I missed posting Freestyle Friday last week, so today we’re gonna come correct by putting up two heavyweights against each other: Ghostface Killah vs. Royce Da 5′9″.
The idea behind Freestyle Fridays is to battle one another with your favorite verse from either of the two competitors. You’re essentially battling other commenters in this thread by using the words of Ghostface or Royce Da 5′9″. Hit the jump for a few rules and then jump in on the comments!
Before we start, let’s see if we can keep the thread in order today, by following a couple simple rules:
1. Please don’t drop the lyrics to a whole song. No more than one verse!
2. Please stay in order…. Ghostface, then Royce, then Ghostface, etc. If you want to drop a Ghosftface verse, wait until someone has dropped a Royce one. The idea is to go back and forth. It’s possible that more than one person may be trying to drop a verse at one time… we’ll just keep moving on.
I’ll start this thread off with a verse from Royce Da 5′9″:
“Verbalizin’ my fiend murder
Communicatin’ while you debatin’ usin’ machine squirters
Brrap, that trigger’s my tongue, I let you lick it
Nigga that, fo’-fifth’ll, lift a nigga, whole clique up
The Lord call for your soul, it’s time to go pick up
Answer the horn, it’s blowin at you, you cold stiff up
My heat, heatin my whole hip up, all we do is court strippers
Your metal freezin like it’s a morgue zipper
I ride around with Preme
Not the Preme from Queens, but the Preme from
‘Bout to change the game, ’bout to fly the desert, eagle
for y’all people like the wing’s the clip, and the barrel’s the beak
My perilous fleece, I’ma throw on them diamonds
I’m a pharaoh deceased, like a spawn was rhymin
And, I would advice ya not attempt to
New (Temptations), the gun harmonizin”
-Royce Da 5′9″, “Gun Harmonizing”
{ 12 comments… read them below or add one }
What these clown niggaz hollerin’?
What they need to be hollerin’, is “There go Theodore!”
Put the ball down, we can’t score
They pen shit to blackboards, make queens out of wack broads
You see us comin’? Fuck that Fam shit, just pass off, you bitch
Crystal’ Dana Dane’s wrapped around your neck
Lookin’ rich, baow, you fucked up now
See my gun, nigga? This baby got stuffed uptown
Shouted out, made a whole safe with the pump root pounds
My buddy, keep my gun, right next to my tummy
Ask the click, yo, they spit metal lungies
Detach wigs, kill flunkies off contact, sonsee
Didn’t mommy tell y’all niggaz to wear clean undies?
See y’all should of listened to her
She knew her son had a big mouth, and some day death would accur
Please for Ms. Gale’s sake, and her seeds
Pass the flurry, ain’t fuckin’ around, they knocked to her weave
-Ghostface Killah-Metal Lungies
More venom, 5′9 is like a G5
Illest lyrics is stored in him
Chorus is killin, any warrior feelin
That I ain’t God – Lord willin
Trust me, after I crush ya buildin
You will just hush, you won’t restore the village
We look toward wit killin, real
Though this album is mor-bidly feelin to steel
HIP HOP! – FUCK your feelin’s
More rappers dying, much more killin
It’s no feelin, realer than gamblin ya life
Everyday, and wakin up to more dealin’s
Fourteen killin’s, compared to offshore millions
Equals, I got a lot more villians
You know that you easily lose, you be on MTV News
For the first time, because you died over
-Royce Da 5′9-Hip-Hop
Scientific, my hand kissed it
Robotic let’s think optimistic
You probably missed it, watch me dolly dick it
Scotty watty cop it to me, big microphone hippie
Hit Poughkepsie crispy chicken verbs throw up a stone richie
Chop the O, sprinkle a lil’ snow inside a Optimo
Swing the John McEnroe, rap rock’n'roll
Tidy Bowl, gung-ho pro, Starsky with the gumsole
Hit the rump slow, parole kids, live Rapunzel
but Ton’ stizzy really high, the vivid laser eye guide
Jump in the Harley ride, Clarks I freak a lemon pie
I’m bout it, bout it – Lord forgive me, Ms. Sally shouted
Tracey got shot in the face, my house was overcrowded
You fake cats done heard it first
On how I shitted on your turf
at times, Cuban Link verse yo
Check out the rap kingpin, summertime fine jewelry drippin
Face in the box, I seen your ear twitchin
As soon as I drove off, Cap’ came to me with three sawed-offs
Give one to Rae’, let’s season they broth
Lightning rod fever heaters, knock-kneeder Sheeba for hiva
Diva got rocked from the receiver bleeder
Portfolio, lookin fancy in the pantry
My man got bigger dimes son, your shit is scampi
Base that, throw what’s in your mouth, don’t waste that
See Ghost lampin in the throne with King Tut hat
Straight off
-Ghostface Killah, “Nutmeg”
I Think Starks wins hands down. Not taking anything from Royce though….sorry it had to be said!
