gon' be denting your chest in Arabs love oil, he getting drenched with the Wesson See, I came into this battle with the plans of a mover You disappear from where you stand in the future Reappear in the past next to a corn field and hammers’ll shoot ya That’s how you see an end, faggot, Anderson Cooper This suicide, Diz you know you gon' die tonight I’m like a steering wheel in London, I be riding right But this was probably part of your plan, an Al-Qaeda strike What happens when a Arab’s rapping with black dynamite? I rack, putting bodies in Glad bags I can’t even tell my pops what I do, I might get bagged, dad I heard Daylyt really box, and he ain’t half bad But Math jab faster than a Dot Mob ass-grab You been taking Daylyt’s style, give it back, fag Trying to stay ahead of the trend? Guess you a hash-tag You lost on the show and broke out, you was mad sad Ain’t even say bye to your homie, that’s a back-stab I guess your ass really needed the guap Cause you ain’t pay back Marvwon for the meals that he copped Cortez for the weed when you needed some pot You ain’t even pay back Big T when you needed some socks You bum-ass nigga, you gave me writer's block, the worst of this year I watched your battles till your fucking voice was hurting my ears I put the pen to the page, hoping verses appear But this is why I hate Scrabble, sometimes I got no words for these squares I mean, shit be all set, I got my target in sight But the shit I’m wanting to write ain’t part of plight Cause everybody spits the same and y’all reward 'em for bites I’d rather narrate the Wonder Years and talk through your life See, niggas know I spit hard, but they be caught in the hype Vers’ Math, you get the draft, either a bar or a fight So Diz gon' stand on the stage and try to offer advice But I’m ten steps ahead like when you walk with your wife I mean, Diz, let’s keep it real, how bad could I be? You took the bargaining price, they paid me top dollar You even paid for part of my flight Last time we spoke, you was broke walking dog in your night So when the fame’s gone, D, you gon' be starving for life You got a broke nigga swag, your face says, “I browse” All these fans and you can’t even count five thou’ right now As far as I’m concerned, all of us should be iced out But let’s talk about how you cried out in that Bed Stuy house You told a room full of battle rappers that you wanted to kill yourself Cause you 30 plus and broke and can’t find a way to build your wealth You had the same sweats on for three days, to keep it real or help I slept in my jeans just in case he tried to steal a belt Wake up in the morning smelling curry chicken Diz hanging in the basement like a dummy twitchin’ Feeling fucked with no love, that’s the buddy system I told Muhammad treat life like it’s Sonny Liston One of your mans got cancer, and he fighting for life But you'd rather take yours cause you light with your price If I was him, I’d slap your ass twice with a right When we die, we die as men, you gon' die as a dyke All you are is an emotional bitch All you wanted was attention when you told us you quit All you wanted was attention when you told us that shit Your parents raised the blade, you should go for your wrist And when you die as a atheist, and your ghost in the midst And god ask, “Yo, Bashir, who told you to quit? I gave you so many gifts, now I gotta kick his soul to the pit" Spoiled brat, couldn’t adjust after growing up rich Real shit, they’ll never take that from me That’s why a nigga still smile when it ain’t that sunny He was crying cause he broke, ain’t that funny? Well, I give him a couple bucks, that’s that Arab money You fuck rapper, I split you and spill your guts after Look, Ockie, you sloppier than a nut catcher This how Brooklyn do, every time I look at you (I wanna put a fist, knife, bullet, or a foot in you) No, I wanna say, “give me two loosies and a Dutchmaster!” Hoffa [Round 3: Dizaster] Yo, how the fuck do you cheer for the type of shit this dude writes? Like serious, no punchline This dude called me rich and broke in the same fucking round You’re the dumbest dude I’ve ever met in my life Math, Math Hoffa, the fuck is wrong with you With all these stupid Apu lines And the fucking lines about Arab women? Okay, you wanna fucking lie, you fucking racist? I’ma hit you with a racist line that’ll leave your mind spinnin' I will make an agreement with you, I’ll agree to cover up all my women If you can agree to cut down on all the fried chicken And for once in your life actually try swimming Let me tell you some shit that y’all didn’t know About Bonnie and Drake, when he was about to take her out on a date Don’t roll your eyes cause you got mad at Bonnie and you started to hate Yo, Drake was about to put Bonnie up in a fucking suite like a little ho Why you think World Domination was booked And we got ourselves a little