URLtv – Loaded Lux vs. Midwest Miles Lyrics

[Round 1: Loaded Lux]
You know he gon’ bring the poker game face, he done studied the game tapes
Well let him come, shit he could tell me what side I look better from
I’m never sprung, marks think they test smart and they step sharp
That’s why I make that ass look bad like stretch marks
Catch hard feelings and, slack up like high waters the tides on ya’
I’m back for the side order, try warn him
Man play mega I’m Vega with a pen
Slip dog, get ripped more than Schwarzenegger in the gym
Shit, day he get a win, there’ll be visiting stations
Rivers in nations, Mars a have civilization
He’s a phony henchman
You in Lux house, you flinch you get duffed out like you drinking with Homer Simpson
It’s no contending, and this my third hobby, with words I’ll be
Next to rule, and I ain’t Irv Gotti
Shit moms knew it long through it schooling ya’, all my wrongdoings where they duke it and throwing hadoukens
Ain’t no being ‘all you can’
B is a dead guy running, his chest large pumping
His head [?] punches and his left eye jumping
You repped yo’ side, my set gon’ ride
Lies, tell me gas prices had you petrified
I check both sides, when crossing I run the route
I’m the king, I cue pawns, now cut it out
You know what this shit about, it’s hundreds to fling
You gon’ either jump in the ring or get under the wing
Ain’t sharing with the dogs, we got shit to clear them all
I be in your lobby letting that thing sing, I be airing halls
He don’t wanna spar mucus
His bitch spit better, lips wet up, she done been in more laps than Carl Lewis
I write my wrongdoings ’bout life in the hard ruin
The metro card student, he duck and he dodge through it
How you living Miles?
“In my mom’s roof I’m hostage, can’t fondle my ostrich
Got a job moving boxes”
I pitch the trap grams
Put down that same hustle, distribute rap jams
My disc get wrapped, scanned – my lyrics backhand
More DVD niggas tried to put me on the cam than a Diplomat fan
He don’t click and clack cans, Miles hit dust if his shot bust
He like a Grand Theft cheat code, his guns just popped up
He gon’ say I’m wrong, well, when he right?
I come heavy he gon’ bitch up – this emcee light
I come to town like [?], wallet or I’m violent
I beat you till you leaking violet
And they thought Big was the wildest
‘Lux who on your level new?’
Very few, measured to a medical incredible never met a dude better who
Think they on my pedestal
Get my fist in ya’ whole mouth
I’m Theraflu, I be knocking these niggas cold out
And I don’t hold out, it’s strike first then the pipe burst
Might jerk, squeeze on niggas like tight shirts
Duck or your head a be struck, your life dirt
We come through, Con Edison trucks – you light work

[Round 1: Midwest Miles]
Fake niggas write verses, and fill ’em with lies
But I see the girl in you Lux, from the bitch in your eyes
Who you fooling? You a chick with a dick, a bitch in disguise
And I’m a real hood nigga, who would get killed for my pride
I peel with the nine, bust off my aim dead nice
For that cane, you get it worse than Harold did at the red light
Nigga get your head right, you ain’t never did no homi
You a little nigga like Martin
I’m in his apartment like Cole
Well he see me I’m rolling with the Tommy
Tommy gun run out, I’m going for the shotty
Pop him and leave shotgun pellets all over yo’ body
I’m feeling big as Yao Ming, when I’m rolling with the rocket
You’s the faggot nigga in jail, holding niggas’ pockets
The way I take his bread I’m like a hole in his pocket
Watch sparks fly from the chrome when I pop it
Your ho I only pop it when I’m lazy off the piff
She unzip a nigga pants, and go crazy with the dick
I bust off I’m gone, man I’m Swayze on the chick
She a jump off, a freak, you having babies with the bitch
The way I fuck the shit out her, she should pay me for the dick
I’ma send her home to you like, “You shady lil’ bitch”
The four-fifth spark and it bang you
I done caught more niggas slipping, than guardian angels
The Desert Eagle put a hole in you, and your guardian angel
I’m on streets and I’m like Satan, and dog is a angel
You see me hunting niggas, mask and a pipe
For them jewels you get your ass beat worse than Passion of Christ
I’ma prove this nigga washed up, after tonight
If I get close enough, shit I’m stabbing him twice
Listen, my gun like a good nut, just something that I had to bust
I seen you couple Smacks ago, hollering and screaming, spitting on everything, sounding like Daffy Duck
Two guns up, I’m aiming for it, you Daffy Duck
I was aiming for his head but a nigga yelled “Dog somebody tell Daffy duck”
Lil’ faggot fuck, I could hardly wait
To expose the nigga from the Nutcracker video doing the Harlem Shake
Real niggas gon’ see it man, dog is fake
I’m here every month, I see all the money that Harlem make
This nigga wanna be 50, but you standing in my face looking more like Carlton Banks
I’m locked and loaded Lux
When that Lorcin start sparking
Hit his chest, and rip his vest all off him
My killers all awesome I tell ’em kill all ’em
Catch Lux at the Rucker, he getting more shot often than Spalding
Nigga I’m balling

