Battles kunta vs Bluhco
RULES
no rules
Max of 29 lines
THIS BATTLE IS OVER
kunta won this battle!
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CHALLENGER'S RAP
- Flexing Cash On God,
- Freewriting this shit like im on the Radar,
- Fee to write for me, pay it up, station like a Railcar,
- In between a screen like Rails and Jail Bars,
- Im Freestyling and im Pretty Stylish, Unlike them Cookie Jars
- Hoodie to the Boogie, Ima boogie with this hoodie, goodie? if not, kick rocks
- yall stink, yall in marsh, its mars shit, martian
- runnin' away isnt an option, ya heard? before ya ego gets shattered, and bodies get droppin'
- glocks get poppin', hiding behind boxes, its the free world though
- like "Fuck my Ex Hoe" as I'm marking X's And O's and aiming high to low from your toes to high up
- ima multiply myself, just to not comply, Im flexing on the Com with teeth pliers
- this nigga slow as fuck, but he aint michael myers
- I ain't another one of them suicidal writers
- I gotta care for my homies, like im changing some babies diapers
- im foaming out the mouth like im writing for rabid cyphers
- bullets gon fly til someone throws a punch like martial fighters
- this that martial law, with a partial withdraw with a feigned retreat
- im too amazed to reap, yall to dazed and put into the place you belong after you got blazed to keep
- too much heavy fat to creep across the concrete, im a trucker like a guy in a chevy with many tats
- yall tryna sneak away like a bunch of mini rats, pointing the gat to his shit like "gimme racks"
- government tryna do shit like i dont want tax, then we deport like I.C.E
- like nigga, look me in my E-Y-E's before you tell me to see reality
- gotta stop ya like some DMZ's, pay up before you get robbed like rogue DMV workers
- then get shot afterwards like XXX, shoot ya with the Tisas PX
- then ride away jolly with my BMX, gave her some molly not tryna force her to do some S-E-X
- stock gotta exchange like some TSX, like the uzi we gotta rock with some fresh gucci
- tryna spin I say absolutely, cause yall boutta see derange in himself, shoot from afar, yall gotta be ranged
- tryna be wise yall aint saged, i got powers like mages to manipulate to win all cases
- make them all faces shocked, as the top gets cocked back, yall get knocked back, yall lookin' at me like the wrestler's rock back.
DEFENDER'S RAP
- Kunta from Compton? Cool. Just not the part that's scary.
- Claimin’ poetry, but your pen game barely carry. High school bars sound sweet like cherry,
- This battle ain’t fair — I’m Jason with a dictionary.
- You rap for fun? Cute. I lap your lungs with smoke,
- You from “outskirts”? Bet — you ain't stood close to dope.
- You out here writin’ poems, I'm out here causin’ tombstones
- I spit smoke that stains skin and turns Compton into a ghost zone
- You dropped an album? Bet — hope it flops in silence
- I treat your fans like limbs — I cut 'em off in violence
- I'm not the one to play — you a hobby rapper, I’m war mode
- Every word I say leaves blood on the chord node
- Boogie with a hoodie? Nah, I’ll boogie with your head
- Use your lyrics as a thread — stitch your soul to the dead
- Mark Xs and Os? I mark maps with red Shoot from low to high — leave Kunta’s ego spread
- Cut Kunta’s collar clean, carve caution signs in his consciousness
- Crack cartilage calmly, crush his confidence with consonants
- Cross-check his coffin with claws, corrupt his concepts constant
- Clap his cranium cold — I'm a carnivore with content
- I’m surgical — split a rapper in 5 like a playlist Spit so acidic, I melt through the stainless
- Kunta claim pain, but he never felt anguish I give 'em smoke 'til his mic turn faceless
- He poetic? I'm prophetic — I predict him laid out
- Heart skipped a beat — I’m the verse that fades out
- Fee to write for me"? Bro, who’d pay for trash? You railcar slow, stuck beggin’ for gas
- Your screen bars thin, they don’t even clash You jailbar rap — I break out, then dash
- Mars bars got you feelin’ like a Martian star
- But you run from the truth, duckin’ every bar "Not an option"? Cool, then stand where you are
- Watch your ego get smoked like a stolen car This ain’t battle rap — it’s a ritual
- You walked in with verses, you leave here residual Outskirts rapper? You stay on the fringe
- Kunta’s murder came quick — now get buried with your pen.