Watch the battle here.

Round One

Dizaster

What you gon' hear today is the mother of all anti-Semitic hate raps.

This is revenge for all the dead children that fell victim from way back.

This here is for every single Arab.

Shit, even the Christians are going to feel like they're getting their payback

once I rape your mother in the ass with no protection,

bare back wearing a Mel Gibson facemask.

You know what rhymes with bar mitzvah?

(Crowd: What?) Swastika.

Let's see where you at, Iron.

Let's see if Solomon can handle this.

Today I'ma put you through some body building championships:

you gon' get pushed to your max(,) Iron.

Straighten out your act here(hair),

‘cause any hot headed shit will get you laid out flat(,) Iron.

Today I'ma run laps around him 'til he get exhausted

and I tire Iron like he had a flat tire,

‘cause he never had drive he just stood on the side and watched me pass by him.

He's past his prime, so ain’t no use for him to come back fighting;

the last time anyone gave a fuck about Iron's mic is when we had Tyson,

so if Iron make a come back for one last time, he gon' get smashed like him

You been pussy since GrizzleMania, ducking and diving,

always playing it about being safe than surviving.

I know you vanished away and take cover so it ain’t no surprise in

that once he takes cover, there ain't no way I'ma find him

‘cause Annie Frank used to guide him,

so I know she told you all the perfect places to hide in.

Yeah, Anne Frank. What a damn skank.

Someone pass me my gas tank.

I am Hitler, the real Heinrich Himmler; sieg heil to your wife and sister.

You've been on two lists your whole life, mine and Schindler’s.

I asked you to battle me the first time, you said no. The second time, you said no.

If you would've flaked this time, it would've been your third right(Reich) in a row.

I said, I thought you would flake. I'm honestly shocked you would take me.

Had me feeling like Pesci all day:

I started sweating, thinking he wouldn't have the balls to face me.

But now that we here Iron, I know who your father is.

You grew off of Little Mermaid royalties

since we were in third grade, you was always rich.

The reason you fell off is this:

it's the work ethic, you never have to work hard for shit. You never starved for shit.

Anything you asked daddy for, you would always get.

See, you that fat guy that walked into the gym, got on a treadmill and jogged a bit,

but you never stayed on it for long enough to even break no body sweat,

so now you stuck in the same plateau you haven't evolved from since,

but use your common sense.

You've been living off a false sense of accomplishment,

‘cause if you worked hard like all us did, you would've not have quit.

You would’ve probably thought of it and realized, "Nah, I worked too hard for this.

I'm Iron Solomon. I'll come back and demolish them.”

Where's your gladiator armor kit, your heart of Spartacus,

your "I am Sparta” shit? Come on, dog, you got this shit.

I'm giving you back all your confidence, you soaking all this in?

You know I normally charge for this.

I'm just saying, you was a legend to all of us,

but when you're in the room, your energy isn't really felt.

Trying to yell your bars to us,

your vocal projection just never hits hard enough

like uh, {snaps fingers} like a Math Hoffa punch.

But where's your voice? Aren't you Jewish? You celebrated so many Hanukkahs

that by now you supposed to have way more presents(presence) than all of us.

We used to call you a pioneer.

You went from that to letting your bitch re-write your third round for Daylyt.

Wait a minute, you let your broad re-write all your hard work and tears?

You take advice from someone else? Wait, y'all don't think this weird?

Honestly, you can call it how you want to call it, but to me all this shit is clear;

Iron Man could never get the job done without someone like Jarvis talking in his ear.

Makes sense you Tony Starks though,

’cause every time you get picked apart in a battle it's back to the lab,

to have your bitch walk around holding up the pad helping you charge up for a year.

That's why Tony Starks is never as solid as he appears;

you've always been in constant fear.

The Iron suit is just an outer part, the center piece is hollow up in here;

Iron Man has had an artificial heart from the start of his career.

Now look at where your life's at.

See, you were fine 'til you tried Smack, but you can't deny facts,

that if Iron himself had that type of endurance, then he might last,

but he left too much of a wide gap

where he didn't focus on his time, on his rhyme craft,

so if you paid more attention in science class,

you would know that Iron becomes rusty when you let too much time pass.

These bars I drop got knowledge in 'em.

Darwinism: Charles Dickens versus non-fiction DNA mama level autism,

plus, your father scripted all of Oscar The Grouch's shit for Sesame Street

So now I know where you enherit all your garbage writtens.

Yeah, you fell off, you got to admit it.

You should've move to New Orleans and got an apartment to live in

with a bunch of tsunami victims

so you can share stories all day about how you're washed up with 'em.

