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lirik lagu no competition ii – crock taylor

[intro: harvie lite]
i don’t know if this sh*t gon’ be first or last, but we back at it again

what’s poppin’

’sup yo, crock

my son char

yea

it’s harvie lite n*gga

[verse 1: harvie lite]
like if you take a crock pot, that’s full with ingredients, and you
put it over charcoal, that’s full with the minerals that could burn

then you spark a little light, and then watch it blow and it blur
then you gon’ get the 3 of us, and what’s cooking next i suppose
on a calm day, if we go hard, then it be storms, hails
bombs, just all over this sh*t, then a strong smell

crawling from something we k!lled, n*gga
this is just a warning, this what you up against, n*gga that’s facts
i been on my sh*t, been in my feelings, been in my bag
been on a mission, studied the greats, stayed in the back
seen some wack n*ggas shining and most of it made me laugh
i know some underrated n*ggas, on all this sh*t, they will black
“and my stomach turning n*gga, just feed me, i need somе souls
if you ain’t gon’ do nothing, just watch it and let me go”

man, i cannot let you out, ’causе them n*ggas cool, they my bros
“you’re only competition is crock, char, and m.o?
some of the best n*ggas rapping is most them n*ggas you know?”
some of the best n*ggas rapping is most them n*ggas i know

but any other n*gga, i swear we gon’ turn ’em ghost
“and we gon’ turn ’em ghost”

[verse 2: crock taylor]
i tried to tell ’em on p.o.p, when it come to
competition, n*gga we o.d, slowly
k!lling all your lyrics lowkey, i be mad high while i’m doing it
angel on my right shoulder, yelling “don’t ruin ’em!”

devil on my left, he trying to tell me “go through with it!”
a bunch of cold foolishness, this sh*t is so stupid, it’s
no reason for me to even go there, it’s no fair
but honestly, i been lowkey the whole year, f*ck it

ahhhhh yeaaaaa, it’s like you know what’s ’bout to happen
’bout to smack your eye out, you like “ay ay captain!
this guy’s not capping”, that’s right, i’ll slap him
out his mind, and have my guys wild loud, laughing
yea, n*ggas dying, crying and sh*t ’cause your hat flew
smack him in the streets, i could smack him up on the track too
my lyrics stick to the instrumental like tattoos, or track glue
flip your wig when the rhythm attack you, it’s natural

this the sh*t that’ll fit ’em in shackles
bars for you n*ggas, ain’t trying to put the paws on you n*ggas
but if he play, char press pause on you n*ggas
soft n*ggas, mad ’cause we sauce n*ggas

trash n*ggas, y’all n*ggas, wack n*ggas, all n*ggas
obviously excluding us, ’cause you losers can’t fool with us
on april 1st, or any day i put the pen to paper, work the
track out, stretch the beat, so how you trying to flex with me?

how you trying to pull up and press a n*gga that rep the streets?
never a starter, have harvie end it disrespectfully
i represent every borough, especially queens
n*gga

[verse 3: char]
it’s the man gone bad, throw the dough in the bag
b*tch i’m back spitting acid, on save allen ballads
competition trash, so i race n*ggas backwards
rhymes dumb potent like i laced ’em with crack, i
ride for my guys and my gal, don’t you ask me
lay with a dime, like a pass straight from magic
double entendre, flows pragmatic
my foes get ravaged, from warlord tactics

black noran radd, power cosmic with the strap, the
style half lavish, i’m shopping at saks fifth
k!lling in new york, ball out on a new court
border abuse, i broke bones when i use force

ain’t never slipping, never tripping off a b*tch
catch me in the corner, being boring, sipping on some sh*t
then my head get to spinning, ’til i’m back up in the mix
with the motherf*cking juice, i’m like a f*ckin narcissist

it’s jason kidd with the features, i need 36 assists
it get cold in the winter, i need furs for the clique
catch me sliding through the city, sipping syrup like the pimp
bumping underground kings, now i’m walking with a limp

hoe i’m rising out the ashes like a phoenix, what the f*ck you n*ggas
fiendin’, got that dopamine, needle for your feet flow
rolling locomotive, keep it going, b*tch the seats low
supervillain, got the beat bouncing like a ’64

icicle flows, pack raps like peter packed pickled peppers
placed in a pink basket, in peachy weather
purest form of a perfection, constantly in progression
came to apply the pressure to n*ggas that need addressing

it’s lofi, be the gang squad, i’ma bang hard
make the rhymes ring from baghdad to bangkok
to the bank top ranked, get blanked and shanked tryna play
put the thang to your membrane, and bang it

- crock taylor

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