Detente 2.0 ft. Statik Selektah, Termanology & Melks Lyrics

Look at the gall he gotta preach

He say he got it on with beef

I bet this sir loin's weak

Dom Put nada at steak don't speak

He don't get half as raw as me

Get out my grill, dog your teeth

And my fist are not the meeting

Your noggin wanna receive

Knock it off I bet emcee

Square up only at ease

And That equals he has no inner G

Less it's be chalk he keeps

Blackboard with equations

The only means he'll be drawing a scene

Class of his own at receding

The only body he'll leave

Is his own caught in the street

Goddammit he cannot peep

In the Cyphers his head so far up his

Ass the dialogue that emantes

Is smack-talking

Tell em to back off it

Maybe that'll have him start

To understand that as a part

Of the planet he has to stop

Copycatting bitches he's calling out

Fuckin' malding bout their problems

As if he's can solve em

Someone go and tell this wannabe Messiah

We're Cross

Cuz he's fail to follow

His own way of logic

Go get his brain up off of

Mount delusion he lost it

Stuck up in that fight or flight

Took so much time fighting flight

It's a breeze to smack him upside

Getting his wind knocked to the sky

Versing anybody on the mic

Is Dom's loss when he rhyme

I bet you it's probably why

He make clips of shots flying

But it's not at artists like him

Why is he not the type?

To battle others line for line?

Why won't he run a fade

With overseas and local lames

Hell often, it's takes Dom days

Has he forgotten to spray

Or is he bothered to aim

When someone calls him out by name

His brainpower's lower than savings

Brodie will waste so much time away when he's thinking

Procrastinating maybe

The only way foes'll go make it in

D.O.M's mental play it again and again

Explain it

Since he's AFK

The game he's racing

Used to be in his lap

Now over takes him

Had so many passes

Gastrointestinal's to anal

For his mannerisms, shame

Kill his power the haters

At top three put him in his place

Bet his complex the realest state

He call home in his wake

Bet his fame finna fade and

Like hair receding no shaving

Face

Clipper quicker than Tik Tok

He pressed about everything

Yet he ain't Tolerated

Discussions no debate

Maybe the lame he mods

Castrated his ways

Wants to dictate

But got no balls to stay

Setting him straight is failure's

Greatest of templates

When Shit gets hard, his legs

Don't work under weight

Even his third'll break

Thinking his pen'll trade

Shots for holes at the fake

Cuz his thinking's anxious

Better go tell him