Full lyrics to the instant classic between two of the most creative writers in the scene.

Watch the battle here.

Round One

Ave

Nitty, tonight, I advise there be no horse-playing. Bring your best.

This was a fresh move. For you, still a L, ‘cause I ain’t Chess.

They said my style placed me top of the rookies.

Well, I feel like Trey in the crib,

‘cause punching with tiers(tears) finally got me this pussy.

Nitty, what’s goody? Fuck that you brought your block for support,

‘cause I can tell these niggas not what you thought.

The first Quarter with a problem getting dropped, but if a Glock the resort,

you’ll hear shots popping quads(pop in Quad); think Pac in New York.

See, quarters is Quads, the same place where niggas set it on Pac.

Nitty, you just a stepping stone to help me get to the top,

but apparently being drugged is your plot.

Y’all think not? He was fiending to be on Smack; now he begging for Roc(k).

But they sent me to put to put the chalk to him,

so if I Am Legend, then watch how I wash dog while I talk to him.

Just ‘cause The Poet mark you a genius,

that don’t mean you on point, son, ‘cause you on Kevin(’s) Johnson in Phoenix.

I get to sparking these ninas,

well, you’ll be Denzel in He Got Game: go from the box to you talking with Jesus.

See, y’all the reasons niggas thinking they’re tough,

‘cause repping that Fourth Quarter only means shit’ll change for a buck.

Hold up. See, all this crip shit you spit out your mouth

don’t mean nothing when my niggas en route.

He’ll white flag once my click at his house;

that’s when you see these niggas In Living Color,

‘cause after the first clip, the bitches come out.

I mean, these Fourth Quarter niggas ain’t hard. They scared for ya;

soon as you fired on, they(day) off: go Craig on ya,

or I’ll rob you ’til your bread’s shorter.

Put that drum(-)stick to your thigh;

you either come off the chicken or lose a leg, Quarter.

But you ain’t in the streets at all, you bum.

Your heart weren’t strong enough to run that base: you John Q’s son.

You strapped up? Well, I’m armed too, chump; the war’s started.

Fuck your vest; let it scream on caps: I’m Troy Martin.

Wait, pardon. No sparking, gun butt with the mean grip.

The serial(cereal) smack his face like he riding with Queenzflip,

‘cause we ain’t slip with straps. What’s cooking?

I’m on my Voletta Wallace: I brought that Big popper(Poppa) back through Brooklyn,

so fuck Rum. Besides, I be drinking on that Henny,

so ain’t shit to leave him stinking from a semi-.

They gassed him up, thinking he gon’ hit me,

but he don’t want to be the one sent(cent) to face the right:

that’s Lincoln on a penny.

And I still got the weapons to end it,

so you can go from the right to bare(bear) arms, like the second amendment.

I extended the sweetest piece,

so if Beas’ need this West Coast nigga dead by thirty, I’ll make it Ea(z)y, E.

He ain’t beating me, nor none of these fucking faggots.

If you got rage to come after Ave, just don’t be average,



‘cause you talking it like they’re straight killers.

Soon as he hooked, put money on their book like it’s JPay.

I don’t care if you crip bang, bitch.

One shot’ll finish this Fourth Quarter in Phoenix; I don’t Bull in the game, six.

Y’all pump packs and shit?

Wait, backtrack. Fourth quarter, Phoenix, that game six shot was Paxson, bitch.

I stash that fifth and beat the foul out ya,

then point it at the back of the head: that’s Alfalfa.

It ain’t nothing tough ‘bout ya. See, I stay fight-ready,

and I’ll off the nigga cap: that’s CakeLyfe Prezzy.

How he gon’ check me? Y’all gassing this nigga like he goes so hard.

It’s with a scam and on the card; you like a Zoe God,

but you ain’t getting real dough, nigga.

Nobody on foot(-)ball between bars but a field goal kicker.

I fear no nigga, so let him be stupid to prove he truly swing;

put a clear round in this pussy: my shooters NuvaRing.

Fuck who he bring, ‘cause if they cross them trenches,

he the first down, soon as he get to Fourth and inches.

Wait, but you’re Writer’s Bloque, right?

Well, where the fuck them clowns when you need them?

