Paroles de Rap Battle, Pt. 3
Taylor: Bro like on a real note, like, I don't think you're feeling your own album anymore like it's more about like... MadonnaDillon: What the fuck you say? I do love my album! I can prove it to you.
Taylor/Dillon: RAP BATTLE!
Taylor: Yeah, 2Virgins.
Dillon: And T-Niffer! Yayeah!
Taylor: 100% serious, Paul Walker beats, Fast & Furious I'm curious but not bi, you kissed six guys? So do I, airplane fly. Push drive Abe Lincoln never lie. Racist they hate guys Uncle Si, do me a favor: Go die. You don't want to hear the rest of my album? Why?
Dillon: Yo, catch me ballin' in the beaver with the top off, bring your girl to my crib I'll take her top off. Got some hair from a black girl, I call that black off, they say I'm crispy when I'm on this beat, yeah you dare me? Dairy meats, uh, yo bitch calls me the mister. I take all yo girls, call me Adolf Hitler. You throw me to the side, smellin' like apple pie.
Taylor: Thomas Jefferson a hypocrite, sign me up for every event cause I'm olypmic. Buy my album? I don't give a shit. Long as I make at least a hit! How many licks does is take for the center of my lolli-cock? Rap battle me, I need to stop. Sandusky jams to Kidz Bop, Casey Anthony throws a baby when she sees the cops, pullin' blonde hair like Goldie Locks.
Dillon: Make your girl wet like Michael Ander-falls. Can't fit my dick in a straw. Louis Vuitton belt buckles, red girls with freckles, yeah, fuck me with your meanest red-chopped Adidas. Black and white, camo pants. Aeropostale frag-er-ance. Yeah, call me Bill Nye. White girl, no thighs. Yeah, I'm fruitier than a box of Fruit Loops, like a buck-tooth Sabertooth, killed the beat; vitality. Fucked my dog; call that beastiality. Versace A's, Afrcia without aids.
Taylor: Yeah one more time I'm going in.
Taylor: Line after line like a fucking book, Chef Boiarde cook. Wanna see my dick? Take a look. Grab the microscope, open up to my parents like an envelope. My shit dope. Holy shit, Pope! See my bros and we interlope, quick dead like a quick scope. Spit raw? Say no. Butthole loose cause I dropped a soul, on purpose. My ryhmes are worthless. (I hope evey fangirl heard this.)
Dillon: Yo, my daughter's a failure, and my grandpa's a sexual predator, and my son's a drug dealer. Well, uh, what's the Illuminati? Precious with a skinny body? America without weed? Ha, that's like me without herpes! Or "Kim Kerdarsheeun" without flirting! Yeah, dollar bills. Snapbacks and flat bills. Signed a 20K deal.
Dillon: You did pretty good.
Taylor: Man, like, I for real felt that, like, like seriously I felt that like sometimes it's like an internet router. Like, it's sometimes there for you, but sometimes it get blown away by like a tornado and like you're looking for like a cereal box but then there's no Fruit Loops in it. Like, you feel that?
Dillon: Yeah... You guys make sure to listen to the rest of the album like this kid's tryna use this money to get laid like he's been having a rough time getting a girlfriend, like, we really need your guy's support on this one.
(Thanks to Katelynn Springer for these lyrics)
Dillon: And T-Niffer! Yayeah!
Taylor: 100% serious, Paul Walker beats, Fast & Furious I'm curious but not bi, you kissed six guys? So do I, airplane fly. Push drive Abe Lincoln never lie. Racist they hate guys Uncle Si, do me a favor: Go die. You don't want to hear the rest of my album? Why?
Dillon: Yo, catch me ballin' in the beaver with the top off, bring your girl to my crib I'll take her top off. Got some hair from a black girl, I call that black off, they say I'm crispy when I'm on this beat, yeah you dare me? Dairy meats, uh, yo bitch calls me the mister. I take all yo girls, call me Adolf Hitler. You throw me to the side, smellin' like apple pie.
Taylor: Thomas Jefferson a hypocrite, sign me up for every event cause I'm olypmic. Buy my album? I don't give a shit. Long as I make at least a hit! How many licks does is take for the center of my lolli-cock? Rap battle me, I need to stop. Sandusky jams to Kidz Bop, Casey Anthony throws a baby when she sees the cops, pullin' blonde hair like Goldie Locks.
Dillon: Make your girl wet like Michael Ander-falls. Can't fit my dick in a straw. Louis Vuitton belt buckles, red girls with freckles, yeah, fuck me with your meanest red-chopped Adidas. Black and white, camo pants. Aeropostale frag-er-ance. Yeah, call me Bill Nye. White girl, no thighs. Yeah, I'm fruitier than a box of Fruit Loops, like a buck-tooth Sabertooth, killed the beat; vitality. Fucked my dog; call that beastiality. Versace A's, Afrcia without aids.
Taylor: Yeah one more time I'm going in.
Taylor: Line after line like a fucking book, Chef Boiarde cook. Wanna see my dick? Take a look. Grab the microscope, open up to my parents like an envelope. My shit dope. Holy shit, Pope! See my bros and we interlope, quick dead like a quick scope. Spit raw? Say no. Butthole loose cause I dropped a soul, on purpose. My ryhmes are worthless. (I hope evey fangirl heard this.)
Dillon: Yo, my daughter's a failure, and my grandpa's a sexual predator, and my son's a drug dealer. Well, uh, what's the Illuminati? Precious with a skinny body? America without weed? Ha, that's like me without herpes! Or "Kim Kerdarsheeun" without flirting! Yeah, dollar bills. Snapbacks and flat bills. Signed a 20K deal.
Dillon: You did pretty good.
Taylor: Man, like, I for real felt that, like, like seriously I felt that like sometimes it's like an internet router. Like, it's sometimes there for you, but sometimes it get blown away by like a tornado and like you're looking for like a cereal box but then there's no Fruit Loops in it. Like, you feel that?
Dillon: Yeah... You guys make sure to listen to the rest of the album like this kid's tryna use this money to get laid like he's been having a rough time getting a girlfriend, like, we really need your guy's support on this one.
(Thanks to Katelynn Springer for these lyrics)
Paroles powered by LyricFind
