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Tsu Surf vs. Hitman Holla

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Tsu Surf vs. Hitman Holla Lyrics

[Round 1: Tsu Surf]
First thing I hear when I touch down is “Surf, the Midwest groovin'
Such and such nice, what’s his name doin' his numbers
And I don’t see the Midwest losin'.”
Well, I could think of a few verbs, for the niggas that think they ill
I come through the Midwest cruisin'
X all factors, hit all men tryna holla—

Ayy, Hitman, let me holla at you
I brought enough for you and ShowwOutt
And anybody that show out
Already got my other half, I’ll clear this fuckin' show out

'Bout to get this nigga dressed, no he ain’t about to go out
I need that old Hitman, tank top with the rope out
Yett Yett, what? This 60's shit is somethin' you don’t know 'bout
You said you wanted to ride… well, Gerald let’s roll out
Me and my strap got two different visions, but I see hands so clear
Mines goin' out blazin', clips droppin', no fear
Look like a car crash, he get the bag, no air
That tre see morgue and he don’t wanna go there

They say Tsu Surf cold but all he talk about is hoopin’
‘Cause I feel like I’m shootin' when I squirt pounds

And as long as them cans is close, his wig in by the first round
If it’s hard, but not real, I don’t care about ya bar
He get two to the chest; I slid up on duke and drew with finesse

My big homie told me how them streets play out is wild
That mean if this mark is smart he’ll stay out the crowd

How you average 26.6, moonwalk on skates
AND clap heat? You are not a shooter

Feet, hand, sticks: Amadou ya, that’s how I’ma do you
Raised in that croc pool, send some piranhas to ya
Lift the Hitman up to God, can I get a "Hallelujah"?
I’m always reachin' ‘cause a paranoia trip's way better than nervous
Chilled against Charlie but still here
I think I handled that Clip better than Curtis

So Hitman will front, and ShowwOutt is back?
Boy, I make Hitman front show out his back

Fuck Cable, this could happen on demand, it’s go time
Was on the net flickin' through your music, got bored in no time
How much you weighin', brother?
It don’t really matter when it’s yo' time
I send him MAC's, he pay per round – Verb, it’s showtime

And every single nigga you see me with, I clap for him
Gotta give him six, man, can he?
Better pray Antoine come back for ‘em

They say Surf reach a lot, maybe 'cause Surf reach a lot
This new Cal I’m buyin' stupid, period, I’ll teach a block
Columbine, period, teacher, block…

This gun talk 101, I can teach a block
I don’t know about you, but I ain’t tryna get shot for shit
It became so normal, I reach when I ain’t got the shit

I ain’t a Proving Ground nigga, this ain't proven ground, nigga
Been gettin' a million views, what you provin' now, nigga?

Jersey!

[Round 1: Hitman Holla]
Besides the fact you got killed in your last war
You said you want that Hitman with that rope chain and that tank top? Be careful what you ask for
Fuck you and any nigga that co-sign him!
Man, I’ll hold your daughter over the boat
Like, “Surf your daddy?” (“Yeah?”) “Well, go find him!”

It’s a wrap now, two big 40's and a MAC round
The Shotgun I brought do way more than a pat down

You crippin'? I roll with B's
You talkin' all that basketball shit
'Til I Eurostep with the switchblade and X him over C's

Me lose tonight? No fuckin' way
Smack, do not call time, ‘cause I got a lot of shit I gotta fuckin' say

Example: I made my own name, my nigga, I was in top form
I came to the stage, the people they got they popcorn
They call you Tsu Surf ‘cause you waited on a Loaded Lux co-sign wave and hopped on – that’s bitch shit
Ridin' a nigga dick – that's some sissy shit

Well, I’m strapped in your neighborhood with two 30's
Let’s see if y’all really about that 60’s shit

Honestly, fuck who came with you tonight, y’all all lunch
I got a brand new black MAK-90 with no rubber grip
That’s for the raw bunch

You seen what I did to Ars and Red? This your way to learn
Man, I done hung up more Jersey niggas than David Stern

I’m pissed and I’m not in the mood, don’t talk slick to me
I’m gifted, I win off presence: no Christmas tree
I’m way too much, to win you need a glitch from me
I’m Stevie Wonder: subtitles don’t mean shit to me
Y’all praise him for gettin' booked for possession?
I’m finna say, what, y’all happy he floss with it?
‘Cause where I’m from we praise the shooters
Not the niggas that get caught with it

Man, I’m undefeated with a weapon… shit, I’m a boss, nigga
And it’s loaded, fuck Lux!, this Calico ain’t lost, nigga

