Funkmaster Flex just dropped Joell Ortiz's response to Kendrick Lamar and his "Control" verse, called "Outta Control." It's an insane rebuttal from the Brooklyn MC, who goes in on Kendrick's claim that he's the King of New York.
Joell reps Slaughterhouse and hip-hop, and says:
"I ain't even got to give this too much thought
Joell Ortiz won every war that he ever fought
This ain't no different, I'm listening, you the King of New York?
Little homie you ain't the king of New York
You the next thing on my fork
The messenger with all them rings on that horse
Carrying king's heads 'til I kick you in the chest and you cough
And fall into a bottomless pit
Homie, you know how many bodies that fit?
When we met you said, 'It's an honor man, the Yaowa can spit.'
Maybe that's why you left me out of that shit
Maybe that's why the Slaugtherhouse ain't get dissed
Or maybe I'm not on your radar, you feel you ain't gotta acknowledge my clique.
Either way I personal train this beat, it got to get ripped
You rich rappers can’t respond with all the dollars you get
Gangster rappers can’t retaliate with hollows and clips
And you fashion rappers wear the kind of jeans that hardly can zip
So zip it, I got this shit real hip-hop in this bitch.
The apocalypse has fell upon us, watch the zombies I split
The walking dead, I’ve been a monster shorty, I can get bit
And then return, I’m immune to these rappers ya’ll calling sick
I stomp the red carpet holding my dick
And throw tomatoes at the podium for wack awards that ya’ll niggas get
Then stand up and scream, ‘Yaowa,’ then dip and smack a legend on the way out of that bitch ’Cause I don’t big up the elite
The elite can get it too, ya’ll all fit under my feet
Ya’ll all victims, all chitlins when a nigga trying to eat
I see to it ya’ll all missing like a wino nigga’s teeth
Anybody can get it, old nigga, new nigga
Him nigga, you nigga, one nigga, two niggas
A few niggas, I do niggas harm with these bars
It was brave, you took a chance like Monopoly cars
But that telly you trying to to check in, boy that property’s ours
Can’t get a W on Broadway, I’m New York all day
Yeah that’s where the boy stay, don’t you hear that? Oy Ye’
A hundred ‘Ricans running at you, chief like a..
Last time in Compton I was kicking it with Jorge
I rock with some cons out West like the boy ‘Ye
But I don’t claim king, even though my name ring
And I had China in the bay, we call it Beijing
Rodeo to ‘Dego they telling you the same thing
Chico be in Sacramento so much he can claim king
But that’s the West Coast, I’m from this coast
I’ll leave the king of L.A. to Dre, I was this close
To staying Aftermath, but lamped out like genie
But Dre, you a fucking gangster and ... you’re such a sweetie
And guess what? I’m a free agent again if ya’ll ever need me
But back to these bars, I’m hungry, this beat is going to feed the needy
I look at it like granny’s ‘ziti, zucchini out in Tahiti
On Fiji, with Erykah Badu’s booty in a bikini
Your main chick is a Precious, my side chick is a Ri Ri
I fuck her then take her out for fries and a Panini
I ain’t a rap nigga, I’m a nigga that rap
Before this, I sort of cyphered, I ain’t bringing that back
Why should I recycle bars when my mind is a flight to Mars
And the force that I come across is like rhyming inside a star
With the universe on my back, your human verses is wack
I grab my extraterrestrial testicles when I rap
And tell the earth suck it, tell the planet try it
I turn this bitch to Independence Day without the lucky drunk pilot
I love competition, constructing the composition of destruction
Putting Destructicons in the composition
I’m Optimus Prime, trucking your boulevard, just wishing
That a star screams so I can go on an embalming mission
You raised the bar high, I set the bar higher
You going to learn, the inferno scorch up on fire”
Listen to it below:
[via In Flex We Trust]
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