Fresco vs The Saurus

[Round 1-The Saurus] -------------------------------------------- Fuck a coin flip, I’ll be first to let it pop This footage? Like my left hand: worth a second watch That’s two-timing if you don’t follow. Kill ‘em all nobodies to role models You don’t gotta do numbers to see the hands like Movado You know I’ma tell him how it is, and then I’ma show ya Just to back up my point like Dellavedova I’m a machine. You ain’t think shit could get any colder? I’ll dump a can if he press my buttons. Get him a soda! Bitch I met every quota. Gave proof that I’m Jesús Always brought the most weight to home plate, boy I’m Babe Ruth Since he Italian and I’m greek, they place us in the same group But I was raised Lebanese: always stuck to my Bay roots! (Beirut) It’s true, I’m Isaac Mendez: that pen stroke deadly Mariah Carey: you ain’t think it would get so heavy I got that fresh toast ready for him and Miss Coletti Like I’m bout to be the best man at Fresco’s wedding If you squeamish, y’all should turn away your heads ‘cause Papa Shango’s back here with a curse to raise the dead Once you work away your debts, I’ll be first to take his bread Tell him break off that paper like a perforated edge! I’m a loan shark, no sarcasm You’ll need sonar tracking ‘cause I’m so far past him I’m composing Mozart classics, so don’t start acting Like we in the same boat; I’m the coast guard captain What happened though? I thought that you was going places Must have had a change of heart like Smokin’ Aces Shit I don’t even believe in when he say what race he is ‘cause these facial features say Enrique Iglesias But that there? That ain’t even a racial bar actually It’s more alluding to why we think you’re a mark, Anthony So stop posting about being a men’s rights activist Or you ain’t welcome back in the Westside after this [Round 1-Fresco] -------------------------------------------- I give a fuck about the battle rap trivia and how much ammo you got You can’t rap the way I’m rapping if you haven’t been shot But until I get a signed letter from 2Pac where he asks me to stop I’ma keep pulling this shit like I’m practicing slots See I don’t battle a lot, but if the conditions just right, I’m completely airing And you might be rolling with Organik, to a decent area Til his expression goes blank (“Round One”), like he’s the narrator And I pop up for the scrap like a secret character Flawless what I call this, all I took is a Vick Rubber butt up on the rifle just to cushion the kick Let the hollow points blossom so the bullets’ll stick It’s like I’m playing Minecraft how I’m cooking a brick If I get the slightest urge, I’ma look up his chick So I can send her all the pictures that I took of my dick I’m back on my bullshit, and doing it Big League I put his IV(Ivy) on the wall ‘cause I grew up at Wrigley I leave his trap with chicken scratch like I drew him a squiggly; I draw different, so there ain’t no way you’re doodling with me Family man. They gon have to plan his funeral quickly Get your dome split. The whole kit ’n caboodle is with me Either the chopper’ll take his wig like he boozing with Britney Or he get sliced under his ribs like I’m removing a kidney I got the kinda bars that you have to give a kidney for People bite and try to bait me into something like a fishing lure Team full of animals: Starfox 64; For the cabbage, I’ll spray something Sauvage, it’s not Chris Dior Daddy should’ve taught me better. Momma should’ve kissed me more Trump Tower of terror, tell your daughter it’s a Disney tour People on the ground’ll see her body falling fifty floors Even Ripley swore he never seen some shit like this before So after I Clapton your kid, you’ll get clapped in the rib The way my finger licking shots, he need a napkin and bib You’ll get twisted off the top; I will Snapple your lid If you actually live, you’ll have something to tell people And fun facts you can give, like Did you know that Fresco will push your line back and then raffle your wig And let blood cover the wall like The Faculty did? Pulp Fiction: your girl O.D.ing off of the swag that I give And she gon need a chest shot after we crash at the crib You should be viral on YouTube. The chicken pox guy With a face that’s made from scratch like a chicken pot pie Bars easy to catch like you hit a pop fly Got you looking stupid like your daddy when he didn’t drop by Bars clip the whole row behind you, but you gon' catch the brunt of it Not even the Asian dude from Tiananmen Square could stand in front of this I’ll make your bitch’s jaw drop, and if she withstand the punishment I’ll make her keep that mouth open so I can ash the blunt in it [Round 2-The Saurus] -------------------------------------------- There ain’t a chance that he can win today. The Bay’s what made a man of me Homie, I’m on my Mophie shit: this case could change to battery This isn’t anger management, it’s pain and agony I’ll kill him, take the stand and get away with it: I’ll Casey Anthony Okay, children. He’ll get coached on stage, that’s Craig Nelson At our peaks, this is Mount Saint Helen’s to cave dwelling Go ahead, click in your seat belt. It ain’t helping ‘cause that hook’ll make him spin in his chair; he