[Round 2: Loaded Lux]
They see my niggas up north getting full on that jack [?]
First Smack back I got a nigga to back-smack
I love it, quit it adjusting your fitted, I’m twisting your cap back
‘Cause I bang hard, these game-card niggas just scratching matches
He rapping like he trapping
You sick say to just imagine, you sound like Tinactin, nigga you tough-acting
The fact is, you’s a waste of my motherfucking time nigga
You cutting into your mother’s fucking time nigga
You don’t come up and grind with us
I don’t owe you no paper
You owe me, fuck is you? I’m doing the favor
The rookies wanna take shots, well
I just get ’em open off the picks
Slick give me that Jigga nigga, ’cause he don’t know when to quit
I say Miles, leave that bitch, I aim to stiff fit
It’s why you lick clit, your dick slip
Wished you could find somebody you could stick with
It’s a picnic out here and only lions eat
And you type, lie and sleep inside the street
Type joes, hit car shows, and pimp the driver’s seat
Miles ain’t seen flipping doors before Dominique
I’m in his momma suite, she throating the thing
I tell her where the better, yeah, hop up on this pole and spring
I ain’t rap shit sole, ’cause the rap ring hold
Corny niggas they give deals like Sach’s Fifth Clothes
But Lux say, I got a style like I backswing hoes
I’m witty I’m slicker than that hair on Nat King Cole
But you, you sound simple, real jack-be-nimble
Type a guy just, rock up by with lullabies
I mean, what could you do? Tattle tell her in a cellar
I seek the crew, jumped a nigga for his shoes
I mean, y’all could do it too
So they ain’t built like that
Well Loaded, shit I’m just Lux nigga, skills like that
When you get back to the D, with a L nigga
‘Cause you repping, tell ’em I broke down you, and them D12 niggas
He’s a fruit Smack
Him swift, that’s bizarre
He’s a con artist playing conniving but, where’s the proof at?
Ask the Mook cat
Mention my nickname you probably smell shit stains
I’m in the ring breaking ’em up like Mills Lane
You’s the fucking meal ticket, cocksucker deal with it
I’m over the hills, tell your guys don’t die over some hills, bitch
You oughta quit
‘Cause I’ll flip like a jolly dolphin
Who ever body guard is pushing up flower gardens
Lie on the track, and die on your back with the trolly charging
Rip your necks out, poke your chest out like Dolly Parton
This is so Johnny Carson
Which strip you working?
You working, helping other businesses, bringing in health benefits
Last battle, you was hungry nigga
Mouth full of spit
You looked like a Mike Epps joke with the white around yo’ lips
Bruising the nigga, thrown in the mud
He was confused from the hits, he didn’t know who he was
He blew through the strip like a Hoover Crip, throwing up blood
You should brag that b-rag that’s smart kid
‘Cause blood’s the only thing the tar get from the target
He another bad guy, in the Steven Seagal flick
He getting his skull kicked
I wanna see [?]
And back at the apartment, and this shit looking crucial
Look at me nigga, I did this to you