This is God’s gifted. I’m God gifted.

Watching me spit is like a game of Twister,

’cause I can catch bodies back to back with my skills on the spot,

and that's the reason you got us all twisted.

I mean, you the best freestyler? Explain how.

Yo, back in the day,

if you didn't recycle so much you wouldn't even have a name now,

and I'm gonna explain how,

you know the, "you're behind on California time" you told TheSaurus?

That was the second time you recycled those same rounds.

Let's play a game of “I Swear” now.

Say, “I swear on my newborn child,

I didn't use those lines in a battle with Okwerdz that never came out.”

Look at his face now.

You look like you just got caught in a stupid lie.

You have a better chance of getting Sasha Cohen

to show up here dressed up as Borat in a suit and tie,

‘cause that's the only way this crowd gon’ get to see

another Arab get played by a Jewish guy.

I'm trying to get y'all to see, that's he's the fakest freestyler that’s on the scene,

but y'all don't see it.

Y'all just obsessed with these little pussies like a bunch of Carter Deems.

He's a dead man walking; he's almost in his coffin, he's just caught in between.

He got one window to get outside of this box he’s in;

I got him inside of a laundry machine.

And that's the irony(Iron, he) in it, ‘cause even if Iron makes it out of it clean,

all it means is me and Iron still got to iron out some things,

I mean, we gon' get right down to the tee.

Even if you don't like how it seems(seams),

if he don't tell me what his true religion is...

fuck it, I'ma find out when he gets {punches air} right out of his jeans.

How was that? How was that for an ironing theme?

Or, I got a different type of Iron scheme.

I'll take an Iron Fist to Iron’s cheek like the Iron Sheik,

and you wouldn’t dare fight me inside the ring.

I wish he would try me; even if I tried him, he wouldn't try a thing.

Even if Iron was Tiger Woods you wouldn't see Iron swing.

But you'll probably rap about Math for three rounds.

If you do, then be prepared to throw hands with me now.

If you did, it would be like the Shazaam app: you’ll quickly catch a beat down.

I don't give a fuck if you think I'm emotional, bitch.

If you've been acting tough like Andy Dump,

we can go outside and box over this shit.

I'm about to hit him with the fucking closer, ‘cause I don't care.

Kill yourself, ‘cause even if you did, people would probably still won't care.

Take your Spring Fever CD, walk through a black hole,

get lost in the middle of nowhere,

and don't forget to take Adam Sandler

and all his gay ass movies with you when you go there.

Iron Solomon

Oh, fuck. I made my own bed;

when I was dormant, I gave y'all reason to snooze on me.

Tonight, we putting that to rest. Y'all still sleeping, then you zombies.

What you'll see is a true homi,t hat looks like lipo to you prob’ly,

‘cause he's gonna suck, and I'ma get a new body.

This throne is my home, I came back for the upkeep.

Retard strength: all your battles are dumb weak.

This quack will be duck meat for flapping too much beak;

I'm doing my numbers on the web: duck feet.

If you fucked The Saurus's mother, forty-some weeks

before The Saurus was born, you couldn't compete(cum Pete).

If you wouldn't come east, I'd come confront him in the west.

I'd throw hands across America; every fucking punch connects.

You a one and done at best, I'm the one who done it best.

Big killers sleep in a guillotine: a cut above the rest.

I'm the recoil that'll leave your gun hand crushed.

True artist, I paint pictures with a drum and brush.

I'm the one man band that ?uestlove can't touch,

serve food for Thought like The Roots front man's lunch.

Do You Want More?!!!??!

Your Halflife starts once Organik/Organix flips the coin,

’cause that's When Things Fall Apart,

and this is just The Tipping Point for now, brother.

I'ma milk this; my style butter. The crowd love me like the cow's utter in Calcutta.

The savior. The Christians praying to Jesus(Spanish pronunc.);

to Jews I am Moses. To Pagans, I’m they Zeus.

Walk the crowd like the holy ghost strolling through the convent.

You can smell Jehovah's odor on me; I am God-sent(scent).

You will never see me lose to this old Lebaneser Scrooge.

They booked a death machine for you. I suggest you think it through;

You'll get digested, eaten, chewed; you a recipe for food.

Step inside the lion's den, you don't get to leave the zoo.



Photo by Christian Andrabado for BattleRap.com. A different pedigree than you; that's why I would like to question,

what did you bring to the game? What makes this guy some type of legend?

Working twenty years on his precise refined impression

of Eminem’s exact style from 1997?

