Big T vs Raw Scientz

[trap.]

02-25-2002

Big T

Fuck you and ya crew, up yours with those idiots from liquid swords//
Scientz makes a wish on his birthday:,,Please give me a dick with force//
New b-boy account because his old one didn’t have any wins//
And he’s so used to losing he even experiences death when he wins//
And the only way you’d be hot is if your initials where H.O.T//
Right now you’re fucking with hi-tech spits like you raped sony//
Thought an alias would give you a new rep huh? You stayed phoney//
I took your own fucking liquid sword and used it to get you slayed homie//
Da storm is a form to explain lyricall wackness//
And I don’t give a fuck about glock 17 and .45’s…that’s all gimmickal tactics//
I could have my dead granny write a verse and beat you, but this time I wanted pleasure//
I can’t describe the rush I get when I kill a lil’ wack-ass…call it haunted pressure//
Stealing Scripts from his brother cuz he lacks illness to spit himself//
And after the battle it’s like a torture-chamber cuz I’ve got ya skull split in twelve//
And I’ll pretend I never see you prewriting ya note-book//
You can catch me earning my living freefighting for coke-crooks//
And if you blow up, everybody will be denying ya gold hooks//
They’ll remember:,,That was that cat who was dickryding cats dope-looked//


Raw Scientz

Here we go

battle me a loss you eyein ya chest torn u cryin im 'high authority' put 'christ' on punishment if the lords defiant/
toss the iron u had bad timing right cross make u do a spin rap's 'meterologist' cuz i can pick my 'winds'/
i rip ya shins sit back and grin while u screamin im hit~im ya worst fear like 'barbwire fences' to 'escape convicts'/
more than one hit my crew will also damage u bad~catch more 'feet' to dome than a 'eastbay' mag/
toe tags is what u be rockin body bag modelin crack ya collar bones the top of ya shirt sink in/
im crackin 'chins' like punchin chinese people my skills to lethal remove ya 'optics' so u cant 'see no evil'/
ya style is see through my shit is perfection im teach lessons and Big T dont 'shoot' like 'retired film directors'/
no second guessin im iller this another loss for ya~cuz all ya shit is gettin 'eaten' like droppin food off in 'somalia'/
bussin shots at ya~when i 'pop' u 'lock' like 'breakdancers' im nice u gets no 'spotlight' like 'rap managers'/
sick like cancer son im diggin into ya~while ya skills about as 'hot' as an 'eskimo's body temperature'/
destruction im sendin you like opening 'mail bomb's a mess and ya flesh crushed and there's just a hollow space where ya neck was/

Hold on its not over

ya writs disturb me fuck wit me T i'll put holes in ya jersey cuz like 'james 'daughter gettin married u r not 'worthy'/
picture u servin me rip out ya spine now who got ya back son and im always on 'TOP'(tops)like 'grocery store contractors'/
i spit faster and blast wacker that means the whole KOS is shot~ u scared of me T's like kids who love 'cereal' u roll wit ya 'POPS'/
big t gets stopped he like kids who want 'goodies' on 'Nov 1st' he's 'miss-treated' he say he ill but like 'known fibbers' nobody 'believe's it'/

It's Done