[Round 2: Midwest Miles]
Last time I checked, I was the man on these streets
They call me ‘Barbecue,’ I keep heat when it’s beef, peep
You had your time and let it pass along
Just another battle rapper, making trashy songs
You a ‘hot 16′ nigga, a hot 16 niggas, ay y’all out the car infrared beam niggas
I’m ’bout my money my paper, ‘nah mean nigga?
So for that cream nigga I Martin Luther King niggas
These rap niggas don’t love me, they wanna see me hit
Slumped over in my ride and take my shit
I got news I’m strapped, you can take this clip
[?] niggas be gangsters and I hate this shit
I can’t stand niggas like you, yeah they make me sick
Type of niggas get all tough on camera, but behind the scenes they take in dick
I ain’t with the back and forth and slick shit
I get on some quick shit
And pop him in his head
Like “Bitch, come on, come up out of that bread”

[Round 3: Loaded Lux]
Fuck is he liquored up?
If he was ever sicker than Lux he was calling nurses
He should be parked in church with, pastors and psalm verses
Sketched out getting, stretched out in long hearses
Liars should be put in a box for con verses
Don’t talk to me in battles like you could afford a castle
Yeah you a baller, you always walking where you travel
I point rock his joints pop and your joints lock
And blippie, it’s like Pippy, I come with a long stocking
Who in here think he hot? See, you remind ’em of O’Neal
They probably think you should kill but you ain’t got no shot
You ain’t in the block [?]
All he sold is green
You ain’t ever pumped [?] till you heard ‘Shoulder Lean’
He know I’m gon’ bring it when I bet
I’m with his set, that nigga [?] the [?], where you at?
Get this scaredy cat a bottle of Ritalin, hollering riffing
Slow pussy gotta be kidding
The word out, yeah, you the nigga they work with
I knew you was providing the names from when we was conversing
I told him, I got a lot of spots ’cause I’m trying to gain
You know what he say? I should try a different detergent
You’ll settle for airbags, I need a jet
Like I’m selling cheese from TV, I need the aircraft
Make the cheddar stretch I mean, I’m hitting every step
Shit, Roseanne old man, I’m doing heavy sets
Yeah flex, poke your chest make your shirt break
Fake Superman, worst shape small desk and some workspace
Your Clark Kent [?] rims ain’t worth squirt Mase
He humble in the jungle, he wouldn’t rumble an earthquake
He faking, I’m funky with it
Fungus with a thousand punches, I be coming up with shit
You swear I’m coming down with something
See y’all nothing
Pump him, get his jaw spread
Boston should market this beef, I want the bull’s head
Long bread, if I can’t get broke off, he will
Walk with a cane, cause you old dog
You ain’t no menace to society
He Chauncey, sit in the pad mad
Pistol whipped ’cause he grabbed half
[?]
His niggas kick in the pad and the remote then they laugh
This look like Lux on his tape, whipping your ass
This shit sad, you shoulda stuck to hustling
You pack bags
I’m bad, you fucking garbage, man you rap trash
Who you gon’ blast?
Who you smoke last nigga?
You wouldn’t take out takeout, broke-ass nigga
You smoke trash nigga
Your weed look like parsley
I hit that Marley, I dangle ’round the angels like Bargsley
Arch, seat back, the Cris’ gone like Farley
Bangers in the change and the car tunes ain’t Archie
It ain’t a beat I kills later, you weak on the ball Screech
Catch me in the cut, if your bob through she fuck
‘Cause you can’t fuck and I ain’t picking up, when the call beep
Bitch to smush, she just a nut, Gnarls Barkley
She fucking crazy, was never Usher lady
Gold digger with some broke nigga that had Busta baby
I told Kanye b, “You slip that mickey, to that mouse she ain’t a minis”
He like “Yo send me these samples”
She a bug bunny, like to get her jelly jammed, f her man
Play him on every hand
His tool won’t fly like Peter Pan
And if it did, never land

[Round 3: Midwest Miles]
Fuck the guns, take it hand-to-hand I fight your ass
When it’s time to ride this nigga claiming that his license bad
I ain’t the type to brag but I bust a gun
And I be damned if I lose to a faggot-ass nigga that still suck his thumb
Your life on the line, you should fucking run
I pulled the gun that nigga froze, he’s fucking dumb
You had a little buzz Lux, what the fuck happened?
You in videos shaking your ass more than you are rapping
I’m a captain with beams and clips
Since that one hot Smack battle, we ain’t seen you since
I squeeze the fifth with the meanest clip
And if I say he’s a bitch I mean the shit
I hold the shit and I’m truly ill

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