This Afgan a Stan. Such a-rabid(Arab) fan,

your whole style’s cut from someone else's cloth: you Dapper Dan.

With a master plan to spit some multi-syllable shit

to distract the fans while you spit some old silly bullshit.

Get out the kiddie pool, Diz. You supposed to be an adult.

You keep getting old, but we don't seem to see the results.

You're just a Lost Boy, Peter Pan whose punchlines Never Land;

when D's in bad form, he needs a Hook to get a hand.

I mean for real, what's this guy's problem? Tinkerbell is what I call him.

He got dusted, and did some fairy shit to keep the light on him.

"I want views like Fetty Wap to get the blind to see,

I(eye) only got to sock it(socket) to get where I should be."

Lash out and patch it up, nothing's cornier(cornea).

What you've become gave battles astigmatism: disappointed at what my pupil's done.

In hindsight, the Bay Watched you hassle Hoffa(Hasselhoff) for limelight,

and this guy's hype off of that surprise fight like that's a prize fight.

Even though we know you only go to blows if it's staged right,

the irony, that this homophobe's fans support gay rights.

Had your people riding the benches, jumped right in the trenches.

You got some grimy intentions with you inside of these legends.

See to me, turning battles into fights is just senseless,

but cross the line, this battle will bare a striking resemblance.

‘Cause I’m a wig splitter, I'm a ditch digger, I’m a shit kicker and I'm a bit bitter.

You a quick pitcher; I'm a big swinger. Won't be the one running; I'm a pinch hitter.

Fans of Diz figure I’d get disfigured? Fuck you! This(dis) finger.

If y'all keep it a hundred, then it'll be a 3-0. That's six figures.

But since homie's a clown, I might throw my third round, ‘cause I want to sock ya.

So if I beat this pussy ass, 2-1, it's not a shocker.

I will bow, bow, Waka Flocka. Better call a doctor

when lick a shot in your noodle: penne a la vodka.

And when I'm done kicking your ass, we gon' kick it at Brass Rail.

There's a chick with a fat tail that be sending me fan mail.

Them hoes aren't playing. See everybody knows our name,

‘cause I be tossing paper like I'm trying to expose Arcane.

Round Two

Dizaster

Alright so, you brought up the Math fight of course,

and I think it's awesome for you to reference,

and I think it's really awesome for you to mention.

No, honestly bro, thank you for putting your two cents in.

Are you sure it's not too expensive?

I know for you, being a Jew, that's kind of a huge investment.

You fucking chubby, chunky, southern, country, Humpty Dumpty

looking, fucking, ugly, musty, Dusty Rhodes, Tele-tubby,

Barney Rubble body double, Bubba Dudley cuddle buddy.

Fucking loser. This guy is like Allen Iverson:

He could've been the G.O.A.T. but he fucked up most of his chances,

and that's the difference between the Kobe's and the Jordan's and Magic’s,

the ones that stayed in the game, and gave you more and more classics,

and the ones that eventually fell off,

‘cause they always thought they were too good

to show up to court for their practice.

I know we appear like we're closely matched, but our roads don't overlap; when

I kept on moving forward and past ‘em,

you hit the fork in the road and went backwards.

We both started off as the total package,

and then you dipped into the lower bracket,

came back below the average of the normal standards;

all it took was a little four-year absence

and you became a former has-been like Toni Braxton.

You put in all this work to record these albums

that most fans in battle rap don't download no tracks from;

the other half don't even notice you enough to even know you had one.

This must be what it feels like to be Latoya Jackson.

Plus, I got another question I've been wanting to ask him:

Do you rap while you're doing home gymnastics?

Do you put your notepad down on your yoga mattress?

And you perform the dances like your multisyllabics,

how you cover the graphics so overdramatic,

like an HBO crime scene show reenactment.

Bro, you're a faggot.



Photo by Christian Andrabado for BattleRap.com. Doctors done fucked you up with a lot of medication, bro, and you got no more skill,

can't get back to his normal self ‘cause he don't even know how normal feel.

Quick, someone toss Jonah Hill another Soma pill so he can focus still,

‘cause he's looking real shaky on film like Cloverfield.

But anyways, how's that studio going though? You recording still? Bro, you're ill.

Still working towards that recording deal? You'll make it. I know you will.

‘Cause what you gon' do? Survive off your Fight Klub days?

Nobody even remembers those older rounds.

The only thing we remember from Fight Klub is, "Yo, hold it down! Hold it down!"

That's how annoying your fucking host would sound.

Or who else remembers his battles from the Hall of Fame?