Blake Shelton They tell me toe-tagging Fresco won’t happen, ever But I’ll take flight, masked up: low cabin pressure See his pen’s fire, but sometimes it don’t match his efforts So the way he raps is playing catch: he just throws that together Never risk-taking, but he must admit, what I did changed him ‘cause my shit gave him a foundation, I’m brick-laying So the more you see this Chris Angel illusion of clips waving The more you bout to see money get pressed like inflation They been saying I’ll automatically lose if I use gay jokes on him But I wouldn’t do that in the Bay so it ain’t no problem I don’t need ‘em. Each ‘bow leave him with no feeling No coke fiending, just dope lines, I’m O.D.ing Ain’t no type of that powder, it’s just firing power; I’m bout to Flash on him: 88 miles per hour Even when he’s home, his bitch likes when I pound her; She hop on it down the street like a wireless router You been spiraling downward; it wasn’t a mistake So keep bumping them gums, I’ll uppercut you in the face Some’ll say I wouldn’t win this if it wasn’t in the Bay But you’d get Trumped in every state, no republican debate [Round 2-Fresco] -------------------------------------------- You gave birth to off-point comparisons disguised as hard punches Like, “Ho ho, that’s why your heart’s pumping ‘cause you look like Michael Clark Duncan with his private parts shrunken.” But my homie with the shit, so if you try to spark something He got that Nickelodeon magazine, that means Slime’ll start dumping He said, “People think my left is made of metal plated armor..” I stopped the battle right there and I never made it farther He probably said 'You’re fuckin up the Feng shui, you should’ve decorated smarter This is not the fade you wanted; I’m your second favorite barber See, you just wanna pop a bottle like a celebration starter But they’re looking at you funny like an elevator farter.” It’s lines like that that’ll probably get you relegated, partner In your PoRich bag at Ground Zero on a detonation marker Now that’s a tiny sample, but a prime example You gotta know when to walk away, it’s no time to gamble Bum ass flow. Fuck you and anybody taking it I been using gun lines since Grind Time when everybody hated it He was like “All these wack emcees rapping about guns are just as fake as ever At least I can frame it better and give a more creative effort; I can use gun bars and stress the syllables to make it clever ‘cause he’s known for keeping something tucked like Caitlyn Jenner.” You need to take your notebooks and throw ‘em all into a paper shredder This shit has been a long time coming; it’s better late than never I hardly spend time with my bars, ‘cause I don’t take forever Plus I’m stuck in a teenage wasteland Like the Staples Center when the Lakers enter Now I’m out for blood; that’s why you losing a liter I took my cue 'Q' from Doctor Mundo how I threw you a cleaver He was in a acting troupe, doing musical theater While I was in a Aston coupe playing musical sweepers He say I’m nice. But the feeling isn’t mutual, Peter After the last album, Chase Moore don’t want nothing to do with you neither I mean, Madness hasn’t called you since you blew up his beeper It’s 2015. Your man Greg still ain’t threw you a feature He’s known your ass for 20 years and still don’t have a song with you So that’s a strong signal that your fans have all dwindled Y’all could’ve done a rap-along single for the Amazon Kindle And had the nursing home turn’t before your grandma called bingo You must’ve scratched the wrong pimples, and you have some soft dimples So you ugly and soft, I guess the path you on fits you I could switch magazines like I grabbed the wrong issue Or leave him crushed in the grill of the black Range like a mastodon hit you They say The Saurus is robbing the cradle. Let’s get to chopping this fable I say, keep that shit up for as long as you’re able He’s like a card shark sitting at the softest of tables Trying to lure a sucker in with the comedy angle But I wonder what’ll happen when his daughter gets playful 40 year old man with a little girl you thought was your angel In a fully loaded Jag with all the options enabled Pulling that bitch’s hair back like she wanted a facial He’ll probably tell her that he love her and he’s honest and faithful But all he want is a quick plug like an optical cable So now you’re up at night, looking at the locket she gave you ‘cause a lonely dad’s the only man that your daughter relates to [Round 3-The Saurus] -------------------------------------------- I ain’t come to joke around. You know this clown’s been broken down And for my local crowd, this is how a closing round’s supposed to sound Now watch this, it’s all biz. He don’t know what a cross is Til I drop one on him like a drawbridge Shoulda saw this coming. Me punchlining with you? It’s about be more one-sided than Unbias Review You won’t deny that it’s true, just ‘cause i won’t pass the torch; I’m Bo Jackson: belong in my own class of sport I’ll kill him on cam, but it won’t stand in court So why go back and forth? Just toe-tag the corpse You got no chance. I’ll beat you in your own dang arena Charge it to the game? Nope, won’t take his VISA You want