Diatribe The Phantom Stranger - Battle Cry

They don't really wanna battle
They don't really wanna battle
They don't really wanna battle
They don't really wanna battle

I sit on city blocks
With micks and guinea wops
Who flip on anyone
Who think they get it poppin
Talk shit
Like they pop Cris
And sip I'm Remy Martin
I ain't drink a drop
And I'm hittin' every target
Rippin' every artist
Who spits that fuckin' garbage
Try to diss and get demolished
The critics that didn't come within inches
Of the shit that I've accomplished
I'm the topic of the gossip
I ain't even made it to the tip-top
And the top tipped
To be honest
It's not shocking
Every rap artist thinks
He's the hottest thing
To hock some spit
It gets caught in wind
And thrown back in their face
Ask me why I'm crackin' a smile
Half of their styles are exactly the same
Rappers in this game got me laughin' out loud
My cadence
Captivates crowds
I don't got time to bat at these clowns
wack emcees spittin' crap of their mouths
Asking for pounds
Dissin' Diatribe is bad for your health
Grab the microphone and slap them around
Like what up now
What? Get off me

This is just a battle cry
Cause every time I grab the mic
These rappers wanna have a fight
But none of them are half as nice
Or have the balls to challenge tribe
Y'all are lacking talent-wise
And I just do not have the time
To hear these actors'
Wack-ass rhymes

I don't drink
But do not think for a minute
That I'm timid
Cause I never need a liquor
To start flippin' on these kids
Wanna bring it?
Go and bring it
Cause I'm sick of criticism
When I spit it's sort of different
And it didn't sound like them
Ahem
Should I say it again
To get it through their heads
That I never will pretend
To be something I'm not
I'm a strugglin' artist
None of my songs are toppin' the charts
I do this all out of love for hip-hop
I'm never going pop
What the fuck do you want?
Mother of God
These people need to start
Shutting their gobs
Runnin' your mouth
Get punched in the jaw
Hatin' on my style
End up under assault
Hear the buzz of a saw
That's cutting you off
When the blood's in the water
You're lunch to the shark

They don't really wanna battle
They don't really wanna battle
They don't really wanna battle
They don't really wanna battle

Before you write your next verse
Gotta go in debt first
It's all about your net-worth
Gotta work your network
Shit, I just wanna spit
This will make your head hurt
Forget words
Sex sells
get some press
Blaow!
Blow up like a meth house
Everybody get down
Fellas put your guns up
Ladies pull your breasts out
And here I am
Tryna write music
When the right moves
Put yourself on TikTok and iTunes
Fast food shit
Goin' through the drive-thru
May I remind you

This is just a battle cry
Cause every time I grab the mic
These rappers wanna have a fight
But none of them are half as nice

Written by:
Mark McLaughlin

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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