When you went off the top with a dude with his top off;

who remembers Iron Solomon versus Flamez?

Yeah, he got the W right? But him in that battle and the holocaust were the same,

‘cause it wasn't no surprise to see the Jewish guy bodying(body in) Flamez.

Burn and you get burned in the game; burn, I'll burn you with flames.

Shit, even Bernie Sanders has the word "burn" in his name.

Now you're in a dead zone where no one enters. *Pop, pop* goes the heckler.

Go against me, and your physical form dismembered.

You won't be able to use your legs or arms again,

like Denzel Washington when he starred in the Bone Collector.

Your father built you an in-house studio

to record your records and get your stuff done,

but it's fucked up, ‘cause you can't have black people come over,

‘cause, "Son, we don't trust them."

Gets all awkward every time he has black folks recording over

and he comes into the room and confronts them

like, "Haha, so, Young Gunz. ..Where do you know my son from?"

All that matters when they view this back is who could rap,

so where are all my goons from Fallujah at?

In the streets letting bazooka's and Ruger's clap,

Uzi's, Mac's with the new attachments;

I got Halo from-the-future gats, huger straps than the one's Duke Nukem has.

*Boom, boom*, shoot ya ass, hadouken flash, *boom, boom, chilaka boom* ya ass.

I don't give a fuck. *Boom, boom*, North Korea nuclear blast,

I'll reduce you to ash with a nuke. A nuke and ash.

What's that? Dude, that's Nash, you stupid ass.

Yo, my resume is like a fucking cemetery, full of piles of humans stacked,

‘cause I done caught more overseas bodies than a Cuban raft.

If white boy got a nine, then he can get schooled with that,

get it? ‘Cause we're from two different schools; he a junior high school student.

I'm a fully developed uni-grad; I’m too advanced for you to grasp.

You Columbine popping nines; I'm a Virginia Tech going off on students campus,

which means me and you are not in the same shooting class.

You know what I'm saying, dog? Plus my newest strap

got a built in Mac computer that

keeps all of your vehicle movement's tracked like an Uber app,

could open up your location on Google Maps;

see you in the window, then I zoom in fast,

shoot your ass through the glass, spill your medulla on the Isuzu dash,

and the people that are moving past

will scream, "Help, someone just killed the fat kid from Superbad!"

And I don't give a fuck who you have.

Bring your goons for backup, then it's AngryFan movements: I'm only using caps.

I'll put you and all your fruity ass

dogs together in the same bag like a pack of Scooby Snacks.

And if you come back from the dead, I'ma put a giant round in the back of your head

like one of your stupid looking Jewish hats.

I'll body everything in the room, moving like I'm Supernat.

Leave me alone before I blow a fuse and snap, like a fuselage with a fuse attached.

You'll get your fucking right socket removed and snatched,

get your eyeball turned to a wounded gash.

The next interview you do with Vlad,

you'll be on the couch telling stories with one of your pupil's patched:

Slick Rick The Ruler's back.

When I say "Turn up,” I mean turn up to the max.

I mean turn him to a vegetable;

you seen the movie Expendables? Well I'll put you in a cast just has huge as that.

(Pussy. And you have pink eye.)

Iron Solomon

*clapping* Good for you, Diz. You got Pat Stay's formula down,

and your formula down.

I mean, you pack sixty seconds with enough bars for a four minute round,

and you make it work, it’s this crazy blur of rhyming schemes and hateful words

that you vomit out your mouth like you're trying to feed a baby bird.

At some point you got a diss line for me, or maybe Eurgh;

a crowd reaction distracts him, he shouts “faggot!” and a bunch of racial slurs,

just hoeing and yapping when he's supposed to be rapping.

Acting like you got ovaries and over reacting,

so we can just guess what's next, from slugfests to gun threats.

This chump went from throwing temper tantrums to throwing up(-)sets,

choked out Billy, now he feel he's a roughneck.

Been on 52 cards; got more attention from one deck.

Looking like a junky that don't have any drugs left,

you either need to catch up on rest or have a blood test,

‘cause the effects of crack and coke are what Dizaster don't consider.

You got deeper into some yay(‘ye) shit than Amber Rose's fingers.

If you see this addict twitching like he can't control his temper,

it's been half a minute since he had a chance to post on Twitter.

I mean, I'm just trying to diagnose all of this clown's symptoms.

Charron's autistic, but you've got I-Want-To-Be-Down Syndrome.

The type of lost nerd who wants to be hip hop so bad, just to fit in

he got the Microsoft Word graffiti font tattooed on his skin.