My boys in the hood, I brought plenty convicts
And death is the answer to any conflict
You brought Suge, I’m like, “Why? That nigga’s a bitch!”
We ain’t seen Shotgun put in work since Ricky got hit

Fuck peace, I like the streets, shots and sirens
Whole hood got jobs ‘cause the block is hirin'
Potato on the deadbeat: that mean the pop is silent
Me and my niggas’ll walk through your neighborhood
Like we tryna stop the violence

Chill ‘fore I flash one, remix that blast, son
“Holla, let me get him!” – nah, you fucked up my last one

I’m thinkin' about shootin' a nigga, pull that beam out
Shots go right through his chest, rip his spleen out
The doctors pull his dreams out, his mama—

“Fuck that, Holla, I’ll knock him clean out!”
Say it again? Fuck it, I’ma remix it
Chill ‘fore I flash one, remix that blast, son
“Holla let me get him!” – nah, you fucked up my last one
“Holla let me get him!” – nah, you fucked up my last one
I’m thinkin' about shootin' a nigga, pull that beam out
Shots go right through his chest, rip his spleen out
Shots shots shots go right through his chest
Rip his spleen out, the doctors pull his dreams out
His mama— “Fuck that, Holla— fuck that, Holla—
Fuck that, Holla, I’ll knock him clean out!!!”

They ask why always use ShowwOutt as a prop
Be-motherfucking-cause
That nigga ain’t a prop, that’s my motherfuckin' blood
Big Gerald raised us on that motherfuckin' belt
And said, "Fuck a fair fight, that other brother better help!"

Speakin' of fight, y’all thought that scuffle was fake and I hate that
It wasn’t a big deal for real, y’all made it that

Well, I’m callin' niggas’ bluff, Surf, let’s have a cage match
Can’t nobody leave 'til a nigga dead: stage that

Whole bunch of mics on his head: I parade that
Uppercut and swing like an Atlanta Brave cat
Tay Roc, keep my motherfuckin' name out your mouth
Lil nigga, I’ll expose you
If you need help just say you need help, I’ll mold you

It’s either that or get a casket bed, they’ll close you
His bitch will have to open the box to see Roc like a proposal

Anybody takin' bets, shit, where the bets, clowns?
I’ma let you in on a hint, this ain’t even my best round

What’s big money to small change?!
Two words after this: BALL GAME!


[Round 2: Tsu Surf]
See, that’s where I can agree with you
That nigga from B-more, sometimes I wanna clothesline him
Dump him somewhere and let somebody nobody knows find him
Cops and the dog, y’all wake me up when those find him

Tay get a tombstone, you see 'Roc' on the rock like Hov signed him
Okay, I got caught with a strap, fuck it, I did a bid with it
Thank God they caught him for possession
And they ain’t catch him for what he did with it

I’m wherever Yett Yett at, strap out, it ain’t in the tuck
You might have a Calico loaded with hollows
So a good six rounds could just be beginner’s luck
I came to murder somethin'
I mean you got a few wins, yeah, that could be true
But I also know ShowwOutt got just as many wins as you

I can’t be mad at ShowwOutt, but if you take Show out
Nobody that catch the gun will catch you
Somebody tell me what this show 'bout

What you gon' do? Slide up on me like baggage claim?
Re-remix then clap me up kill?

Wait a minute, your lil brother took the tab on that Bill
If I could reload with the same bullets that I shot with
I’m about to stuff these Mossberg shells in this Glock clip

Queen Latifah "Set It Off" mask, jump in the 380
Cops catch him, fuck it, it was ugly, he could plead crazy
Lock pick the door, “Errrrhhh!!” they sleep, baby
See his son, “BAH!” I'll G Baby G baby

What, I need to remix it or somethin'? Nah, I won’t
Slide Smack a stack to get it in the building, you ain’t gettin' far
Fuck I gotta put it in subtitles? You ain’t get the bar?

Nigga, you can’t read, it ain’t in the car
"This brand new Nina, who gon' take one for the team?"
That was mean, hella body
But this pump like a jump: that bitch down to hit everybody

With a ladder long clip, that’s for when we ride though
That’s your lil man? When we catch him he dyin', bro
Hit him with a 60 second clip to the slide Show

I got double 9's, my mans got double 9's, we’ll shake shit
I’ll let a round off from this semi tuck, that’s a great flip
He let a round off from that semi tuck, another great flip
Boy, we’ll put two and two together like it make sense

When was your last body?
Phara and Shooney? That shit bored me
Only time I’m comin' at two bitches is in an orgy

