[Round 1: Geda Dot]
I’m used to the fans takin’ pictures, and they know who I am low-key
So I still ain’t got quite used to havin’ this cam’ on me
He used to the gas, so I’mma lay a hand on E
Think Impala, Camaro, Chevelle…
‘Cause you’ll meet your maker all the same if you should ever lay (Chevrolet) a hand on me!
I said, he wanna spar? Then (Spartan) I’m Leonidas
Wit’ the Tommy (tummy) tucked like I’m sick of diets
I got one tre, another clip’ll (Clipper) spit beside it
But the lead ain’t #2, but the suppressor make it Kawhi-et (quiet)
I’m talkin’ Schwarzenegger in the ‘90s
You know, body in the building
‘Cause sometimes, you just gotta make sure they don’t survive the shots
And I give a fuck whether you connect online or not
‘Cause it seem like every time I grab my sticks and get ready to dump eight again
I gotta bend down, load (download) it
The PS4 gotta update again
Revolver tucked, make it spin, professional
We flare guns: distress signal
Draymond Green after a ref whistle, n***a: the TEC nickel (technical)
And even though my face in the camera
I draw it with my free hand, leave no trace of the hammers
I’m in your ‘hood, wit’ a tool: it don’t take a mechanic
I wish a mu’fucka would…
And my deuce’ll (Medusa) turn him to stone
Hope y’all ain’t take him for granite (granted)
Now his face in the canvas
I wasn’t even tryna go there
‘Cause he never even saw the shots, it was no fair
They don’t know what made him insist on screamin’ T.I. name out the blue
I mean, he just got a hollow tip (gotta holla TIP) outta nowhere
Yeah, he want beef, then tell him make a mistake (him a steak)
Or say some shit online he won’t say to my face
And then it’s gunplay from the gate
Get his address, then we slidin’ into home: it’s gon’ be a close play at the plate!
So it shouldn’t be no surprise to see me outside, holdin’ this long metal .8
‘Cause I’m from South Carolina, n***a: it’s the Palm Metal (Palmetto) State!
Round
[Round 1: Flo Leeds]
Fuck rankings
I never worried ‘bout the names and battlers they tried chasin’ ‘round
Old-school, like playing Pong on Atari, but if you break it down
It’s just controllin’ bars, goin’ back and forth with numbers in the game, but now
It’s poor resolution for a classic, and Dot just tryna make it out!
I hate these clowns!
This ain’t the type of match you take responsibly
A breakout performance from a hole in the wall: that Shawshank philosophy
Now it’s death, breathin’ down his neck like a tracheotomy
And muffle the clappin’ like blackboard erasers, for anyone who say he chalkin’ me!
Honestly, I turned a .7 to a rap while they profit margins was razor-thin
I’m sayin’ you got it backwards, Geda Dot
We done turned dots to G’s before a name get flipped
I’m talkin’ nothing to royalty, crazy quick
I went from poor to prince (Port au-Prince), on some Haitian shit!
I said, shaky wit’ the aim, but Ben Simmons when a blade get gripped
That’s a clean slash (/), no shot, but bigger than your average PG
And that’s just based off how they framin’ it
I hate these kids!
Always tryna make up lies just to sell a lecture
Bitch, I’m a Butcher wit’ the Machine like Griselda Records!
You can tell I’m better
Same way real fentanyl hit tan diesel and leave it wit’ a different coat
And that’s ‘Poison’ without the Brown: Bell Biv DeVoe
Now here we go
Caught him from a few blocks away, callin’ his bitches to get him home
Precision from distance, though
Trey Songz on Aftermath: that’s a trigger (Trigga) and a scope (Interscope)
Then started L.O.M. Battle League: a Hollow hit his phone!
I mean, bro, how you think this shit’ll go?
Stuck wit’ that Undertaker role
‘Cause if the shit get dark, he’ll pull up to the ring wit’ a chopper in the vest
Then before the match starts, let one cap off and watch his eyes roll through the back of his head!
He dead!
I don’t even understand half of the battles they mentionin’ Leeds in
So if they ever say it’s a “match made in heaven”, it’s meanin’ I’m fire, at the highest level they reachin’
Even if his fade game lesser than decent, forget to be swingin’
What good is havin’ hands wit’ no pulse to be checkin’ beneath it?
Weaponry squeezin’
Get taken out by the fif’ like a gentleman sweepin’
End up as ashes...stuck in a vase if (evasive) maneuvers ain’t managed to get him retreated
Fuck he thinkin’!?
This will forever be known as the endin’ of dog’s progression
Michael Jackson (What’s that?)
Your most iconic shit’s still a step in the wrong direction
See, we cutthroat, while y’all tell him it’s all pretendin’
End up wit’ a female choker chain just from the stitches he gettin’ across his neck!
And I’m guessin’ y’all caught the reference
But I figured since we’re in the Apple, that came across as a sharp way to end it
Flo fuckin’ Leeds!