And what's under that mountain of ink, you need to talk about to a shrink,

but there's a lot smarter people in this crowd than you think.

We hear the contradictory shit out of your mouth when you speak,

how you call Pat Stay a racist, then call Dumbfoundead a chink.



Photo by Dan Gibs for KOTD. Told Hoffa, "stop eating fried chicken”. Har-dee-har.

That's as funny as the n-word with a hard E-R.

So go on and recite all them bars you can write bout the holocaust in one night,

call me a kike, and a bunch of shit I'm sure Caustic will like,

(Thanks for the heroin, dog.)

it's a strong strategy, Diz. Say it with audacity. Get loud, talk rapidly;

the crowd will all laugh at me,

but if that exposes the bigots, then I'll take the fall happily.

You think racism is hip hop? You buying the wrong rap CD’s.

Under our skin, we the same color. Don't believe it, then fight me.

Do it! You'll see you're just like me when you get beat to the white meat!

Or maybe Iron Sol' vers’ Iron Shiek is what all of you wanted,

Muhammad Ali versus Ali Muhammad.

Well that worked pretty well; I’ma make me some racist remarks now.

Your peoples eat pita, you were raised to be making these soft rounds.

We ate motza when we fled from Egypt, we went missing,

where the heat of the desert, where the stones were our best kitchen,

and the food’s hard texture stemmed from that existence.

What I'm saying is, going back generations, we bred(bread) different.

Our religious text gave us ambition; your clan's missing.

2000 years before Muslims, our Bible was handwritten.

Y'all changed Abraham to Ebrahim and ran with that transcription;

the Torah is the O.G., the Quran is just fan faction.

Boy, you done picked a bad Jew to attack.

You know how many MC's I ran through for a rack?

Your integrity's out of wack.

Look around the room, faces from everywhere on the map.

Our bond is rap; you should honor that,

but every card he act(cardiac) like he's serious as a heart attack,

but got to lean on shock value to bring a body back.

This preacher testifies just to keep you mesmerized;

you can't see through his disguise, need to reconnect your eyes.

I mean Jesus effing Christ, every freaking single rhyme

like a Lebaneser mime in, uh, Lethal Weapon 5,

and in your egotistic mind you believe in every lie,

so we may never get to see this style you beat to death just die.

Exposing D's deception gets him peeved in every line;

I'm making this pussy tight. This a kegel exercise.

See people recognize this Dizaster character’s not you.

You had a Halloween party where rappers battled in costume.

You made them stay in fake persona instead of going off real life,

so you won't have to be the only one who knows what that feels like.

See, he'll strike when he steps out of his lane and gets bold(bowled),

But you ain't really from the gutter, you just playing a role(roll).

So please, spare us. Spare us.

You ain't cooking coke; you ain't never seen the hood befo’.

You sweeter than a Tootsie Roll wrapped up in some cookie dough,

shoved inside a pussy hole of a virgin playing footsie toe.

Your Gjonaj battle is the only time you pushed an O.

And when you fucked up that jelly fish line, what Dizaster revealed up here

is what you mean to yell in your rhymes isn't actually real, it's clear.

See I'm a Man o’ War; when I'm on a sting, your death's been sealed.

My line's lead up to a body, I tend to kill(tentacle).

Yo, I flew here to get the mileage; you flew here to get demolished.

What they paid you pays your rent; I'm 'bout to put my kid through college.

If you take away the hype, all the hate and spite,

just to lose to Mook, they gave me twice what you got paid tonight.

My status may have fell, but when our checks coming through,

you'll see that even when I take an L, I get double you(W).

Yeah, I went over with Lyt, but tonight I'll respect time;

I said I'd kill you with three minutes, and we right at the deadline.

Round Three

Dizaster

Now this guy.. really has pink eye.

Back off, ‘cause I don't want to be in front of you, you fricking disgrace.

You've already had it happen to you once,

don't make me rub some more shit in your face.

Here comes a guy whose career died a long time ago,

in the year 3 King of the Dot B.C., 500 Grind Time's ago,

comes a guy from the biased coast,

who's about to get all of his stripes revoked like Spider Loc.

See, you said this in one of the lines you wrote:

that the doctors prescribed you the same drugs as Michael.

Okay, that means you need all kinds of dope just so your fucking mind can cope,

so know, if you had the chance to be the straw that broke the camel's back,

you would use it to sniff a line of coke.

Ever since Mook, your career been on a declining slope.

It's like Gary Coleman's last episode alive; that’s a double meaning line:

if you take the name of his show, title and the way he died and combine them both,

then you finally know why this is his final Stroke.

