URLtv – Bigg K Vs Half Past 7 lyrics

[Round 1: Bigg K]
Fuck boy! Dick sucker! Loser! That fit you
I got a gym star that'll leak out every gallon of fluid that's in you
Cause you ain't nothing but food on that menu
I will smack the shit out you, then boot it back in you
I got a a hundred shot drum and the clip is full
I sick my wolves at his sheep, tell 'em get the wool
Shotgun pumps that could flip a bull
I'ma have body parts everywhere like a Pick-n-Pull
You at home with your bitch watching soap operas
I'm uptown negociating with the coke shoppers
MAC-10s, Sks; both choppers
Right hooks, left hooks; show stoppers
I'm in your crib ass naked; no boxers
Try to fuck your baby mother out her door knockers
And she pitching out your packs, she a ho, partna
I sling that rock behind your back like a globetrotter
I'm ballin' like I'm Stephalosh, bangin' like I'm Okafour
Weed came from Mexico, caine came from Bogotá
Put a trio of holes in you like a bowling ball
Dump a gallon of Hennesey in your open sore
Let's go to war, yoke him, throw him overboard
The last flip I ran threw more bags them my grocery store
How I flip a couple P's and get some house money
All from getting rid of Bud like Al Bundy
You ain't swiping nothing but a E.B.T
Sniffing powder, popping pills dipped in PCP
His girl said, "can we shoot a DVD?"
I said, "yeah, if your head's slamming like a DDT!"
Fucking with papi, I get the guns and the kilo cheap
He threw me a nine I call Eddie Guerrero, it's that Latino heat
I'ma send something stupid through the roof of your fraud ass
Soon as you swing that knuckle
Guerrero coming of the buckle like a frog splash
What you know about turning your microwave into a crack lab
No bank account, my life savings in a trashbag
Somebody tell Half Past, my shooting ain't half ass
That Ruger from Baghdad
I will light your mutherfucking whip up like a Cash Cab
I be sour chain smoking, liquor chasing with a beer
Your flow and your stage presence is lamer den your gear
You gon' come with a bunch of white jokes
Say I'm wasting my career
But you gon' feel like a white boy
When I stick two Gauges in your ear
You got the swagger of Dave Chappelle
And a face like Humpty Hump
Say something I don't like, we gon' fight, and I'ma fuck you up
I'm talking two hands with a quick cross, scoop slam and a hip toss
I go hard in the paint, you gon' drop the Pill like Rick Ross


[Round 2: Bigg K]
I said you a faggot, I'm talking hot pink wigs and lipstick
You drove here in a six speed, and your car got a dildo stick shift
You a faggot, your upper lip smell like punk butt
Every morning you workout like a ninja
Swinging a set of dildo nunchucks
Y'all probably thought I was gon' lose
Either that or you never heard me
Like I road six hours on a Chinese bus to let 'em murk me
I came to go to work, clocking in, dead 'em early
Punch in his time card, clocking out 7:30
I got a stash in the floor where I tuck the drugs
So I ain't saying I'm dancing when I "cut a rug"
If you see me in your club holla what it does
I'm jumping out a big body like Buddy Love
I heard you snitched on your best friend, that's jaw dropping
You got the state trying to execute him like Bernard Hopkins
Well since you telling pig tales and got the law watching
I feel like Pippi with this semi and that long stocking
FaceBook thug, we mobbin'
You only beefing with the web like Green Goblin
They told me don't sleep on 7, keep talking
I'll run through him in my dreams; I'm sleepwalking
Ain't nobody sweating this old fuck face cup cake
You ain't from New York, you from upstate
I hit your car with two full clips and Im clapping more
I don't play that bullshit, I fold the whip in half when I'm at a door
I'm swinging with the blade of a razor to cut him up
The docs'll have to staple a gut like a tummy tuck
When he fall I'ma boot him til he start puking and buckle up
Spit on him and reboot him like the computer fucking up
These bars ain't some shit that you toy with
I hit a nerve and rub it in like medicnal ointment
Why don't you ask a killer I did a bid in the joint with
Baby I'm sucker free, like a little kid's dentist appointment
I'm in and out of jail, you a family man
I eyeball without a scale, selling gram for gram
Bare knuckle, we could rumble going hand to hand
I will kill you with a hook like Candyman


[Round 3: Bigg K]
I said listen here dickface, your 16s is a disgrace
I play soccer with your notebook and frisbee with your mixtape
I don't give a fuck about you having homefield advantage
In this big stake
I came to the belly of the beast and I'm going home with a rib plate
I know what you think, nah I ain't having none of that
Fuck you, I'll pluck you in your ears
And give the back of your neck that sucker smack
Whip out that 50 shot fold out stock and get to dumping that
I clap it the long way like a jumping jack
I battle on the side just to pay up bills
I usually got some beats playing while break up krillz
Thinking I got court in the morning but I'ma stay up still
Cause my smokers' hitting the glass like a lay-up drill
You being real and nice is two different things I can't correlate
I put you out in the second round like Norfolk did Missouri State
Now we in the third round but it ain't been well worth the wait
This been a cold case of murder since the first 48
Shit real on this side, we ain't you
Im beefing with my P.O. and the D.A. too
I got slimes out Harlem and in the BK...oow
That's a lot of trouble you in, if I gotta show you how VA do
By the time that sink in it'll be a bar they talk 'bout
But I got a rifle I nicknamed spiteful
It'll eat your mutherfucking heart out
Blood staining your linoleum, soak in the sofa dark
Cause I'm shooting like Napoléon, breaking a bone apart
But you Half Past 7, seven thirty, so what?
That just mean when I clock you with these two hands
I'ma watch you fold up
My style is stitches in the head; I got it sewed up
You sex outside in the winter time; cold butt!
If his trap doing numbers I'ma crack that melon
You be duc taped, leaking in a trashbag smellin'
I been around the block, stop, blast that weapon
Tell his workers I'm doin y'all dirty, I need seventy thirty
Or you can't sell a half past 7
You wouldn't survive the type of shit I seen
Shootouts and fist fights to defend my team
I'm talking non-stop struggle trying to live my dream
That's why I flip when I get in the ring
You'd think I'm Prince Naseem
I'm nice... like, rappers pay me four to feature
You nice... like, you hold the mutherfucking door for people
My delivery and stage presence some shit that he can't mess with
And ain't no way to flip this L, it ain't Tetris