I’m the verbal-spit Smith Wesson
I unload with sick spit the quick wick could split a split-second
Bomb with a lit wick expression
You here a tick tick then you testin..
My saliva and spit can split thread into fiber and bits
So trust me, I’m as live as it gets
Everybody claimin they the best and head the throne
Since B.I.G is gone, if you ask me, they +Dead Wrong+
My flow is hotter than the flash from the click
When the hammer slaps the bullet on the ass from the clip
You wind up in a room full of my dawgs
I’ll have you feeling like a fire hydrant in a room full of dogs
So come, come now, get pissed on, shitted on
Tough talk turns to, “Can’t we all just get along”
You get blazed when the mic’s off, shot when it’s on
You probably ducked when they laid the gun shot in your song
My gun strrr-utters when it speaks to you
Utter shit to repeat to you
Nothing the clip, then give a speech to you
Me and Premier, we kind of the same in ways
We both speak with our hands in dangerous ways
Rap now is a circus of clowns
A whole lot of lip from cliques I’d probably rap circles around
I’m the next best to reach a peak formerly known
as the best keep secret, I guess that I just leaked it
Royce – Boom
Aiyo, jumping out of Benz wagons, my family live in the Hill
They call us Bin Ladins, laughing, turbaned up
Niggas get murdered up, these streets is like radio beef
So watch how the kid turn it up
Bulletproof tuxes, knuckle games is clarkers and busters
Eighteen niggas, bringing the ruckus
Flame throwers on our backs and shoulders, the rusty joints still work
The trey eight’ll blow one of your doujas
When it’s mad, he the mad calm, walk around
Gold collect, 36, so before G bomb
My inner strength flowing, I mastered chi kung
Ya’ll Planet of the Apes, standing next to King Kong
Forensic file, ultraviolet hype, sky blue Bales
Laying niggas like ceramic tile
I’m like Urlacher, beasting at the top of the pile
Laying niggas in the nuts, nigga, damn I’m foul
Ghostface – New Wu
Royce 59 is ill…But Ghostaface is better
Razosharpe verse is the illest. Classic ghost right there
ROYCE DA 5′9″
“king”
I’m in shape to give you a quick whoopin’, hard asshole in the wall
Frownin’ up, niggaz thinkin’ you sick cuz you sick lookin’
I’m heated, an’ I’m-a go to trial blowin’ my triggers
Ya’ll niggaz ain’t rough, you need to smile more in ya pictures
Split somebody, and serve the nigga whose style you bit
That bit like 10 niggaz that bit somebody
Top of the world, all that’s around you is beneath me
Me learnin’ from your mistakes is the only way you can teach me
Mo’ thunder, cockin’ big heat
So undergrounds niggaz wit’ beef can get mo’ under, 6 feet
Man ya missles, I plan to dis you
Unleash wit’ about 30 punches before the first lands and hits you
Niggaz I doubt ya’ll cuz I’m an outlaw
Right-handed, built wit’ a left that can arm wrestle a southpaw
Gun shine bright, (ya’ll niggaz?) ya’ll need to rhyme like 5′9
Unsigned wit’ hype… (King!)
* “i’m the king”
“More than thousand times one, snatch up, my styles get done
I hold a title, enhanced how my belt was won, check it
Slick majestic, broke mics are left infected
Germs start to spread through your crew, drew like an epic
You asked for it, shot up the jams like syringes
My technique alone blows doors straight off the hinges
Masked avenger, I appear to blow your ear like wind
With a freestyle, sharper than the indian spear
So sit back and let the king explore
Describe me, the kid’s nice and he holds swords
And his name, black attack’s the nerve like migraines
With more games than beggars on trains, livid sharp pains
Poisonous rebel like deck, you can’t destroy this
You get ambushed, skate, try to avoid this
Side effects of, hot raps and hot tracks
A duffle bag full of guns son, dipped in black
My culture, slides and attacks like a vulture
Ghostface and madison square is on your poster”
- Ghostface Killah, “Winter Warz”
Are people really saying that Ghostface is winning? I can’t be reading that correctly. We’re talking about Royce Da 5′9″. Half the shit Ghostface says doesn’t make any sense.