[Round 2: Geda Dot]
I said, I’m superstitious
So when we spin ya block, clap you, we come back through
‘Cause whatever comes around goes around
And if he live, it’s gon’ paralyze everything from the shoulders down
Ish the spotter when I bench-press: that mean he load the pound
They’re my shooters, I’m from Pentagon
Hit his colon - POW! (Colin Powell)
I said, they don’t recognize the sirens ‘til somebody dyin’
A shotty flyin’
The code word is “Sphinx”: I’ll let the nose off, and the body lyin’! (lion)
I said, you’ll get your dog clipped if you new to (neuter) this!
The MAC loaded: I’m a computer whiz
He’ll be hooked to IV’s
He can’t eat or move his lips
He gotta shit in bags…
Now Flo pee in (fallopian) tubes like a uterus!
We do this shit for target practice
I send him a (cinema) shot: he all theatrics
I got my signature engraved in the handle, it’s automatic
I’ll have ‘em fightin’ to put your skin back on - they oughta graft (autograph) it!
I said, I got the shotgun like I’m quarterbackin’, wit’ somethin’ heavy
When I need somethin’ buried, I get in touch wit’ Fetti’
Try to spar (spa) and get the full treatment when he dump the Dezzi
‘Cause man, he’ll (mani) put bullets in your facial over somethin’ petty (pedi)
I said, I got it on me and I keep it aimed good, and my odds decent
You’ll lose your life
Think movie night the way the silencer make the pop secret (Pop-Secret)
Tell him, “Set a price!”
Since you bet he nice, let’s bet his life
And the loser buy bags for the body, n***a: Hefty price
He came in like he was holdin’ straights
You know, the poker face
Now a tre in his face! A tre in his face!
A couple of these’ll get rid of Leeds (leads) faster than Golden State
He got the BaldHead on stage - now they thinkin’ he too old to rap
A round, spinnin’ in the middle: look like he tryna load an app
Kung Lao how I throw the cap
Or make that old Juvenile song hit different, ‘cause you don’t even know you’re clapped
I’m talkin’ Carmelo to the Hawks - that’s how the gun get waved (waived)
Fire a shot, like he didn’t want that raise
You got your ears pierced, or did you want that gauge!?
This the only white boy in the Black barbershop, n***a!
He still ain’t want that fade!
ROUND!
[Round 2: Flo Leeds]
Fuck expectations
Since back when my dreams to become Punchline King I was committed wit’
Still, there’s no witnesses
Meanwhile, it’s off the rip wit’ it
And the build-ups would assist the prince, on some ‘04 Pistons shit...
I mean, Wallace, off the Rip wit’ it
Billups, assist to Prince - ‘04 Pistons shit...
Still, he picked the wrong white boy: it’s Darko Miličić!

(*Crowd goes crazy after that bar*)

(*Flo runs the ‘04 Pistons scheme back*)
Yeah, he picked the wrong white boy, but saw one ring off: it’s Darko Miličić
I been legit, savage
Bro, I heard he was from South Carolina (*chuckles*)
I started laughin’ at the matchin’
‘Cause you know they got all those ‘Old Town Roads’...
Now you got a white dude rappin’ wit’ a faggot!
I can’t stand him
Send threats, then retract ‘em, ‘bout how he holdin’ steel
Bro, you got the fuckin’ replay value of a root canal...but y’all know the drill
Nah, peep, ‘cause Carolina think he’s more like Miley Cyrus than Billy Ray, and it’s overkill
‘Cause they sayin’ Dot’ll (daughter) be a disappointment...and you’ll see some holes (hoes) for real!
Bro, just chill!
I can tell off of Dot’s projection, he not respected
I’m sayin’ it’s a certain pitch wit’ Geda (Jeter), like Roger Clemens!
I mean, bandanna on the handle
The shit turn in the wrong direction and let it kick wit’ the rag like a shoeshine
I’m just too polished, steppin’ - facts
See, you ain’t gotta question what I’m effective at
That big blade: propeller slash
At his roof: helipad
Or lift a vic’: medevac
Arms blew (blue): Mega Man
Connects his ass protect and scrap
Team Homi: sever (Sevah) that!
Then TSA: check a bag
And get away: second pack
‘Cause they tellin’ me get a knack of felonies to accept wit’ that
And I ain’t tryna catch a life sentence like an epitaph!
Now TELL HIM THAT!
This is more than just me havin’ to prove he attack and lose
This the strong gust of wind at the memorial vigil your family threw
Now keep sayin’ I’m someone you can’t hold a candle to
Plus, they say we cut from different cloths, ‘til that get used as a bandage for battle wounds
I planned the moves, expose weapons I have when I set one or a few by
Havana? San Juan? Y’all see the two signs?
Just sayin’ his body wash up on a Spanish city after they see you died (ciudad)
And CNC also on standby (Facts!)
Hope you don’t expect to move
‘Cause then they all on go...and the only hole in back you’ll see is an exit wound
Even if, to them, he God (demigod), your mortality’s still in question, too
Just tell the truth, and make examples outta anyone who don’t believe those bars
And that goes for everybody wit’ you like a RICO charge!
I’ll leave bro scarred
He gon’ need way more than just a lifeline
Be more aware of your surroundings during road games like playing “I Spy”...
