Finally.
Here's Round 3.
"Dios mio
dig this trio
sangria and gambas
girls shake that ass
Exclusive
French Connection
you know how we do
on a new frontier
competiton stand clear
Cause I'm goin uh uh uh uh uh uh up
Girls you there?
("Hell yeah!")
Be aware that this beat
Can shatter your rear
Had to beat down
from the land of clean sound
Peeps you there?
("Hell yeah!")
Versace on my clothes
I got too many, too many hoes
My album sales goin uh uh uh uh uh uh up
John Blow-me-oh, if you feel a twitch in the nerve
It's just the KT swerve
unconscious like Spock's pinch
Microeconomical, saving money like Grinch
I'm seein planetary vibes
Aliens visit just to peep my rides
My Lex is outside, plus I got a six-four
But my Benz is wrapped up around a telephone pole.
Before you walk
I'll have to teach you how to crawl
Blow-me-oh rhymes without a cock
but KT's got balls.
When's a good MC gonna step
uh uh uh uh uh uh uh up?
Well two to the four to the six
J
With that face, he pays for trix
but KT just keeps dropping hits.
It's that time of year
KT decorates his tree with album of the year
Police at my door
Feds on my phone
makin too much money with my microphone
Income and capital gains
Lucky they don't tax me on the ass I meet
Out of the grind, out of the rain
Better head on down to Fascination Street
Cuz KT got the Cure
For sure
Go on, brush your shoulders off
you got a loud mouth but I know the type
flex and front
but couldn't squish a grape in a food fight
So, encore?
Do you want more?
K I N to the Gizzle
T U to the Tizzle
Only he can win the CCC
For Rizzle
There’s a piece of each MC I slay
in every song that I song
When I drop my beats
An avalanche of praise comes along.
And, um, J
Like ET bitch, you better phone home
Cause your words are grimy
And mine gleam like chrome
I pop MCs like Jay Z pops Cris
Tal, that’s right, Cristal
You know the bigger they are the harder they fall
That means, if I ever fall, I’ll go BANG
Cause I’ve like about a sixty pound wang
J Rome, you’re out of the frying pan and into the blender
The only way you’ll survive is if you surrender
I got militant thoughts in my militant mind
Millions in the pockets and I’m still in the grind
Check that—I got a rhythmic mind with rhythmic thoughts
Hatching diabolical dreams and maniacal plots
Your head’s dented like your car
Face is busted like your bitches, your skills won’t get you far
Walk with me, with quickness
As I spit this
Woof woof
Means dinner to a Korean
KT, with an eagle eye be seein’
Golf balls, lost in the rough
Top Flight! Caw!
My beats will rub the lyrically unskilled brain raw
'Ok, I see said the blind man
To his deaf son,
As he picked up his hammer and saw.
Can you follow that?
Can the words pierce your cranial fat?
You’re comprehensionally challenged
And I’m La Bamba like Ritchie Valens
Should I go on, shall I continue?
Cause the best your posse can do is fling it’s own poo
Like a monkey, ape or chimp,
So I’m tryin to keep the lyrics simp-le
While I pop you and your crew like a pimple.
When I met your woman, she said ‘What’s your handle?’
I said Heywood Jablomie, and got into her like a vandal.
Next time you take the mic J Rome, buy some Crest
Cause after you’re done, this mic don’t smell the best.
So, other MCs can get hit by a bus
Cause all your CCC are belong to us
I don't give a sh*t what you started
I'ma finish this cause the mic smells like you farted.
Scotty beam me uh uh uh uh uh uh up"
