Artist: 33 the Great f/ Timbo King
Album:  Swordsports
Song:   Bloody Battlegrounz
Typed by: Tha Masta

[Timbo King (33 the Great)]
Swordsports, 'Bo King, Fort Knox
Yeah, y'all know what this is
Bloody Battlegrounz
Yo.. (yeah)

Let off the 30/30, top of the roof
Yo pop-pop through yo' bulletproof
Cops'll persuit, murder one execute
Yeah, and cold body them niggas
It's that B.K. all day, Vietnam nigga
First blood, draw blood, flood the streets
With cocaine raps, numbin' off, don't turn the stove off
More fire burn, niggas clappin' heaters
Block party shootouts, four holes in your tweaters
Paint the town red, who shot Cornbread?
Pigs around the way, yo we all call 'em Boar's Head
Semi-automatic handgun, watch your man run
Blast son, SC430, crash one

You know what we do, we cop 'em and chop 'em, nigga

Aiyo, you catch a beatdown, gat in ya face, snub nose
Smell of murder, you heard of us, word to B.I.G.
We swerve, big sixes around corners, po-po on us
Breeze through and mack motor, bitches spot us
We them niggas that'll snatch yo' bitch
For real, for real, we livin' this
(What we livin'?) Bloody Battlegrounz

[33 the Great]
To my hip-hop sound, turn me up
Swordsports

For the love drugs, murder, incest, extra Beck's
Lowkey in the Lex, eyes on the detects
Dealers is vets, gamblers place bets in dark places
While the lookouts under surveillence, they play paces
Old school cats with pacemakers, they seen forty acres
We make silencers out of potatoes
Burglars to hustlers, house arrest around their ankles
Necks to sprained, rearranged, their chains tangled
Hip-hop, bebop, don't snake the coke spot
Don't tag my spot, don't call cops
Sit back relax while I watch the fiends teeth rot
I know where he's not and I know what he's got
'Bo King pass me life, insight and Fort Knox
Whatever comes, gonna come, in a lump sum
And most of all I smoke blunts by the tons
And get 'nough funds to get iron lungs
Cuz moves I be makin' them, and MC's I be hurtin' them
With my futuristic spit, also nomad status
Master of graphic craft scratches
Backspinnin' move breaker turned backstabber
Raw meetin' gunpowder to pierce that ribs
Prostitutes turn tricks with cizarian slips
I make Celestial hits, I believe in the kids
I seen too many wigs get split for nonsense
In the prom, you dead calm, sound the alarm
War hero with his leg blown off from Vietnam
Lucky Charms that draw harm, pass the firearm
Arm-Leg-Leg-Arm-Head 'til he's gone
Coke in the foil, nigga, this shit don't spoil
You catch a punk in your face if you make this shit fold
Catch your breath, and let's play Asian handball
By the time out you pass, I'ma see time stall
It's all about funds, growin' up in the slums
It's sad when we shed fire to bums
But fuck it, we stay in shape
Pull-ups on the fire escapes
Fucka who? We break a whole lot of milk crates
No mistake, bake this cake on clean plates
Movin' out of state of high rates
It's fundamentals
Ghetto trick-knowledgy is the saga and the trilogy
You must feel me
I'm hittin' L's in the spot
I cover all four elements of hip-hop
Plus the beatbox, just avoid it
Paranoia makes you get voided
Who ever thought that I'd record it
And flip a mil, yo, we throw bowlin' balls down hills
Yo, we livin' this, for real, for real
Bloody Battlegrounz