Released: August 18, 2016
Featuring: Marv Won Royce da 5'9"
Songwriter: Marv Won Royce da 5'9" dEnAun
Producer: dEnAun
[Verse 1: Marv Won]
Who the best rappers right now? Nigga it's us
Chris Wallace, N.O.R.E. yo, is bigger than us
I grew up in Detroit where the trigger the clutch
It's an elephant in the room and I'm here for the tusks
I'm pouring with my potions, nigga, that drink
Is potion for your emotions, why don't you think?
If you open for some coachings, nigga, the brink
Would be closer, man, I'm boasting like my shit don't stink
Come and get a whiff of a winner
God of the alphabet with the scent of a sinner
Even when I started I've never been a beginner
Boy I'm balling with the crack and I've never been with a Jenner
Or a Kardash, I don't care how many miles the car has
Long as these Jordans look good up on the car dash
I'ma get it, whip it, flip it then walk away from the car crash
Really good a couple people done peeped it
They biting their tongues like they keeping a secret
But the word gon' get out, no matter how much you bleep it
The mouthpiece turn the sternum to a freak bitch
Nigga, peep this
I eat with a table full of legends
We disregarding the sneak diss
You got beef, bitch? No, you don't
'Cause you'd be wearing my shoes in your ass if the sneak fit
[Verse 2: Royce da 5'9"]
Who the best rapper right now, I never could tell
Too busy writing down these reckless confessions of hell
To touch people with the words like the rhetoric Braille
They tell me I'm too lethal and I never would sell
But I'm an alcoholic, I'd just end up dead or in jail
If I ever, ever, ever sold records like Adele
I black out, I don't just rhyme
It's why I get credit after every, every episode like a sitcom
Bunch of record execs still wanna sit down
This is why I'm still standing like a fridge
Stainless steel stand cold year-round
Who cares what the future hold? Your soul's in my hand
My ear's to the ground, hear now
Sober, clear, calm
Driving sixes far away from all them sixteens as I could get
You could call it nowhere near PRhyme, ha
Who gives a fuck about Billboard or a Billboard list?
I could afford to get bored and put the whole Billboard list on a billboard
In fact I got a message for you
I got your favorite rapper baby momma dress in my dresser drawer
Ah yes, I'm on my second fourth piece of pie, yes keep your podcasts
I don't care who you stamp, who you checking for
I just need the check endorsed, I don't rap to get a rep no more
I'm no longer known as street in the streets
That's because if it was ever war
And the enemy was deep
I'd more or less show them boys less is more
If there was beef I came for everyone and everything
I play for keeps, even kept the score
I'm a legend or Lord
My pen is my second sword
My dogs will get at you with no hesitation
Ain't no room for reservations in my reservoir
[Chorus: Royce da 5'9", Ol' Dirty Bastard, & Mr. Porter]
For you to even touch- touch my ski- skill
T- t- t- t- t- touch my skill
I said, God blessing all the rap niggas
I got some threats awhile back
So I went and silenced all the gats
Same way I did all my last critics
God bless all the rap niggas
[Verse 3: Mr. Porter]
Who the best rapper?
Well, honestly, I could say it's the two niggas with the verse before me
Outside of them and me, well, you might know him
I call him "Me" backwards
All the accolades we share between us is a G factor
Lean back, and you can see the scene action without the green screen being active
In other words, real shit will pop y'all a bunch of snooty crack pots
Think being tough is being snuff?
Call the duty Black Ops now
And you getting bodied by three singing niggas
We all can hold a note, and I don't just mean money
Now, everybody do it, to me it's kinda funny
I preach facts, no bow tie, all praises due
To the most high for not making me like most guys
I write it, sing it, rap it, produce it, play it
I Big Daddy Kane say it, I go to work
You play sick, face it, you basic talent
I am symbolic to what makes Quincy Jones valid
I simply unbalanced
You could say I'm the son of Darth Vader cross faded, switch when they hit a center
Ah shit, cause cancer, of course I'm very dope
Every goat has a hearing bone herringbone
That's why I'm sporting my shit on Periscope
Shoot your glare hoe out the sky we revolt, bare they hopes
When they see these three niggas walk in, like the intro from Bel-Air hoe
Who the best rappers right now? Nigga it's us
Chris Wallace, N.O.R.E. yo, is bigger than us
I grew up in Detroit where the trigger the clutch
It's an elephant in the room and I'm here for the tusks
I'm pouring with my potions, nigga, that drink
Is potion for your emotions, why don't you think?