Your fucking music career is one big giant Heimlich choke.

You should've known with an album like Monster you would wind up broke.

It's all in your bio; didn't see a single sell(cell) from it, or multiply in growth,

since your career was under the spotlight of the microscope.

What, do I gotta break it down in a science course or something?

Iron divides into four different types of isotopes,

which could explain why

you spent half of your life on the shelf trying to blow, but Iron won’t.

See a lot of elements become radio(-)active after their half-life, but Iron don’t,

which is why he's a normal Iron I suppose,

‘cause all the deals they had for him on the table folded,

and they never got Iron closed(clothes).

That's why you're hanging by a thread now, on life support.

You fucking got beat down in front of Mook until you couldn't fight no more,

which makes you the worst type of whore,

the one that gets fucked once and quits cause her vagina's sore.

You should fucking kill yourself. Plus, you violated as far as the guy code goes.

I provided you guided roads where ever your drive go; I gave you the Geico quotes.

The greatest of all time, the Michael Jordan of this entire sport,

a satanic shrine logo: I(eye) am the goat(G.O.A.T).

The messiah, the Eye of Horus, the Ayatollah to your diaspora,

I am your righteous Lord; I am your most high, like a white boy’s FICO score.

I am like Michael Koors,

‘cause I can catch a big bag and still have a lot of time in store,

Get it? A big bag and still have a lot of time in store?

I'll hit you with a thousand lines like a Miley Cyrus tour.

This is what Michael Moore would look like in his final form.

I know you gon' reference the five days in Egypt,

but trust me, this ain't that kind of war;

this is more like fighting Thor inside of a lightning storm.

I go Psycho Michael Myers with a knife inside a psych ward,

or cycle Slo-Niacin: good night you, bro.

I'll put you to sleep in your own language:

I'll “laila tov” you. Yeah, this Diet Rone is gonna die alone.

All it takes is one solid bar and he's a washed up body; punchlines are like Dial soap.

Dynamo. You trying to fight a robot cyborg from Biocorps;

we'll find you inside your home,

beside your phone, with your vital signs synchronized with the dial tone:

*bleeep*

Who gives a fuck if N.Y. is a no flying zone? I got Palestine inside my bones.

I'll hit you with a rock in your face from a couple kilometers away;

that's what I call reaching a milestone.

You will die from my pen stroke like Death Note, if it's written form we battle.

Freestyle, I'll son(sun) you off the top like solar panels,

and I got more examples.

No matter how many menorah lamps you have, you’ll never hold a candle

to the levels of pressure I was born to handle.

You know why? ‘Cause you don't have no souls or backbones.

Bro, you don't even know your past, bro.

Real Jews were Hebrews, black men who used to grow their afros.

You guys, are just a bunch of fucking random phony Polish assholes

who forged your passports, and don't have a land of your own,

so you come over and they jack yours,

but what is it all for? Is it drilling off shore? Is it the land, or do you want more?

See, Arabs, we’re peaceful, bro; you can come to my house.

I'd invite you in. Take the keys to my car, the garage door.

I just want you to feel comfortable at home,

since you're used to occupying households that are not yours.

I wasn't even supposed to be here today.

Organik was trying to get him and Hollow Da Don popping off.

They had an investor from his side ready to put up all the gwap;

made all these excuses at the end why it ended up falling off,

but the real reason we did not see(Nazi) it

is because Solomon's people couldn't afford what Hollow cost(holocaust).

I ain't anti-Semitic. Knock it off

before I go durka durka, allahu akbar on him and start letting rockets off,

dropping bombs and launching tomahawks.

I got a lot of fire bottled up like a walking Molotov.

I'm a blacksmith: I'll put an Iron bar on the chopping block.

I don't give a fuck if it's shalom shabbat or shabbat shalom,

I'll punch you in the face and leave your glasses broken on the floor; mazel tov.

You battled Mook on Smack and we watched you fall.

You let a mark(Marc) ass brother outshine you, take your spot; you Pau Gasol.

And that's when you got on some Bull shit and you dropped the ball.

Now everyone knows you was that one cat

with a giant pussy in his lap like Marley Marl.

This the army of God. Think the ending of every Inspector Gadget, ‘cause all you saw

was me putting a metal arm to this cat's head like Doctor Claw.

I know a little bit of Krav Maga.

Fucking twist your father into a arm bar, knock his fucking yamaka off.

Fuck it, if me and Iron brawl I'm knocking out anybody involved,

*boo boppity bow*, stand over your head like all of the stars.