Soon as J see(JC) the Big (K)cannon, them rounds gon’ delete him,

but Danny get the shotty right in his mouth when I meet him;

think Yo Gotti, ‘cause soon as It Goes Down, end of(In the) D.M.

And since Magic want to know who’s a new killer,

y’all know The Answer.

Hey, I(A.I.) can shoot and reenact how you step over Lou(Lue) niggas.

Fuck what this clown come spit,

‘cause when I’m smoking the Fourth Quarter, it only mean he down one (-) zip.

Rum Nitty

We got Rum Nitty vers’ Ave. Damn.

Smack got me moving backwards. You don’t see that I’m the truth?

It’s like I dropped a tier(tear) to give you this shot: I’m Nino on the roof.

Don’t leave out the venue, or see niggas squeezing out the coupe.

My white boy from Queens say, “Soon as your done leave, he(Dunleavy) fi’n’a shoot.

They brought the best to him,

and they bet. Norbes and Myers put paper down for this shit: public restroom.

Let’s get to it. I’ll fuck your bitch pussy with the nine barrel. Nitty tripping.

Make sure your girl’s tore(tour) with the mill’(Mill) like Drizzy dissing;

then he gets it. If I forget the mittens,

I’ll slide through with two socks on the Tom: that’s Risky Business.

Or he get the blade; stick it his temple, twist it,

pull it out, and run it back in your head like you’re reminiscing.

The punch crazy, but the setup get caught later like Jimmy Henchman.

I’m dope, nigga. I’ll OD in this bitch if I come out the coat with it,

then mark you out before the chest shot: Pulp Fiction.

If I whip the piece, your family’s fucked.

Headshot your mom’s sister; they gon have to M.O.P. your auntie(Ante) Up,

handle what? Niggas dying. You’ll see the flash from behind when the milli’ light him.

That was fire, coming from the background like Gwitty hyping.

Lift the iron; I’ll let a dummy go off the top like 50 Tyson.

But they say you washing me.

I said, “Cool. Cut the check, and he’s who I’ma air out next(necks) like a tracheotomy.

Don’t lie to me, ‘cause I’ll be at your crib knocking with a big fifth, that bitch Shining.

Catch what the nickel send(Nicholson) through the door, nigga, here’s Johnny.

Something fat in a little coat; it’ll be a big body.

Catch the Tommy, Boy, it rip your back like Chris Farley.

If I raise, shit sparking.

I’ll let that bitch go *blakka*(block a), nigga, like he Facebook stalking.



I’ll be at your door and all.

The whole house’ll rest(arrest),

‘cause that shit you on ain’t cool; you took it too far, now I’m going off.

I know he’s soft. From the jump I get it in, so Many Men die when the coin toss.

Nah. I got a hundred in the drum to get busy with.

He try to run, guess whose back get 50 sent(Cent) in it.

I lock and load, riding out with the squad for sho.

Fourth. I get it jumping for the Quarter off top, nigga, I’m the G.O.A.T.,

fucking maricon. Two shots leave Roc(k) laid on Ave; it look like cobblestone.

You copy, holmes? One from the can pop at him;

I’ll let it fly. It Will break up Ave like Hancock landing.

What your hands like, family? You’ll get your chin broken.

Right, left, left, right, you’ll get clocked back and forth like hypnosis.

I’m a forty sparker; I’ll let it wet across your forehead like holy water.

He knows we’re talking; me, I’ll lift it and squeeze.

He try to dip, then this shit erase a (eraser) back like when your earring missing a piece.

Gun line king. I used to let the can go daily.

Beam on it; I’d inf’ a mill’(Infamil) and catch you with the semi- lack(Similac),

and that’s what the can’s for, baby(cans for baby).

We don’t keep it cool. Real life shit, I keep a tool. Pull it, squeeze, and shoot.

Let ten open up on his face like peek-a-boo.

He done joined the Cave. So now he think he royal every time he come around, right?

Well I’ll give you kings ten,(Kingston) Ave. Head shot, lift your Crown Heights.

I’ll run inside, lace your crib, shooting over the table shit. Take his ribs.

Bet five racks I won’t miss this trash nigga; I’m Money Making Mitch.