If you open for some coachings, nigga, the brink
Would be closer, man, I'm boasting like my shit don't stink
Come and get a whiff of a winner
God of the alphabet with the scent of a sinner
Even when I started I've never been a beginner
Boy I'm balling with the crack and I've never been with a Jenner
Or a Kardash, I don't care how many miles the car has
Long as these Jordans look good up on the car dash
I'ma get it, whip it, flip it then walk away from the car crash
Really good a couple people done peeped it
They biting their tongues like they keeping a secret
But the word gon' get out, no matter how much you bleep it
The mouthpiece turn the sternum to a freak bitch
Nigga, peep this
I eat with a table full of legends
We disregarding the sneak diss
You got beef, bitch? No, you don't
'Cause you'd be wearing my shoes in your ass if the sneak fit
[Verse 2: Royce da 5'9"]
Who the best rapper right now, I never could tell
Too busy writing down these reckless confessions of hell
To touch people with the words like the rhetoric Braille
They tell me I'm too lethal and I never would sell
But I'm an alcoholic, I'd just end up dead or in jail
If I ever, ever, ever sold records like Adele
I black out, I don't just rhyme
It's why I get credit after every, every episode like a sitcom
Bunch of record execs still wanna sit down
This is why I'm still standing like a fridge
Stainless steel stand cold year-round
Who cares what the future hold? Your soul's in my hand
My ear's to the ground, hear now
Sober, clear, calm
Driving sixes far away from all them sixteens as I could get
You could call it nowhere near PRhyme, ha
Who gives a fuck about Billboard or a Billboard list?
I could afford to get bored and put the whole Billboard list on a billboard
In fact I got a message for you
I got your favorite rapper baby momma dress in my dresser drawer
Ah yes, I'm on my second fourth piece of pie, yes keep your podcasts
I don't care who you stamp, who you checking for
I just need the check endorsed, I don't rap to get a rep no more
I'm no longer known as street in the streets
That's because if it was ever war
And the enemy was deep
I'd more or less show them boys less is more
If there was beef I came for everyone and everything
I play for keeps, even kept the score
I'm a legend or Lord
My pen is my second sword
My dogs will get at you with no hesitation
Ain't no room for reservations in my reservoir
[Chorus: Royce da 5'9", Ol' Dirty Bastard, & Mr. Porter]
For you to even touch- touch my ski- skill
T- t- t- t- t- touch my skill
I said, God blessing all the rap niggas
I got some threats awhile back
So I went and silenced all the gats
Same way I did all my last critics
God bless all the rap niggas
[Verse 3: Mr. Porter]
Who the best rapper?
Well, honestly, I could say it's the two niggas with the verse before me
Outside of them and me, well, you might know him
I call him "Me" backwards
All the accolades we share between us is a G factor
Lean back, and you can see the scene action without the green screen being active
In other words, real shit will pop y'all a bunch of snooty crack pots
Think being tough is being snuff?
Call the duty Black Ops now
And you getting bodied by three singing niggas
We all can hold a note, and I don't just mean money
Now, everybody do it, to me it's kinda funny
I preach facts, no bow tie, all praises due
To the most high for not making me like most guys
I write it, sing it, rap it, produce it, play it
I Big Daddy Kane say it, I go to work
You play sick, face it, you basic talent
I am symbolic to what makes Quincy Jones valid
I simply unbalanced
You could say I'm the son of Darth Vader cross faded, switch when they hit a center
Ah shit, cause cancer, of course I'm very dope
Every goat has a hearing bone herringbone
That's why I'm sporting my shit on Periscope
Shoot your glare hoe out the sky we revolt, bare they hopes
When they see these three niggas walk in, like the intro from Bel-Air hoe