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lirik lagu t-rex vs. rum nitty – snoop dogg’s gladiator school

[round 1: rum nitty]
b*tch i’ll pistol whip you until it’s blood on the fifth
then let the tool drop
don’t clean it, wake up the next day with a maroon 5
cool guy
but you say the wrong sh*t we get to runnin’ through ya area
lettin’ two toolies off
smokin’ like two dual exhausts
m*fflers on a chevy truck
snoop hit me like, “how ’bout t*rex?”
“if he want it cool. i’ll bury him.”
soon as it start he gettin’ washed up, that’s coming to america
rex you finna die these rounds
we brought the riders down
i keep the silencer on somethin’ big, t…that’ll make him quiet down
i see a lot of n*ggas gucci, louie, designered down
but if one shot from me goes (migos) through ya versace versace, i’ll be ducked off in china town
sniper rounds, pick his son off the jungle gym
i don’t need explanation
but they’ll be tryin’ to revive him off the playground
that’s recess*ation (resuscitation)
stop playin’
i told cuz from the gate, we can catch that fade; cast away
i will son (wilson) you and put blood in ya face
wait, there’s enough sh*lls in this pump pump for ya whole motherf*ckin’ gang
‘it ain’t no fun’ if ya homies can’t have none
i come off the trunk and 20 rain
i’m a ‘serial k!lla’
you ain’t finna do a m*th*f*ckin’ thang
cause you already know what this can turn into dawg (dogg), ‘what my (m*th*f*ckin’) name?’
bang
n*gga jump i gotta bust a k
but with this .45 i’m ac green, i don’t f*ckin’ (f*ck and) play
that toolie airin’; abusive parents, better run away
or get put underground for free n*gga, the harriet tubman way
right now
my .40 on i keep mine
you’re lebron’s age, if you left the heat you’d be goin’ home…to meet god!
i promise, this chopper hit ya squad up
and leave exit wounds the size of glory holes
you all (wall) f*cked
the homie told me, “you should hit a l!ck while you down there.”
n*gga get his chain sn*tched for stylin’
and if he don’t come off that ice, buck it (bucket) on a celebrity, that’s a challenge
you wildin’, n*gga cross me, sh*lls bust
gut shot like it’s sodium on a slug
we saw t (salty) curl up
you wanna die hoe?
aye magic, the new name for my .44 is (forest) “whitaker”
i shoot that b*tch with one eye low
ya whole front side go
if that steel cl!ck you will get drill tips
take ya whole class out, if any one on that field trip
that shootin’ sh*t we still wit’
speed loader, the clip go from zero to a hundred n*gga, real quick
real sh*t
you can’t keep it real yourself
n*gga suicide or i’ll do the job, you decide
(k!ll yaself)
[round 1: t*rex]
grown man bars, somethin’ he gotta deal with
no matter how many of them fabricated lines he just said it ain’t gon’ equal up to this real sh*t
now let me gettin’ into this real sh*t
i’m from that block where they spray lead, rum
where the little kids sleep with hammers just in case there’s a boogie man under they bed, rum
i’ll turn ya block to the night of the living dead, rum
i’ll l!ck a (liquor) shot and have ya whole top red rum
i’m a gladiator for real, i skipped the school
after danja (‘danger’), he’ll disappear like mystikal
i’ll bump a n*gga on purpose that’s what i meant to do
his stylist came here with that coffin, it was fit for you
i treat his chin like a phone he get his jaw tapped
beef? his only options is fall dead or fall back
a n*gga can’t have an open casket when his skull cracked
ayo calicoe, his people want to see him, they buried him in his ball cap
i’m from 112th street, i really mean this
i mean i’m true to my religion it’s in my jeans (genes) b*tch
catch you on ya block, get everybody on ya team hit
whoever live gon’ have to get they stitches from a seamstress
with no mailing address, when i send a shot it’s a center shot
he in front of the p.a.l., get e’rybody at that center shot
like a waiter with an open tab, keep sendin’ shots
point/shoot, i got the power for it (forward) that’s a center shot
you better hold ya head ‘fore i take it off
or stab you with this knife in ya face and try to break it off
or i can go and let that .80 off
but that gauge will make his head look like a pitbull came and ate it off
dot mobb, we a rider crew
we got some b*tches wit’ us they ridas too
but you a crip, surf a crip, daylyt a crip, oh i see what snoop dogg tryin’ to do
so i’m a squeeze until you bleed all the crip outta you
i don’t care if you crip or blood you’ll be one bl**dy crip or one crippled blood
easy!
[round 2: rum nitty]
in came the party [?]
but a headshot will have more thoughts (thots) out the top than mardi gras
i’m at his b*tch house with wire cutters like, “where that motherf*cka keep the money ma?”
oh you wanna play? then a finger comin’ off.” ronnie lott
i feel like you in the way of my money and for that you gotta die rex
face shot and you’ll straight drop for my piece of the pie rex (pyrex)
why flex?
that ain’t what you want t
if my shooters throw the toast it’s like used to coach the coach
you’ll be done g
it’s all gucci until i tell his b*tch to come through
and have her eat this d*ck with a condom on it
that’s a jimmy choo (chew), true my squad run it
take off runnin’ for jaw bumpin’
baow!
but ya back finna…dunun…be out like jaws comin’
you do not want it
this what y’all call “legit”?
it’s funny how, he’s gon’ get this work, when he’s the one y’all callin’ (call in) sick
my n*ggas ’bout it
bring k!llers ’round him
make everybody get ghost
when i put a bullet into t, knock spirits out him
you a k!ller? doubt it
you the type to get caught for forgery
but it’s f*cked up how you got your chain sn*tched
you got robbed for jewelry
[rex]
they dead

