Round 1:
So what's it gonna be Step, same bland plays again?
Staple past-battle flat angle, as if that math favors him?
Take a jab at a main event, attach latest trend, saturated inaccurate Asian diss?
Mister rap Rambo with blank ammo
I bet you know Guelph has the second lowest crime rate, my friend
Lost to Arcane, and no need to look farther than our names to know who's taking this
What, you'll go ham-murderous?
More like hamsterish, all caged and fed
Go beast mode? Oh please don't, call me after I'll be with the rest of the sapiens
And it's strange, that during every sentence displayed, you're tentatively checking for any praise
Focus straying from the center of the stage like you're second guessing the occasion
And you hyperventilate but hide your breath mistake as some sly effect delayed
Then you do this odd skiing motion with your arms as you pace and all it suggests is that you wanna escape quick
So you speed up that elemetary cadence, shit doesn't change, it's plain and simple, this Step is simple and plain
And the more he pretends that he ain't, he merely cements the impression that he's unashamedly basic
Blame me for being born in a different place if I stick to the way things are meant to be shapened
But my considerate nature disintegrates when you're reinforcing your pigmentation so much
You're even making me racist
Rocking that mullet wig in the video blog as if your normal face doesn't already look like a rapist
So fuck you, and fuck your criminally predictable takes, that complacently ignorant fake grin,
That infinitely pedophilic gay chin
The kid whose dick clearly impaled him
So dumbed down, while giving brain his aim missed so his point caved in
You fuck around, no one's complaining
You circle your own traces, chasing your own tail
And you wouldn't zero in even if you were an Indian innovation
I'll craft a round with a paintbrush
Perfect in equation, easy as Pi, down to every single decimal placement
So if the crowd or the judges take it Easy then they're easily mistaken
He can't beat me cos when I really Step up to the plate, this shit's difficulty level Asian
Round 2:
[He's gonna talk about my accent and how he can't understand it when I rap,
Muthafucka, that's just a single concept among the million others that your dumbass can't grasp]
As a Hiphop head I've dreamed of making heavy beats
I'll take it a Step Easy and bang your head with an MPC
He thought he had a pressed CD when he picked one up and gently squeezed
Let's test his weed, I'll bet it's weak
If not, at least I'll get it free
Or set a keg and see whose intestines bleed
What, you'll flex a pen? You idiot that's not how that weapon's wielded
But if we scrapped, I'd leave you drenched in pee again
Like when he couldn't help his drinking, in the restroom pissing himself,
The floor, god-slapped by Hollohan and you soaked it all up like he sent you cleaning it
You can battle endlessly and your bland ass would still need seasoning
Shit, even the best MSG in your recipes couldn't fix your steez, bitch
And y'all say he's an underdog? Underdog?
Fuck it, you still get bludgeoned, all cut and tossed with onions on a buttered wok
Even Calicoe wouldn't want to watch
Yo, battlers often mention film look-alikes, I said I'd try if given the choice
Checked online but couldn't find or pick, was getting annoyed
Until I realized, you're in every movie with a pizza delivery boy
And I'd diss you for being Canadian but I got too much love for King of the Dot
It's just, y'all call french fries "poutine" and that's the weirdest shit that we bought
Below six feet deep, I built my scene from the underground up
I'll skip the speech, it simply means you were outdone long before round one
Bitch emcees would kill to be this fittingly proud, son
But him fulfilling dreams or me being a disagreeably loud chump
Are both as unlikely as Aftershock's fan page hitting a thousand
I'm Filipino, muthafucka, but ain't a patriot demanding your respect
Just mix us Asians up, you're getting check by 'em demographics back in Guelph
I ain't a China-man, Thai, Korean, Jap, or all the rest
But y'all would think that I'm Mongolian the way I trample over Steppes/steps
I put my country on my back and on the map that you neglect
Organik's laboratory test baby-stepped out of Ground Zero and you'll cover zero ground
When I crash land you back to that catastrophic wreck for your mandatory death
Round 3:
[Yo, he brought up my acne, it's alright, it's all good, I ain't bitching
But what about your face, man? You fucked that shit up despite first world nutrition
He's gonna talk shit about my country, that's some dumb shit
Man, if my whole population took a piss, your half of the planet would get flooded]
His name says it all, nothing complex
Linear, instructional, rigid, ain't tought to get
Drab as a manual, effortless in the lazy sense
From threads to flesh to text, you're uninventive at best
That avenue you rep, you share with ten million other men
As it's so commonly spread
Tyler Peter's real name might as well be human number X
Cos nothing's added when this punching bag gets his dozen matches
Not views, moves, recruits,
Understand he's another stat to pump up rappers to come and practice
So cut the crap, why're you here, for the love of battling?
No other plans, no tours or tracks, won't drop an album?
That makes you a dumb attraction
The sum example why your country's fans would rather catch Summer Madness
Cos you're the Medussa of genericness, and not cos you scare people stiff
Just the moment anyone looks at you, they can't help but think of unadulterated generic shit
All your past opponents know this, but I'll brave the step
Even pointing out how generic you are becomes generic in itself
But I guess, what else can we expect? You'll never seem impressive
You can't adapt or evolve from all your easy steps
I took a plane to fight
You'll never earn your wings but this "L" will spell the difference
Watch his reptilian brain choose f(L)ight
Fucking hillbilly drunk, can't shout as much, but thinks he's the dopest
That's the path you've chosen? Well, congrats on being a really poorman's Porich
KOTD works mad great, but this short-stacked player's a god damned waste of all that paper
And an Easy Step to success is to drop bad weight from costs and labor
And since I'm back on track, like I simply crossed that fader
I'm here to grant the bossman's favor and cut you out the league with Occam's Razor
So until he busts a filthy cut and kills beats plus juggles feeding a hundred-fifty
Hungry emcees in crumby settings, this bumpkin sissy can't fucking Step to me
