Joyner Lucas

Zeze Freestyle

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Yeah, nigga’s saying “what a great battle”
But you about to see a fucking snake rattle
Boy you just a pony with a pink saddle
I’m truly sorry that you stuck inside of Drake’s shadow

When are you gonna overcome?
When are you gonna level up?
When are you gonna grow another foot?
When are you gonna show us that you number one? (When?)
And everything that you accomplished in some years about to take me just a couple months

Don’t you think I’m bluffing either
I thought you were tougher, eager
How you almost signed to Justin Bieber
You look like a fucking beaver
Ten years in the game but yo’ ass still sitting on the fucking bleachers

Boy you just another diva
Heard yo’ grandmama kicked you out the house screaming “Tory we don’t fucking need you”
Why yo’ daddy up and leave you? (Why?)
I guess this is how they fucking treat you
And you my puppet, you my cousin skeeter

This ain’t what you wanted, they been waiting for it
I’m Joyner Lucas, what the fuck you niggas take me for
I pull up in a demon but I kill Satan for it
If you want attention Tory you gon’ have to pay me for it

All these hoes love me but you sucking niggas hate me for it
You roll up on me, catch a shot at a Mercedes door
The bullets fly, you replying like a lazy boy
All you do is cry, you a child, you my baby boy

You call yourself Tory after The Notorious Big
Biggie turning in his grave when he hear yo’ shit
Don’t ever think that you could ever come compare yo’ shit
Little girls and kids only want to feel yo’ shit

I skipped the plaques on my way to a Grammy
All your records soft and sweet, niggas think that you candy
Your niggas really convinced you that you think you can scare me
And you got identity issues, niggas think you a tranny, really?

Tory tell us why you always gotta lie in your rhymes
I know keeping up with lies can get tiring sometimes
You not a G and deep down you wanna hide sometimes
Staring at the sunshine and start crying sometimes

Your real name is Daystar, you been dying to shine
And when you sing it kinda sound like you dying sometimes
You make the type of tracks that make me silent inside
Nobody take you serious, put all the violence aside

Okay let’s talk about your plagiarism that you hate to mention
Or talk about the hate you giving to the greats you dissing
And that writer who wrote yo’ shit still ain’t get paid on that “Don’t Die” record
You should probably go pay that nigga

How the fuck you gonna talk about Kendrick when he a legend
Then go bite the nigga style on your record right at the ending
A 4 A.M flex 2 minute and 50 second
Sound exactly like the Art of Peer Pressure, go take a listen

You inspired by the niggas you name dropped
Catch fire in the rain, no umbrella to shelter you and no rain drops
When I seen you on Flex, I gave props
But we found out you stole Don Q shit from the train stop

You thought you were fly ’til the plane drop
Ugly motherfucker tryna stunt in a tank top
It’s no wonder why they used to feed yo’ ass with a slingshot
You my son, this the last time that I’m ever giving you a ring pop

Sit down, you on punishment
And don’t get up until you see me
And don’t even think about touching that TV
No more video games, no more phone, no more 3D
No more radio or boombox for your weak ass CD

Matter fact, give me your chains back and everything that I bought you
You a disgrace to this family and everything that I taught you

I hate to say it son but you make me sick
I should’a knew you weren’t shit when you came out with a baby dick
It’s no wonder why you pay for pussy, Tory you think you slick
All you do is lounge around the house all day like a lazy prick

Shit, highly disappointed in you son I need some answers
How come you couldn’t follow in my steps and be a dancer?
Or maybe write a book like me or be somebody’s grandpa
Instead you wanna be a fucking rapper with some hair plugs

No more rapping, give me your pen and paper
No more lying to the people how you the biggest gangster
Now hurry up and get your juicy out the refrigerator
You going to bed at eight o’clock and not a minute later

No I don’t wanna hear it
No, let this be a lesson
Close your mouth and go into your room like I suggested
I’m a get real Joe Jackson in a second
Matter of fact, give me your toys, I’m a add to the collection

I just did a show and got it lit little nigga
And my freestyles killing your originals nigga
Couldn’t name a bitch I couldn’t get little nigga
You a rebound, even Scottie Pippen know nigga

You ain’t from Toronto, put that on the Bible
I put six hollows inside your Ferragamo
Nigga you from Brampton, go spin a bottle
Bitch you’re from New England, me and Brady in the El Dorado

Now come get on my level, I’m hard as metal
I bomb the ghetto, I brought the shovel
I bury all of you ninja turtles
You Donatello, you soft as jello

You must be going with that off that amaretto
It’s hard to tell ’cause you soft as pillows
You fucking midget, I call you Elmo
I throw you out a fucking car window

I step all over your Margiello, you caught feelings
Yo’ heart spinning, my bars illing
I’m Bob Dylan, I’m John Lennon, I’m authentic
Your bars running no off limits
Don’t talk business, don’t talk, listen
I’m off this so you fuck this you fuck! Nigga

What, niggaa
F*** out my face nigga
Aye nigga look
We gonna get one in, pause
Let’s not do this back and forth shit no more
I, I think we know what’s up, you know
Ha ha ha, Joyner