Loaded Lux vs. Murda Mook Round 2 (2014) lyrics

by

F. Scott Fitzgerald


[Round 2: Loaded Lux]
Mook, that verse was shaky, it’s looking like the fortune tellers accounts had no where to count
How n*ggas tell you your career gon’ be on fire when one day and leave out the part where you standing in front of the dragon mouth
I’ll drag you out them schemes and things you been acting out
Attack me how? Personally you’re lyrically traffic along the route
But this where your delivery start to look like carry out
Puff had you out to dinner after that bout, that sh*t had my boy thinking he bad
And that’s exactly what got me in daddy’s house
I go straight to work on graveyard shifts
You on a reality show when in all reality you nothing like [?] script
Again, our last battle, right? Did you bring them two chicks?
That wouldn’t make you the sh*t
I mean you had 50 level raps, but a n*gga facing the mat, all make-up sh*t
What about a good amount of 60? You the same dumbfounded look when [?]
Navigation system re-routing, n*gga, you turn your head on these verses
You gon’ get a hook around and I got news for ya, you can’t hang with a n*gga this grounded
You bust up, you get your pen stuck
I studied your make up to see how you would look like without it
You surrounded, you been fraud
You couldn’t [?] with the rock and post up with a gem star
They all [?] against y’all, I clinch draw
Right where your company face when sh*t end wrong
Blood on the leaves, what you believe? A n*gga get a battle with Lux and forget to breathe
They gon’ honor his [?], I promise, the cameras catching your karma
My [?] done fathered, God had created his author, made me [?], Mook
I could be painter or terminator, you turning white, boy, watch [?] get Jon Connor
I’m nicer than your mother mother with this grammar, n*gga, I beat you like big momma
That drama had you hip hopping, it’s nothing like the genre
[?] telling you to tuck in your pajamas
[?] blood clot, parking like a Charger
[?] squeezing tighter than the muffle shirt from under armor
You can make it, Murda, how you do that you gon’ be a f*cking martyr
I’mma clap mine in ya vagina, bleeding, they tryna hold his jeans in with the big stitches and rap n*ggas
I figure they’d love you in designer
You a liar in her with the truth treasurer, these embezzler, this the sh*t I don’t like, chief
[?] you no Chris Hansen, why would you put that girl in the house? You’ll never catch a predator
I remember ya, you was young, you was hot
I remember that battle, my n*gga, everything you were saying
And how it sound ten times hot cause you going against the greatest
But, Mook, I do love the greatest, you believed in the hype
That’s why I waited ‘till your shots started fainting, then you compared you to Mike
[?] it’s no wonder you’ll never be like when you was younger
I got a Broadway to play on now
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