to throw? I’ll go straight to home plate and greet ya I been flipping off the bat, San Jose Bautista It don’t take a genius to see your business is foreclosed Message delivered in morse code, this is a war zone I know you straight, but how you dress? I’ve seen bitches in your clothes It’s like you shop in Narnia: you lyin’ which is your wardrobe This is more close to a dissection. Try testing I’ll right, left, him, then shortcut like Swype texting Your time’s ending. Walk over you high-stepping Head shot make his whole thoughts changes like a life lesson Now I’m guessing there’s a reason that you reference ratchets Even though you showed up dressed like that chick Trying to appeal to two demographics like Lenny Kravitz But it’s just theatrics. There’s nothing upstairs but an empty attic I will dead this cat, head in a bag like any match they offer This was just a short stop in the Bay: I’m Brandon Crawford Ain’t no cannon fodder, this cat is softer than behind the candelabra Now watch your life get cancelled like the time I battled Hoffa Two-time champ, I’ll win it two times more Now I’m back on top of the game like a new high score [Round 3-Fresco] -------------------------------------------- You blew up when battles had DJs, but can’t rap to a beat That’s like a professional breakdancer that can’t move his feet Ugly dude with freestyles. They’re like, “that dude is heat,” But this was a written battle filmed in HD, which is bad news for Pete And my lines’ll be the only lines they quote from it So this won’t be a battle where the fans can say we both stunted I roll something, pass it to your girl, now she’s so blunted She gon give me a little face like the old hundreds Red, white, and green diamonds like Italian ice Shorty’s so wet on the phone, she need a bag of rice You ain’t been popping for a while like a can of Slice Seasoned fans took me so they booked me for the added spice Now I ain’t even want to use this bar for Pete But he lives in the desert, so he should be used to all this heat; So from Cancun to a sand dune, I roll up on dude and park the jeep Ready to dump the cans at his buggy like it’s Supermarket Sweep I could wake his block up, or let the tech ring silent Baby boy, I’m pro-choice, but fuck your left wing bias Now 'that was a tec' that was a check swing. But this next thing’s violent; I’m bout to open up on him like a X-Wing pilot My connect always good; I got extra bandwidth And a second plan for anything the weapons can’t fix I got money changing hands like Megaman’s fist; The watch got a second hand; you got a secondhand wrist He bout to face another blemish. This the worst you get sweeped Ashes get swept under the rug like it hurts to give grief Supersoaker backpack, squirt the kid brief Plus they love me in the hood like the first and fifteenth I be at the same health club where his chick belong She catching pheromones from me at the liptithon Yoga mat down, let her suck me like a twisty straw While she whip her hair back and forth like Dixie Kong ’ll take her to the second gym like Misty gone And make a movie that star me(Starmie), that’s not Digimon No a cappella group, but he gon know what kinda shit we on When he hear that oowop going just like a 50’s song No GPS tracking, but I’m getting Pete traced They’ll have to set up a perimeter, and get police tape That mean I’ll chalk this boy out. He want to get a clean slate; I’ll cook him a couple minutes at a time like a Kid Cuisine plate I’ll go into black ops mode; now I’m in his team base He will not see zombies, but I’ll get his team chased Warhammer, forty k’s without the figurine paint He get ratchet after ratchet like he did a speed date Lieutenant warp nine, put him into deep space And pitch a bird out the whip like they did in Speed Race 18 karats on the wrist, with the wintergreen face And just looking at it giving you that Listerine taste For trying to get a buzz off my shit, get you smacked with a flyswatter I stay splashing his bitch like she rafting through whitewater Back in school, I had the tool in the back of my guy’s locker County jail, a young boy got put in a pod like Anakin Skywalker He don’t need breaking news to see action from live choppers For me it always on sight; even scrapped with my eye doctor His bitch on my album cover Alex Summers from all the Havoc that I’ve caused her But I’ve been through that bitch’s walls so many times That I’m actually Nightcrawler I’m pissed off at people even thinking the match was even I mean I should Rerun my rounds cause this is a classic beating I’m like Popeye the sailor: I’m gripping a can and squeezing Talking out the side of your mouth gon' get you the Bambi treatment I brought the Thumper in the club. Now it’s switching to rabbit season: If he Bugs, I’ll get him smoked like Yosemite Sam was creeping Morris’ll catch a flashback like he’s sitting in class and dreaming While I’m at his (bae/Bay) side, high, like Tiffani-Amber Thiessen Mario Lopez is in the building. This is your chance to meet him The silencer is Andy Griff how it’s whistling back to greet him This is Aladdin dreaming, I’m wishing we had a reason I just had to get a couple bands off him before giving him back his freedom