[rum nitty]
go ‘head jump, that .44’s on me
i promise you’re guaranteed to get yours if we’re warrin’ t (warranty)
the fans ask me, “aye, you and t*rex. who’s finna die tonight?”
my reply? “michael jai white”
the black dino might black dynomite
real life
don’t get started with me
i pull that tec squeeze and left t (lefty) shot; james harden release
i tell him, “keep quiet or get mutilated.”
i’ll cut a limb off ya
and have your whole arm in a basket
that’s vince carter
with this big chopper, it’s goin’ down
picture this
if i shoot this baby inside this b*tch it make an ultra sound (ultrasound)
baow! tone it down
you dyin’ h*lla easy
b*tch i’ll lose control and whip rex like tyga lamborghini
don’t be alarmed people, he’s non lethal
get within arm reach it’s all cheek, i’ll open palm sleep you
it’s all bad if my squad greet you
seen he had on the wrong colors, then that rocket blew (blue); don cheadle
so go ‘head, throw ya cap
walk around like done k!lled somethin’
that sh*t won’t work on me
you gon’ have to throw a real one
don’t believe me? i’ll demonstrate
pistole whip you
make you eat the b*tt of the gun like kevin gates
real sh*t
you can’t keep it real yourself
n*gga suicide or i’ll do the job, you decide, k!ll yaself

[round 2: t*rex]
grown man bars is somethin’ he gotta deal wit’
no matter how many fabricated lines he just said it ain’t gon’ equal up to this real sh*t
dot mobb, we drag n*ggas up
body bag ’em, toe tag ’em and bag n*ggas up
this n*gga really ain’t that nice, it seem like snoop dogg done gassed n*ggas up
well as long as he know that .40 and that .9 spit together i’ll call ’em daz and kururpt
y’all got ’em pumped up
y’all gon’ get rum punched ’til he punch drunk like he was just drinkin’ on rum punch
he can’t f*ck wit’ me, that’s true
my coupe is like a bruise, it’s black/blue, you know me i’m that dude
i’ll stock the bank up and then roll blammers
you ain’t even gotta touch the dice to get ya head cracked too
you dead if y’all stunt
mook said i had an ego problem surf
but he put the desert on front
i bet that he’ll run like he goin’ for a rebound
url clip cause all i’m spittin’ is three rounds
i’ll bring the beef to n*ggas
i’m like c*town
can’t find the body, funeral is for his feet now
i delete clowns, my mission is complete now
i got the fo’ and the fifth, they shippin’ me three pounds
yeah, i got the weed now
the dubs look like fifties
red gold dark, look like pennies
i roll up on his side with the .40 or the .9
shoot his chicken noodle soup and the soda off the side
baow! you’ll die if you want
he got some nerve i swear
evel knievel died tryin’ to stunt
come to my block tryin’ to pump and i ain’t eatin’ witchu
pick a corner store that you dyin’ in front
i’ll let the lead blast ya
i stepped it up like stairmasters
i’ll have him eatin’ slugs like fear factor

[rum nitty]
you know that’s ya old sh*t. you know that’s his old sh*t

[t*rex]
this [?] rappers, we all got records
it’s either attempt to sell or it’s possession
it’s either do your time or beat it, no tellin’
i don’t know who taught you the rules but them the wrong methods
i run with a room full of apes
if they tatted every body it won’t be no more room on they face
a jewish lawyer on retainer, they just chew through the case
ex put money in the stash but i just threw in the safe
the guns, the cars, the gloves? i just threw in the lake
that’s how you finish sh*t, the way you go ruin a case
surf, i’m from a block there, where n*ggas carry glocks there
you hustle and you ain’t from ’round there, you get shot there
he actin’ like he type wildin’
well f*ck it, i’ll stab him, take the knife out him
then i’ll cold buck it (bucket) on his head like an ice challenge
easy!

- snoop doggs gladiator school

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