Real shit. You can’t keep it real yourself.

Nigga, suicide or I’ll do the job; you decide. Kill yourself.

Round Two

Ave

Hottest in the city; they heard that I'm really poppin'.

I'm good on every block; I ain't gotta be milli'(Milly) Rockin'.

Ave nice, and the last dude to doubt that, nigga died fuckin' with the bars.

He went out like Blizzard; you get the picture.

I was plannin' to kill you in the future.

They wanted to see the king this March: I'm Martin Luther.

You just hyped up where you matter, but now that I get at 'em (atom/Adam),

even (Eve) they see you bodied, bitch, that ain't bitin' in the Apple.

I'ma snap him, take it past rap, I bet I'll leave him there,

as soon as I eyeball a Quarter like I don't need the scale.

Tell your people bail, 'cause I won't e'en speak,

just *shhh* aim(shame) on a nigga, then I O.D., B.

But he ain't gotta get the Glock, goddamn it.

Nigga, he'll be socked up like when you give a backshot standing.

I could handle him with a mean right,

but on the other hand, a pump can (pumpkin) light up the face like Halloween night.

They just seem hype, you know, clown face, sound brave,

throw they fours up like they wild, that's what wild raised;

that shit for the crowd, ace.

Bet if we scrap, y'all gon' see his troops(') jet in the back:

that's Colonel Guile's stage.





It's child's play; the Internet digging this fuckin' clown,

You think you Pac? Well try to be (D)igital (U)nderground.

'Cause can't no fuckin' dummy play me.

My little dog be goin' bananas, kickin' cans; even my puppy monkey, baby.

But I ain't get patted down, I'm concealin' a Smith n',

so watch your lips when a real nigga spittin'.

I go to kickin' my rounds and hear these clowns or get the feelin' they trippin',

I'll dump the forty while I'm cookin': that's steel in the kitchen.

You see the difference? With punches I'm a animal, duke,

even handle you with the hands (Hans), 'cause these zoo landers too(Zoolander 2).

See, I can beat this geek up,

or with the stick cap a round on the eye, then shell his body like he Mr. Peanut.

Y'all got me fucked up. What, y'all don't think that we hold lead?

I kick up in the spot, that glock to his forehead;

if he don't open up that box for the bread,

then what he face even uglier if locks get cut: that's O-Red.

Then I'm Swayze when that shotty through spittin',

'cause as soon as you see the bitch run up on me, watch the body get lifted.

Who wanna (D)irty (D)ance? Thirty in the can sparkin',

twenty-five in the 4th Quarter like Reggie in The Garden.

You don't wanna lose your life right here.

You'll end up with a light pop at the head; now that's a bright idea.

My nigga Law told me punch out silly; Rum on a roll.

Well I'll end it, Ty; I doubt it if this bird out-spit me,

See, he ain't even peep that word out, did he?

I said: "end(N) it, Ty" put that together; I ain't worried 'bout Nitty,

'cause Cornell's not a shotta,

I'll flush Corn' and your shit. You'll pass, but you won't die just(digest) proper.

I'll get him popped up. Matter of fact, naw, I'll kill his ass,

dome shot, head hit his shoulder, look like the Thriller dance.

See, I could give him jabs, 'cause that left done left a lot shook,

or hold a round at the neck, look what the shot put (shotput).

That Glock cook, but the rifle round is madness.

I'll touch through the lens: that's Calvin glasses.

Or I'll catch him with his folks hangin', close-rangin', low aimin',

both bangers ringin' together look like I'm rope swingin'.

Bro think I'm joking, but I'll smoke him on the scene,

two grips rippin' his shirt: he Hogan in the ring.

Fuck you mean? You know we talk that slick talk. That stick talk,

bullet in his shoe if he move; now tell this Crip walk.

Rum Nitty

So you and Roc family now huh? Boy, that shit fake.

I whip a big blade, it’s about one foot; it’s for your kin, Tay (Kinte).

Get slayed, stand over the body with a stick; wait.

You’re number 2 in your city, you’re used to being under a big k (Bigg K).

I’m straight to it; I be going for blood from the jump.

Radio Raheem rings: I don't show a hater love(hate or love) when I punch.

