War Paint - Res One, Datkid, Badhabitz

Catch you blamming something up, snatch your paint and your five panel

You dry fraggal type flannels, best watch it because I might do (yeah I might

do)

It’s no secret that I don’t like you, nar

Yo, all you writers tryna line out my shit you better hope that I don’t find

you (hope that I don’t find you)

Cause if it’s graff beef you want fuck a line that I throw bro I’ll just fight

you (yeah I’ll just fight you)

Catch you blamming something up, snatch your paint and your five panel

You dry fraggal type flannel, best watch it because I might do (yeah I might do)

It’s no secret that I don’t like you, nar

Yo I’ll split your fucking head with a fresh tin of 94, like what you tryna

line me for?

Plus your head just bust this last tin that I just bought, so now I’m swiping

yours

If you don’t like it cor blimey I ain’t surprised at all

It’s time for war, I’ll wipe the floor with these arty neeks

Moving like they’ve got some knarly steeze, til they get confronted and they

hardly speak

I’ll par their piece with some dusty tags, rushing wack, rusty caps

Cause your clique is weak like my flipping teeth, pack your shit and leave

Dirty Bris Kiddies hit cities while you bitches sleep

I’m gripping these blacks, chromes, golds, pinks and greens

Make it so permanent liquid seep into the twisted streets

Your handstyles like an arthritic cripple hit a reach, fell off the wall

halfway through and ripped his jeans

Listen please I don’t give a flying fish about your little beef

Toys can’t rumble in the jungle with a gritty beast

Yo, all you writers tryna line out my shit you better hope that I don’t find

you (hope that I don’t find you)

Cause if it’s graff beef you want fuck a line that I throw bro I’ll just fight

you (yeah I’ll just fight you)

Catch you blamming something up, snatch your paint and your five panel

You dry fraggal type flannels, best watch it because I might do (yeah I might

do)

It’s no secret that I don’t like you, nar

Yo I walk up to the wall like ‘Hi mate, do you write (scratches)?

', well that’s my paint, try mate

Ape shit, shape shift your face with the grey tin of Molotov borrowed off the

same kids that hate us

These house party arty type graff critiques, whack bag of neeks tryna reach

over tags with cheap (?)

I’ll jack your P, I ain’t stopping at

Got plots on the map while you cats all act like bombers for slack

The same prodigys that probably gassed, for your thoughts on a drawing,

on forums ignoring the facts

You possible whacked him up, acting tough

Graffers get a slap and bust lip as all the bags of volcanic took

Fuck if you’re tagging it up, we keep the scene covered

Take your weak bubble letters out, plus your team suckers

Come chuck it with the scene fuckers, street ruckers

We beat buffers and duck when the beast creeps to snuff us

Cut from State Your Name