dough? And the reason why she never met with him is cause He started to act like a little ho, and that’s why she didn’t go And he getting mad cause I’m like Einstein I’m exposing shit about Math that you didn’t know You trip, I let the clip explode, you wanna act like a fricking ho I predict the shit that you gonna say like Charlie Clips when he did the Piccolo You try to throw a jab, I sidestep it and crack Math like the DaVinci Code Stop looking at the fucking phone, you starting to distract me You could play if you want to But don’t think that I ain’t afraid to have one of the homies pull a trey eight and pop you Bro, don’t think I’m afraid to sock you I’m like Edward Scissorhands, I was born with the metal in my hands But you could still catch the fade if you want to Fuck your little fucking metaphor, little four-bar, little schemes I came to destroy y’all regime, I catch a body like nobody has seen And show up to your funeral and stand above your casket And dump metal in your box like a Coinstar machine, yeah And you just mad and all scared Because he thinks I’m come in here touching you Now we see you last time out here, dog You were clearly way uncomfortable Thought it was all Love & Hip Hop till Daylyt got on him Did you see the way he busted you? From far away, that shit look like Stevie J was punking you I’m a war syndicate, I’ll torture your ass You throw a punch and put more force into it than a Morpheus jab There’s not a home item I won’t hit you with I’ll snatch the plates, forks and I’ll stab you with it Till your face warps like the Old Testament Step on mine and you’ll get bone and a frag Once the force of the blast will leave you with torn ligaments Shoulders collapse, bones missing, organs attached to the floor Like your cord's been slashed with a rotary axis from close distance I’m so vicious, I’ll show up to your pad like Jehovah’s Witness And force entry into your door entrance And sulfuric acid your bone remnants till there’s no more evidence For forensics to report to the lab You go from shows with sold tickets to more victims To forgiveness from the mortician to the morgue in the bag From short visits from close friendships to identify your toe with a tag But what good is a mortician when all of your toes missing, body cold as a slab? His corpse shows symptoms of rigor mortis and cold stiffness Like co-defendants in court before the witness Let me show you the math This is the type of hole you diggin' I told him if he shows up trippin', I’ll be forced to hit him Grab him by his throat and kick him Take him to the floor and quickly force submission Push his torso in grab his arm and Kimora twist him Into a choke-hold position like Forrest Griffin, yeah I’ll fucking center in a fire round the home you live in And throw your son in the middle of it like the solar system I’ll expose these cats and leave 'em leaving here out the door straight limpin' I’m down to rustle in the house like Kimora Simmons, yeah Just keep pretending it’s just jealousy and envy It’s that next breed, they surpass him he’s [?] engine and they surpassed him like jet speed He knows if he don’t do something they gon' forget him like PS3 So he needed something trendy, why you think he shut down SM3? Everybody from the event flee and Smack lost money on spent fees But you brought this on your own selfie I mean, you brought this on your own self, G You wanted to have all the muscle in the hood You couldn’t be a normal mustang, you just wanted to be a Shelby Cause you're selfish, fuck battling, you should enter UFC You ain’t a real man, a real man respects his enemies A real man uses his verbal skills and only reacts with his hands as a necessity Cause any man can throw a jab effectively But it takes a bigger man to know you the bigger man and to just let it be That’s why you lost all respect from me You could be the knockout MVP, but you’ll never be the best emcee You went your whole life trying to be the one But you just killing yourself over and over like Jet Li He ain’t no motherfucking battling legend He only has one classic battle with Serius and that ain’t no classic He had to stab Smack in the back just to get it You’re wack and pathetic, fuck the fans that respect it You don’t have any ethics, you dissed Cali now you back out west Begging the same people you dissed in the past for acceptance Cause you’re a passive-aggressive, sensitive-ass, feminine faggot Suffering from manic depression who’s mad No one in battle rap wants to give his ass no attention Even his own family rejects him, fuck, Smack don’t respect him He only here cause he got canned, before that, we never seen his ass on the premises So this is all I need to back up all the tracks into evidence The only reason you’re here cause over there you don’t have any relevance You fucking waste of life, I should punch you in your fucking face right now