Get your mug pushed in. Jump, I'll let a slug cook him.

Ironic how I’m going to destroy Ave (diss Troy Ave), but I love Brooklyn.

Just expect I’ma shoot you.

You press my buttons, soon as I see money, I’ma pull out; does this register to you?

You thinkin I’ma get killed, that’s grimy,

'cause what I kick, give you three clear rounds to the side, like an Air Max 90.

I’m finna have the blueprint to kill this geek if this works out.

Y’all ain’t peep Verb vs. SB? I started off with the remedy (Remy’D) in the first round.

I let it ring.

If he survive, your man in(Manning) surgery next(neck);

he come back and get the second ring.

I'll visit your city with ‘matics popping, and I’m robbing,

trying to get rid of your House In Virginia like Magic Johnson.





I’ll clap an artist. Good shot: that’s a marksman.

Pull a bow and put an arrow in his face; Ave a target (avatar).

I send my young niggas dumping out the steel.

They let one off; that first pop warn a(Pop Warner) nigga how the young'ns in the field.

For real. I got a clip full of hollows for whoever talk.

I’ll leave four of these bitches smoking on your roof like Set It Off.

No matter vet or a rookie,

'cause I been letting loose ever since I came out, baby,

but the key goes (kegels) to flex on a pussy.

Pussy. Get pistol whipped with the Mac. I’ll Big Pun a bitch,

so if this guy goes (goggles) upside your head it’s Capital Punishment.

Suck a dick. I’m known to smoke bitches.

I’ll make a nice nigga hang it up. Literally, you missed the punch;

that means I’ll rope a dope nigga.

I gotta aim slanted when I hold the four spitting.

Sideways, I'll peel out a round on Ave, like I’m Tokyo Drifting.

Behind these bars, he going through some shit: Shawshank escape.

I get it popping. Pet adoption: I put a dog in his place.

I give a fuck if a nigga big; I’ll be all in his space.

You can be Tyson cut; don’t mean you want parts in a fade.

But y’all call it shaking right? Cool, I got you a little later.

The nina kill him. Two of these’ll peel him.

I’ll black and let it fly in his face like Feed the Children.

You type done. You’ll lose all train of thought when the nine dump.

A head shot'll make him blank it (Blanket) out like Mike’s son.

I’ll light one. You make a move and get done dirty,

the D.E. take off size if you jump early.

Remain calm, or the blade on him,

then I run it across Ave like I’m jaywalking.

‘Tez on Twitter, acting like he want smoke; okay, partner.

If the fifth in the shorts, then I’m whipping it on Cort’ (court) like James Harden.

I’ll straight box him; he say something crazy, I’ma swing.

2K free throw: soon as he get to the line, we get it shaking on the screen.

Don’t try and scare me. I got nice hands and something nice handy,

and I’ll pop a round (around) in your life like a white family.

KG gave me the extra magazine like “you might want to beware, not scared.”

You'll get a headshot. That clip I got from Kevin, bakin’(Bacon); I’ll let it air up there.

And your squad can’t jump in; this is your bag.

Joey Jihad shit: you gotta take these punches on your own(,) Ave.

I don’t like you bitches,

so watch the boy from the Quarter(-)black and enlighten niggas.

Large slug, I ice you with it;

nothing small’s in the clip, the little nigga spit big (B.I.G) 16s like Sky’s the Limit.

Real shit, you can’t keep it real yourself.

Nigga, suicide or I’ll do the job, you decide. Kill yourself.

Round Three

Ave

To all you little niggas sending shots at the game, scram.

Switch up your game plan,

'cause shit changed; don’t send a shot that’s way out your range. Damn,

like get this in your brains, fam.

Before you make a Roc(k) round you gotta’ see Ave first;

that’s on the Cave, man(caveman).

Don’t even play if y’all ain’t killers,

'cause you gon' have to be more than sharp for Tay;

you know Roc(k) breaks scissors.

But now that I’m up in the picture, nigga, step to me.

Go ‘head and sleep, but as soon as I catch you restin’, peace.

See I’m that nigga in the East; they was checkin’ for me.

Basically, you get to eat off my flow(floor): I’m Victor Sweet.