I just cop some new bullets, I call 'em edibles
Is he a G? No, a Smith in his back will be terrible
My logic is, if I send 100 shots he can’t duck 'em all
Clip of hot peppers: Holla, I’ll pin yo' head to the fuckin' wall
And if I gotta ride or somethin', all black disguise or somethin'
Timbos, cargos, mask with a 9 or somethin'
You gon' need God, hidin' tips from Saddam or somethin'
Mike Brown: that boy gon' die for nothin'


[Round 2: Hitman Holla]
You asked when’s the last time I bodied
Phara and Shooney? When the last time you bodied a nigga?
That nigga from the S.O.N.S.? Stop, y’all need to quit
D boys the only niggas that brag about gettin' rid of bricks
You had a classic vers’ Shine, but he ain’t really shit
You shined vers’ X, but that was really it

My right hand man will shoot you, then plead the fifth
But why? When I can give my own shot like I ain’t need the pick
My homie said “Who?” I said “All,” I ain’t need to pick
The scope, I went right through the screen
Like I ain’t need the switch
Fresh out of retirement, yeah, they don’t like that
.45, bald head, they yelling "Mike back!"
King of performance, yeah, they yelling "Mike back!"
Worldstar TKO’s, they yelling "Mike back!"
Kill one of mine, that’s cool, I’m comin' right back

And kill two of yours and make you come get a life back
That Internet beef you be on will get your wife snatched
That money Smack gave you tonight will get your wife back

So what if I’m whoopin' yo' ass, Surf… (Fight back!)
You be sleepin' on Budden couch like that’s your father
Well, what’s all that rappin' for?
What’s all that kidnappin' niggas for bricks and all that trappin' for?
Man, stop, I’ll clap the 4
Kill Surf, he gon' have to bury his son: I’ll Jackson Joe
Man, what time your girl get off? We in that van waitin'
We all in the front yard like we landscapin'
We all in your living room with the cans blazin'
Boo bop, bop bop bop bop!
Ain’t Red your man? Just tell him give you that translation!

I watched Goodz big boy you
What kind of star lets another nigga tell him go run a pack?
What, you ain’t have them gadgets blitty?
Well, it’s gon' be perfection how this KOD
If Tsu’s ever in me or Magic's city

Oh, y’all ain’t catch that? This Jersey girl gettin' zipped up
In other words, I got that metal on stage like a strip club
Random: but Suge so fuckin' terrible
I coulda beat both of y’all, same night
If they was on stage measurin' hearts
Me and Suge would be the same height
Or Tsu Surf’s gon be a watery death, broad day, plain sight
His momma gon have to wear a bathing suit
And scuba gear to visit the grave site

If I use this heavy metal
Y’all gon have the crowd Surf and ‘em in the ambulance
Fuck, y’all waitin' on that subtitle or somethin'?
I said if I use this heavy metal
Y’all gon have to crowd surf him to the ambulance

Fuck, y’all waitin' to remix that subtitle or somethin'?
I said if I use this heavy metal
Y’all gon' have to crowd surf him to the…
Crowd surf him to the… crowd surf him to the ambulance
I’m just tryna get on the same page as you
How Arsonal and Red left you booked? Shotgun made you ride solo? And these the niggas that’s on stage with you?!
That wasn’t played well, ‘cause I guarantee
If that was me… Magic, Ill and Verb woulda spent every goddamn night in Detroit until I made bail

It was four of them, one pistol – you was gon' raise hell?
If it’s four of us it’s four pistols
We woulda all had to sit in that same cell
But now it’s “hee-hee-haa-haa,” man, that’s weak shit
And how ironic that this college nigga
Whippin' this hood nigga on some street shit

I mean, I could talk about how you be reach—
I’ma save that for round three, bitch! BALL GAME!

[Round 3: Tsu Surf]
I hear everything you sayin', but let’s discuss somethin' that’s apparent… Hitman Holla, cold killa!
But Gerald Fulton grew up with both parents

Now, I’m not knockin' havin' both parents
But your situation wasn’t the worst
Like, everything Mommy ain’t have on the 15th
Daddy could cover on the 1st

He probably taught you that 5 step drop back
And that spiral almost amazingly

I taught myself you gotta ease off that trigger slow
Let that hammer up simultaneously

He probably taught you about the birds and the bees
Chlamydia, clap and all about crabs

Man, them niggas was out the window with the bird
Throwin' out B’s, clappin', callin' out “Crabs!”

You was at practice shootin', if you missed you'd do suicides
Them niggas came through shootin'

That was our practice; if we missed, that was suicide
Every time I feel some type of way about my hood
These family niggas be remindin' me

See, we both real niggas, but you a different kind to me
Math, English, lunch – you was on a different time than me
I pull up: gym, I pull out: trigonometry

You had X squared over Y
Tryna find the remainder, then add up
I’m askin' my ex, “Why
You askin' me about numbers? I’m tryna bag up.”