I’m off the hook with these hands; people call me Kabal.

I’ll move at light speed as I proceed to break my right knee off in your jaw.

Fuck a gun bar. Fuck a gun bar. I'm creative; I don't need one at all.

I'll swing a fucking Pirates Of The Caribbean claw,

cut you in half with it like a seesaw, send the blade flying clean through the wall,

watch it come out the other side of the street

and kill five people that weren't even involved.

I'm like a evil Peter Parker that delivers people karma,

with a side order of beef kebab for starters.

Fucking with me’s retarded like asking Sweeney Todd to be your barber.

I'm a evil Tamil Tiger guerrilla fighter from Sri Lanka,

followed you to your job and I’m camped outside of your job

and I can't wait for you to leave the office like Stephen Harper.

Yeah. You think you can relate to Canadians more than me?

(Hahaha.) Bro, you are more pussy than a Weeknd concert.

Even the concept of you beating me here in Toronto couldn't be more farther

than the thought of Stevie Wonder being able to see his daughter.

I'll fucking let the Glock sleep him,

put him in an armbar ’til he stops breathing

like Eric Gardner when the cops beat him.

Pay attention, that's a double bar meaning.

I mean either way, you gon' die from arm squeezing.

They hated us ever since the World Trade got hit.

And they blamed us with all this bullshit, but what the media don't say is this.

How many of your people didn't show up to work that day

‘cause they claimed they were sick?

Or the Zionist banker who took out the insurance claim and then split?

Explain to me this: how a national tragic event could make your people rich,

or how a bunch of cavemen in Afghanistan

could penetrate the world's most sophisticated defense,

and have these monolithic beams that are encased in cement

all cut at the precise angle you need a buildings foundation to sit?

It's ‘cause you motherfuckers orchestrated the shit

and used the media as a tool to blame us swit wit—

To blame us swit wit? Or blame us with?

But it don't matter, because you blamed the desert for taking those plane flights,

but it's clear as daylight(Daylyt) that you staged that shit.

And you only have one ball. I mean, it's all good, bro.

Don't be mad ‘cause the doctor slashed your wontons and you can't get a hard-on.

You can still be the champ of any track you hop on, even with half your balls gone.

You could ask Lance Armstrong. You can still be successful; it doesn't change it all.

Look, you can ask Tom Brady, dog;

you can still make it in the game with a deflated ball.

I know, I know. I bet that little ball of his at night gets lonely.

Sitting in bed, he felt a trickle going down his leg slowly.

Thought he pissed on himself;

it turned out to be his right nut pouring out liquor for his dead homie.

(He has one fucking ball; he can't fuck with me.)



Photo by Zach Macphoto for KOTD. This is the path toward the end, so listen and pay attention,

’cause all your people ever did was scrutinize us.

My people are true survivors.

And you used the media as a way to oppress us,

and generation after generation you try to euthanize us,

then we turn into revolution fighters,

but what would you do if you was in the street seeing them kill women

and execute their minors?

Shooting your child in his back,

how could you justify seeing a two year old

with a tank on his back like a scuba diver?

*Spits, arabic word, spits*

Who grew Al Qaeda? You grew Al Qaeda. You guys are fueling ISIS.

This ain't no war on terrorism; this is a Zionist Jewish crisis,

a bunch of fucking greedy bankers who have no value for what human life is.

If you ever see an Arab group of snipers,

just know that's from weapons that you provide us,

so we can kill each other and you can use it as an excuse to crucify us,

but not now, not now. I'ma flip out. Bro, who defines us? Who's the finest?

What am I doing? I'm losing my mind, bitch.

Give me this shit, al these fools should like this.

I don't give a fuck what I'm gonna do, ‘cause this dude's the nicest.

(*Puts on a Hitler moustache and starting rapping in fake German*)

Hooten feinstich, hooten feinstich.

Fuck it, it dropped off and a fusten tagen,

Barbra Streisand und foosten tragen.

Roosten tagen a roost a da hoosten dragen,

Seth Rogan ... Adam Sandler … Shia Labeouf … roosten tagen.

(*Then spits a few bars in Lebanese. Translation courtesy of our Arabic-speaking friends; if we've messed anything up, please let us know in the comments.*)

"Who do you (Jews) think you are?

You're full of yourselves because America defends you,

but you keep attacking the Palestinians because they have no one to defend them

but Hezbollah, and you stay really far from them,

because every time you get near Hezbollah you get fucked up.

I'll fuck your mother, you son of a bitch. Suck a dick.