Now that’s where we’re different, geek, 'cause see, I been 'bout that action.

Thirty under the forty, that’s an improper fraction.

I clap whatever pop in his mind,

so you’ll be dead before Smack transform him, first Op to miss(Optimus) Prime.

Never mind, 'cause they don’t need him.

Maybe I can leave him undercover 'til he next to God; I’ll J. Reid him.

Who can’t see him? My flow skill only proves that he’s road kill.

I’ll beat him at his own style with a touch, give it that Rogue feel.

And oh, fuck that punchline belt that they say you hold, queer,

'cause I’ll put a tip to that title(Tidal) like it’s a HOV deal.

I’m so ill. My flow Hell bro,

Shit, I done took plain bars and washed bodies like hotel soap.

I’ll let a shell go, but he ain’t got the heart to be strapped.

Don’t no niggas in Phoenix ring; blame Barkley for that.

I got smokers that clap; nigga, they stay with it.

Told ‘em soon as they see his whip, let that HK hit it,

but I don’t need cash to pay they ticket.

Shit, I can slide a cookie on that car like DayDay did it.

You wanna take a thug’s gamble?

Well understand I’m strapped and fat on both sides, nigga, I love handles.

So fuck beef, 'cause we run to it.

Sign on a pair of Penny's: watch the tongue before you see(C) one(1) through it.

But you ain’t stupid, and you know that if we rumble you out,

so why speak what you don’t want to be 'bout?

Just be humble; don’t go running your mouth,

or you can get a buck fifty up front: I’ll start his own GoFundMe account.

See, they doubt us 'cause we some South hittas.

Well I’m in your cotton picking yard holdin’ my Uncle(') Tom.

Come out the house(,) nigga.

Big mouths get a fucking bum murked up,

'cause I doubt if he hold steel(still) like your son’s first cut.

It’s all a bluff. Y’all buying all this reckless shit he talk?

I mean he ain’t really shooting: he Tom Sheppard in the park.

So put your state on the map and just chill;

keep it rap before that AR is on a (Arizona) nigga back for real.

You see the skill. They kill for the type of shit Ave writes;

I’m John Stockton with a dish to Malone, I’m past(passed) nice.

Make your riders pay bucks up front like a cab price,

so when your team cap(ped) right on the head, that’s draft night,

'cause you bad, right? Cool. Well those shots will get fatal.

Let him run; shit, we ain’t done. Spin the block like a Dreidel.

And we ain’t worried about the jakes, dog; we play raw.

If I don’t feel it’s a big risk(wrist), fuck it: that’s Ray Charles.

But see, y’all support these bluffs,

meanwhile, I got a nigga trying to fight (J)ustice, like Chicago with the brush.

So before you start acting all hype from your Yes man,

just know, life ain’t make you six feet, but death can.

See, you sayin’ shit to fit for the footage,

'cause where I’m from, we’re gon' pull it,

long as it got the firing pins to the bullets.

A high point 40 saved my life; I fell in love with that.

That plastic was popping them rounds, and it weren’t bubble wrap.

But KG claim the West on your back,

but when you shot and end up in a Heavy Bag, thank Kevin for that.

So I hope he brung his chopper, 'cause soon as we done, partner,

niggas get lumped proper; we still owe them one for Hoffa.

Now I ain’t making this no West Side hate,

but if it’s poppin’ shit, then part two, they said Next(,) fry Day(Friday),

'cause I don’t play. That tough shit he saying made up.

Straight fable. You sex on cable: fake fuck,

'cause you talk it like you banging that steel,

but see, I really doubt if B be gunnin'(B.B. gun) unless you thinking like Bill.

See I can punch him to death. Not just with bars though,

my hands is a problem; I’ll leave him lumped up bad as Apollo.

See I ain’t only got to blast him with hollows.

I mean the Bible says, "Thou shall not steal." That’s the only commandment I follow.

I know I’m sinning, lord.

No, *BLAOW*, look who I’m sending, lord.

You'll see a Quarter flipped in the battle, like the beginning, or,

squeeze this round, well I can leave the semi now,

'cause they ain’t getting the prints(prince) like Patrice McDowell.

I got now. I told you fix my plate right Smack?