Your father probably bought your mother coat
All your sports gear and your brother boots

No football, these gloves wasn’t for baseball
This face mask was for other use

Your mother was at the game, cardboard colors, fresh signs
My mother was in pain
"You wanna speak to the inmate, press 9."

You get off the court, woo! Daddy right there
“Congratulations you did it.” – I won’t say I’m jealous
But me and Mommy had to wait to Wednesday to kick it
I know you won’t get it
Shit, I have flashbacks when I spit it
But Wednesday and Thursday, that was assigned visits
I just feel like Big Gerald John Witherspoon and you Craig
What you doin' with that Glock?
I mean, back on the West Side
They ain’t have guns, we had these to rock

I admit if I was in his position I probably woulda stopped
We got so much in common: both protected by them pops
Moral of the story, all that fuckin' school and you ain’t learn shit
Put him in my hood one time, boy, and you’ll turn bitch
If Verb woulda holla’d for my father… he wouldn’t have heard shit!
If you say you was wrestlin' in the streets
You a Stone Cold Stunner, you was home with your mother

Watchin' wrestling: Rock, Raw, Chyna, Smackdown
We was in the trap house: raw, rock, china gettin' smacked down
Jersey!


[Round 3: Hitman Holla]
New Jersey was like the Celtics at one point in time
Y’all had the Big 4: KG, Paul Pierce, Ray Allen and Rondo
But y’all all split up and started fallin' off
It was only a matter of time though
I see y’all lookin' like, "Well, who’s who?"
Ars, he was once MVP, so that’s KG
That’s just right off the hunch, O-Red = Ray Allen
‘Cause he probably the deadliest shooter out of the bunch
Won’t y’all help me think of somebody for Suge? ‘Cause I’m tryin'
I mean I could call Shotgun “The Truth,” but I’d be lyin'
And Surf, you Rondo, not ‘cause you be runnin' shit
It’s ‘cause your first name Rajon, let’s bring that back
Us, them, it ain’t hard to figure out who the ops
Hitman vs Arsonal, I got rid of that big ticket like I knew the cop
After that battle they looked at St. Louis and believed us
Hitman vs O-Red: I called him Ray Allen
‘Cause I sent that nigga to Jesus

Hitman vs Shotgun Suge, I’ma need a serious check
So that just leave Surf, yet and still he ain’t a serious threat
‘Cause I’m appalled how
Rajon ain’t been on point since his parents left
Everything from AR’s to Glocks in his face
Chinese choppers, they sound different
You could tell they not from the States
“Brackow! Brackow,” shit that’ll make Barack leave the States
My city got me paranoid, so I’m shootin' at any cop on the chase
And if Qua jump in, he get it the same way
I killed his dog, now me and Calicoe fightin' the same case

We two different Rugrats
‘Cause you a rat and you tell what you seen for a hobby
I’m Angelica, that’s ‘cause I get mean with the Tommy

Y’all remember that Michael Jackson Motown glove?
Well, I use that to clean up the shotty, and left it on the scene
Cops thought a nigga Billie Jean’d at the homi
"You are in the middle of that *CH-CH*: that’s CHURCH"
I mean, before y’all say I’m hatin'
Just explain to me, what 'church' had to do with that situation?
Then you had the nerve to say
“I’m too advance for these niggas, and it hurts.”

No, you just reach too fuckin' much and they let it work
Well, since they let you get away with it
Let me try it, and I’ma do it worse
Check, code name San Fran, that’s forty 9's, and when it burst
You are in the middle of that SF: that’s SURF
I see you over there lookin' like, “That last shit ain’t hit like that?”
But you woulda screamed and went crazy
When he say shit like that
I got them things like Tambourines, we clap at whoever
I treat your block like a URL card and smack it together
They found his body so distorted he was backwards together
Me and ShowwOutt the male version of Serena and Venus
Same parents but we swing ratchets together

I got some shit that’ll flip a nigga, he’ll tumble on the spot
I don’t even drink, but I took some shots
Then I stumbled to his pops
I’m like, “I brought them Nick Cannons
You know? Braataa Braataa, Brrrrrrrr-POP!”

Man, I be feelin' like a Piston in Detroit
When I’m drummin' on the block

You either gon' respect me or respect me, ain’t no in and out
Stay in your lane, don’t cross over like an in-an-out
It’s real where I’m from, you playin', you took the scrimmage route
It’s all fun 'til you layin' with your ligaments out
Surf, I’m a beast, peep, I bring extenders out
A star that’ll play with them birds: I took the Emmitt route
You Crippin' on the net; in person, what that image 'bout?
Mush him in his face, I’m just tryna see what his niggas 'bout

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