XT vs. D-Lor

Lyrics

[Round 1: XT] My rep is dangerous like some powdered coke fronts You're a softie on wax like some sourdough lumps Yo you need to take a shower, I smell your powerful funk You cower seeing us, your quarter-hour seems up For me it took a snorted bump, a courted slut, divorce and drugs To force the fuzz to forage this fudge Look, it's the black Forrest Gump You beating me? But tell me who here didn't I'm on a two-year mission to prove that your shit's written And if I fucking lose, this crowd will know that you're still just a two-bit dipshit And I think Grind Time would wanna choose this drugged-out misfit Over your Run's House mixes sounding like Jojo's twin, bitch I come to Oakland, then I maul with my moniker But you all on my balls acting like a hall monitor I called up your mom to come over, 'cause I promised her This is trailer park trash, versus some barely-known cat You would need a Jheri curl track, and without that I would doubt that you ever looked black Yo, Grind Time [Round 1: D-Lor] Nobody considers me a fresh Cali rhymer Until I get on stage, and put him in a Death Valley Driver Fuck the battle bars, I'll end your breath I'm out for the Dragon Star on a ninja quest I'll cook ya' mom some crystal meth, then tell that bitch to kiss the chef But fuck this bitch emcee, let's get to me About how I enjoy the simple things like, spitting heat, and slapping the fuck out of this brittle geek See, back when we was up in Pop Warner and Little League XT was in the rink, practicing his triple deke And that's just to show you that I'm better with mine, watch the veteran shine See X is such a sensitive guy, and I ain't letting it slide He likes to give head, to all the men in his ride The only time he feels pussy, is getting in touch with his feminine side You can't spit in my eyes, you're just a worthless human Living a life with absolutely no purpose to it You think you styling on me? You can't merc' me stupid [Round 2: XT] D-Lor, you're just a faggot that's blabbering I'm sure you've paid dues playing Magic: The Gathering The crowd here's the truth, this is a catalyst and battery You need to go back to mathematics and practicing 'Cause all that dick-riding he does is not taken as flattery Yo, I fucking leave you scarred and hurting when I feed you brain blows It's like battling fucking LeVar Burton from Reading Rainbow Having a star's bankroll, fucking, this numbnuts should be grateful, asking to be badly strangled You're ashy and you're mangled I'll turn your hat into a halo and make you daddy's little angel See, it's a mystery to me, how a bitch turning tricks on Christmas Eve high on speed Could have skipped a gene and misconceived so at birth you came out looking like Mr. T and the missing link Sorry, but beating me's a distant dream You need to stick to things for witless geeks, like being clean and, counting sheep Yo, I smoke an ounce a week while you pout and squeak with sound that's bleak Look around the streets D-Lor, your rhymes put the Town to sleep Yo- [Round 2: D-Lor] You think you beating me? Lots of luck My squad is tough, stopping us is harder than stalling up an armored truck Homie, you probably rap about how I count sheep and rep Vacaville But, you're so pussy you're Vagisil Actually, you're not really rapping ill Yo, I'm coming back and I'll fucking slash his grill like a slasher film 'Cause that's how I do it 'cause I got the hatchet still Homie, nobody thinks this guy is rhyming He acts like he lived a life of violence Like he lived in, Pelican Bay or, Riker's Island When the truth is, you're about as nice at rhyming, as Miley Cyrus Plus, he listens to the Dave Matthews Band, and They Might Be Giants So how the fuck can this kid get hype? He's never witnessed strife He used to throw fits and cry, when his daddy went on a business flight You from Sacramento? Well, let me get this right When I fist his dyke, her clit gets like, the Christmas lights, in Citrus Heights [Round 3: XT] But look, D-Lor is from middle-class Vacaville, that's a place where little-ass faggots chill and zero to no crack is dealt You watch Heroes with your boyfriend while you two applicate the Vagisil You know how I know he's pussy? 'Cause he drinks chamomile and reads Danielle Steel Fucking somebody get this guy out of the closet I'm gunning for hot chicks, he's giving hummers in bathrooms at Hot Topic's Look, his alias in chatrooms is Hot For Cock Chocolate Homie, your 'Frisco cap Take that off remove your shirt, you would be on Castro asking where the fuck's the disco at Yo, nice dance, you hop and fiddle Yo, your rhymes sound like a topping riddle, yo, bob my hibble Yo, 'cause you eat kibble, yo this is a rhyme that's ending Yo, you ain't fucking hardcore you soft like Splenda Yo I use you like a fake sedative, yo, all of your relatives will know that I'm ten years logically ahead of them Yo I'm not saying you're fucking, not dope at battling But you and me have done this nine times and, I don't know if you've ever won Yo, 'cause I kill it son [Round 3: D-Lor] Yo, on the real, I think this kid's scared I'm about to smack him and watch his bitch hair turn whiter than Ric Flair's Whoo Homie, you think you the cock of the walk, with provocative talk? This right here, is meant to get your posse to stop and think, "Possibly not" Yo, I'll put you in a triangle choke, and knock out ya' oxygen box And leave your esophagus blocked till all consciousness stops You were arrested for petty crime, and larcenous plots So how he gonna escape me, when he can't even evade the cops on his block? I'm at the spot at the top, with a massive mental You see him mobbing in his family's Pinto, fronting like, "I crashed the Benzo" See, that's a rental For me, getting money is actually simple For you, getting cash is the definition of accidental You ain't a rapper, you some standard-issue, sacrificial faggot with bad enough luck to have me rap against you