But even then, it just sounds like child’s play when he talk about shit like a drive-by
My guy…

[Round 3: Geda Dot]
What you knowin’ about tryna make a fuckin’ plate...in another state...for 100K?
And when it’s time to bubble yay, you don’t fuckin’ play
So you crack the Pyrex or go into (goin’ to) the Sugar Bowl like the NCAA!?
I said, what you know about choppin’ O’s?
Jumpin’ hurdles, or hoppin’ holes?
Hidin’ coke in your sneakers - that soft in your sole like Dr. Scholl’s!?
Heavy metal, wit’ you on the road like rock & roll
On yo’ way somewhere you know might get you killed, but you got to go
And if you stop for food, your opps can show
And work the semi (Semmi) in the restaurant like Jaffe Jo’
I said, that’s why, on a scale of 1 to 10, you really gotta weigh these n***as out
Or have n***as wait until you out, then they’ll be on the way to your house
A n***a try me? I’mma lay n***as out
‘Cause I’m old-school like...fuck the Invisalign: metal straight in (straighten) ya mouth!
You got these fake n***as out
They tryna prove somethin’
That’s why I’m sayin’ this shit clear, so they don’t misconstrue nothin’
Wearin’ that body armor ain’t gon’ do nothin’...
‘Cause when they vests out, my bullets stressed out: they goin’ through somethin’
Get the can’ from the boot, and it’ll be a funeral
So you better get your hands on a shoot-
I said, it’ll be a funeral - you better get your hands on a suit
I’ll blam the ‘K like Santa’s sleigh: it’s gon’ land on his roof
And stretch 5 out on the floor like a big man that can shoot
I said, they been sayin’ I’m the truth, and you ain’t gotta question it
He thought he was drinkin’ wit’ 50, but he ain’t know who he f’in’ (Effen) wit’
I said, if it’s an issue, then I’m pressin’ it
He swing first, and then I’ll (denial) hit him, like he got a hard time acceptin’ it
I said, yo
It shouldn’t be no surprise to see me outside, holdin’ that long metal .8
I’m from South Carolina, n***a: it’s the Palm Metal (Palmetto) State
Let’s go

[Round 3: Flo Leeds]
He said, “What you know about all that sellin’ coke shit?”, like I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout it
Dawg, he really trippin’
Boze the Bambino: I can get that white girl in the building
Now, fuck expec- fuck status
I never understood the titles cats like Dot recevin’
If y’all call him “King” like it’s not a secret, I’m Vlade Divac at a front-office meeting (What’s that?)
Nah, I’m thinkin’ more like Em-
‘Cause the Kings and-
I’m thinkin’ more like Eminem when he wrote “Stan” with every bar I would jot in sequence
The first two had a nobody in mind soon as I got to speakin’
But by the third, realized it was too late and went off the deep end
Schemin’
I notice a cancer in the scene, and I’m seein’ it when I talk to you
So we can start wit’ the Main Source like Nas “Live at the Barbeque”
I mean, some are impacted (Summer Impact) by his threats, but he gon’ body who?
You could have a .40 on your side and still forfeit...but I thought E Hart did cool
That ain’t the point
Or moreso force those to go and have to rebuttal
Just put two and two together like Goro crackin’ his knuckles
See, that tough talk ain’t had to be subtle
But they celebrate the death of those who act too cocky wit’ it
His eyes, roll into his head after the shots just lift him
His pupils point at his brain
He can look back on how his thoughts was different
But like I said, he died over the same ego I did not exhibit
Wit’ a resume like a clown car
And they all think it’s a joke ‘til you realize how many bodies in it!
I’m prolly trippin’
Angles ‘bout his ego? The shit get used too often
I ignored it the first two wildin’ so he could view from coffins…
But figured I’d come back to diss (this) that in (and) the third since it’s already been too much talkin’
I been a problem, so if you ain’t have to fight for your spot, why showboat?
French inhale: he don’t want no(se) smoke
Denyin' that Flo dope, I draw a blade on side
Dawg, it's takin' muscle tissue from ligament
Question the cause, just wait
It's a double meaning: I did it off the strength
Now the dawgs who came with Dot is wavin' by the exit, tryin' to save him
Shots, meet you halfway: it's accommodation!
That's for all the bloggers claimin' I burn bridges, too often hated
'Cause a burnt bridge just means "Fuck the other side" and let it fire before they get across to change shit!
I'm not...playin'!
By now, you should've realized I'm a threat
If not, you're dreaming
I'm talkin' lucid dreaming...and not quite conscious to how real this shit could get
Bet!
Especially since everyone in CNC's Crips
I mean, that ain't no great shock
I'm just sayin' they'll fuck up a whole event over C's (overseas)...like Tay Roc
I mean, I hate dawg
Always tryna act like I'm just another white battler
Slept on this wrong like a pinched nerve, now the knife after ya
That's sharp pain right to his side like sciatica!
I mean, every line's Attica
But his shit more fake like Oz...and that shit's real there
Y'all remember the TV show Oz on HBO?
Yeah, he gon' have to narrate the rest of his life from a wheelchair
Flo fuckin' Leeds