'Cause they’ve been sleeping, it’s time I bring my state right back.

I don’t give a fuck about these sucka niggas; they type whack.

'Cause I’m a nigga out of Norfolk, straight like that.

Rum Nitty

Shit can get real Ms. Gracie, my nigga.

I know what y’all thinking; wait. y’all thinking weight.

Nah, overkill; two hands over the mil'(meal),

that’s what I was saying(,) Grace.

A headshot in front of a crowd, he’ll go a crazy way,

but giving him the steel in his chest(Chess) really takes the Cake.

For the record, I’ll deal with you, like label mates.

I’m nice; even when I fuck up it’s a dope error(era) like '88.

He be talking like his gun dump,

but won’t say it to the kid. I’ll lift a nine in his face like I’m Nunn Nunn.

You ain’t use your head; think.

Better go watch my last shit again. That’ll make a young nigga fear the Pen;

he'll be scared straight.

I don’t lead waste; I’m only aiming to stretch him.

If I miss you, baby it’s gonna be okay; I got Faith I'ma X him.

Get did bad.

Bullets knock your man’s hat in the streets for talking East/West;

I’ll split you with the fifth, Ave(5th Ave).

Quick bag. The PG never had a shot; don’t be shocked if the kid pass.

Let thirty out the thing.

Saga vs. Chilla: tryin' to make his back slide with a dirty magazine.

But they say his rounds poppin' and I don’t want no trouble with that,

I’m just too damn(two Damme) different like Double Impact.

Facts. One(-)nine’ll clap;

your spine’ll crack from this old Colt. They gon' have to reunite his(Unitas) back.

'Cause I can scrap. Go across his chin, try the left,

or I right(write) shit to flip the script, that’s the Butterfy Effect.

Get ran through. I used to keep a nina on me 'cause I had to,

and on them long nights, Coors Light: shit got cold, the can blew(blue).

But you? On my life, nigga's sweet.

Can’t catch me slippin’; I’ll commit assault(salt) on Ave like it’s ice on the street.

Get stomped out if my squad started.

You’ll have fifty niggas turning up on Ave: that’s a block party,

but he fuck with the law probably,

so I shouldn’t waste my breath on a rat; I ain’t John Coffey.

But niggas blow smoke, no action,

so if he miss a step, the five getting whipped from the belt; I go Joe Jackson.

Pull up gang bangin’, hopping out the four-door flaggin',

and on site(sight) I’ll pick you off like they photo flagged him.

I’m known for that. Mid-battle, a forty clap,

that shit’ll stop Ave dead in a round like a cul-de-sac.

My style belong on Smack. I’m that sure, you dig me?

Y’all remember I'm Gonna Git You Sucka?

Well, me not stepping on the platform is fishy.

And me vers' the niggas you wanna see,

it won’t happen; I come at them, they run from me,

so I can only kill what rap niggas Smack put in front of me,

but first they ain’t want to fuck with me,

and I'd've made it to the stage quicker if I had done a PG or been from the East,

but I battled Rex, Red, Ars, Lotta, Magic.

For me to come to the East and do a PG, that’s backwards,



but I still made it to the stage without that shit,

So facts is, I ain’t earned my respect, I snatched it.

So you can’t put me in that box. I’m sorry.

I done traveled all over the atlas,

but y’all think I’m gonna come back to the Ave and get ran off? I’m not Safari.

The Mac raise, I’m dropping every nigga out the bat cave,

but first it started on the Ave like the old SMACK days.

"New York, New York, big city of dreams." Y’all remember that Snoop shit.

Well I brought in my dog pound and let it kick in the building like Snoop did.

Just worry about the bars and don’t worry what I got on,

but if you is worried, LOMClothing.com.

Bitch I already told him,

I’m 99% gun lines; the other one is the slogan:

Kill yourself.

Lyrics transcribed in full, including slurs and offensive rhetoric in interest of accuracy. Language used and views expressed are those of the performers cited.

Lyrics by Skip MacIntyre, Chris Mitchell, Brad Danyluk, and Ibrahiim Abdul-Rahman.

Photos by Smark Alix for BattleRap.com.

See all our coverage on the battle here.

Did we miss anything? Let us know in the comments below.