Fuck all your people and the people that birthed your God."

Iron Solomon

So, y'all wanna know the real reason that we had problems in Grind Time?

It w-it was- uh.. shit, me too. Might've been all in this guy's mind.

I mean, when I picture what was at stake and follow the timeline,

D was only beefing because I was in my prime,

‘cause we had never met before. They had rappers on every floor,

and you paid Kap Kallous to book my room next to yours.

Since you don't know the difference between real life and a messageboard,

you trolled the hallway all day posted up on my bedroom door.

The whole weekend you followed me, no drama or static,

then hopped on camera in your battle, and you called me a faggot,

and I'll never forget this, with Pumpkinhead as my witness,

you ran right out of the ring to me and begged for forgiveness.

It was awkward, and kind of just weird,

offered to buy me a beer, talking right in my ear,

apologizing for years about a line that Bashir

took time to prepare that I didn't hear,

‘cause I wasn't watching your battle, ‘cause I didn't care.

See, between love and hate, there's a thin line, but for Diz, no disconnect.

So everybody that Diz respects becomes someone he disrespects,

from the indirects to the blatant hate. In your Twitter rants you’ve discussed me,

but you're on my dick the second we're face to face,

trying to give me dap. You disgust me.

With your rants and your ten page speeches,

talking junk about Smack more than an N.A. meeting.

If you and URL's relationships something you can't repair,

you know what a real gangster would do? Just not battle there.

(What's wrong with King Of The Dot? You know what I'm saying?)

You hate the east coast ‘cause we never gave you support?

We gave you hip hop culture, Diz; we gave you this sport.

The way that you walk, your dress code, the slang that you talk.

You from the Fresh Coast? Son, the word "fresh" came from New York.

You pull your iPhone out your pocket in battles; awesome example

of how all of the raps that you spit, you got from the Apple.

Y'all know his note section’s just a pad full of writtens.

So what, it's cool to do that now, ‘cause Canibus did it?

You such a hip hop purist, how's that such a crutch you still rely on?

We seen Diz cell out in battles more than Malathion.

You call street rappers phone(-)y but your gun bars be dialed out;

it's like you can't get a line out without a nine now.

The principles he been talking, we don't ever see him walking.

It's all theory; you don't really stand for shit: you Stephen Hawking.

It's so feeble. Flint, Michigan tap water: your flow's lethal,

but only because the poison you fed 'em misled your own people.

You're not a terrorist; you're a tourist, a gimmick,

pointing your fingers at our flaws like a critic to hide your fraudulent image.

The real perpetrator's you, but you don't want to admit it;

you're like the coward who killed Cyrus and said The Warriors did it.

Oh, you.. fucking.. hypocrite. You whore for attention. You exhibitionist.

You preach, but you don't practice, give a speech and contradict the shit.

Overdoser, coke in the nose, emotional roller coaster,

you opportunist, you Brutus, Judas you culture vulture!

I hate you. I hate you, but it's my fault,

‘cause I stepped out of this ring, and turned my queen to my ex wifey,

and I prayed her new suitor would be a king who was just like me.

I walked away from this woman who was the love of my life,

and I can't stand that her new man just ain’t fucking her right.

See, when you was still trying to steer through the bottom tier,

and the future of battle rap was not as clear, I was here.

Been a pioneer the entirety of my career.

I made this backpack shit take off: I'm the Rocketeer.

I spelled out this path to give y'all some direction,

put myself on the map, so you could follow the legend.

What I deserve I achieve, with just a verse and a beat.

I didn't work for a fee and what I earned wasn't free.

Went on a murdering spree, hit every curb in the street,

when it was 30 degrees I was still burning MC’s.

In terms of this league, my words and my schemes are the birds and the bees;

the sperm and the seeds, what emerged was this league.

So you're the MC you are because you were birthed from my breed.

I didn't quit and come back; I took paternity leave.

I fathered your whole existence, Diz. You learned this from me,

then played the role of an heir you're unworthy to be.

You're not Solomon reborn. You've been keeping my seat warm,

a dis(Diz)figured version of me that's how D formed(deformed),

and the Commodore and Eli might seem like a lovely option,

’til you realize, in real life what it feels like without Nucky Thompson.

Let Diz, Pat and Mac scrap for seconds and thirds.

Who gives a fuck about runners up now that the best has returned?



Photo by Dan Gibs for KOTD. Lyrics transcribed in full, including slurs and offensive rhetoric in interest of accuracy. Language used and views expressed are those of the performers cited.

Cover photo by Christian Andrabado for BattleRap.com.

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