Mr. Wavy vs. Chef Trez

[Round 1: Mr. Wavy]
My attitude like, “None of these n*ggas f*ckin' wit' me”
These lil' rappers they throwin' ain't really nothin' to me
Chef Trez...ayo, Smack, tell me what this about
Wait, so this is the mission that n*ggas dishin' out?
So smokin' you is gon' get Brizz to come outta that hole I'm tryna fish him out?
They brought me back to work in the DMV
I guess it's Ls I'm gon' be givin' out
Chef Trez, you know you lost
It's no remorse, I'm goin' off
Hammer on me, it ain't to hold ‘em off or show it off
They squad up, my arm up: I'm like a know-it-all
Head shot: push his sh*t back like a holding call
What's up?
Stop talkin' ‘bout the work you be pushin'!
See, these n*ggas be they own flaws
They'll tell you who drive they own cars
Who the connect, where they meetin', who done sold hard
That's when you mask up wit' the-
Don't matter, just know the chrome large
I hit Trez, then come off the plug like the phone charged
Straight menace
He gon' run to Tay Roc like, “Yo, they stole the coke, the bag, weed, straight finished
All the weight lost (loss): Dre Dennis”
You gon' have to explain to Tay Roc for eight minutes!
We both in V.A., but you ain't safe in it
Silencer, meet my freak b*tch: she put her face in it
And when they together, it don't matter what time they snappin'
Close-range, he wouldn't even know a sound was happenin'
‘Cause the sh*t sound like...exactly - no crowd reaction!
I'm back in this sh*t, n*gga!
Now we gon' turn up!
You a Writer? Well, I'm here to put that pen under
Make ya men wonder, why, you a bench-runner
n*gga ain't been hotter than ten summers
pus*y n*gga wouldn't bend rubber!
The Chef? If you serve shells, it's to end hunger
If I serve shells, it's to hit you, and leave ya mens under!
‘Cause this here? A fence-jumper
This four ain't no PIN number
f*ck yo' drive! ‘Cause the clip I'm holdin' longer than a VIN number!
You don't do enough!
Always talkin' “he keep his toolie tucked”
f*ck outta here!
n*gga rockin' the Lil Uzi cut!
I'm suited up, ‘cause n*ggas actin' like this a plate for me
No, I'm suited up, you gon' look like Drake to me
I'm suited up, ‘cause this ain't about who could hold a gun the tightest
This about the Chef thinkin' I was a plate
Now you gon' f*ck around and catch a stomach virus!
DMV, I'm pickin' up where I left off!
No, we in the DMV
When I'm pickin' up, whoever left? Off!
‘Cause it's no games wit'chu!
I don't care if his lil' gang wit'chu!
I'm where the soldiers be
No mask on, n*ggas know it's me
I walk up, Trez get the free smoke like stolen weed
Social media had you 3-0'ing me?
Let's go and see
Blade to his chest, I hold it down like I'm tryna reload the feed
Who hoein' me?
All these dark-skin n*ggas wit' oversized clothes: these n*ggas Jodeci!
Automatic for the static
Oh, they rollin' deep?
Well, you can't dodge this big b*tch forever: Professor Oglevee!
It's no chinks in my armor, but let me vent somethin'
See, when I first came, I had a PG when a PG really meant somethin'!
My own style, own slogan
Every battle, I'd invent somethin'!
Rookies vs. Vets, my “zombie” line had the event buggin'!
Summer Madness my first year - they can't prevent nothin'
The crowd turned on me - that was corny - but I don't resent nothin'
‘Cause that sh*t made me the man I am! They ain't prevent nothin'
But Chef Trez, you don't present nothin'
You got your story wrong
He just went to Cave Gang to get his glory on
I did my thing better without the group: I'm like Omarion!
f*ck is shorty on!?
Man, it's nothin' that y'all tellin' me
Weaponry, I'll be over the Top - BOW! - of this street (Streetz) n*gga
Now it's him spittin': it's not Born Legacy
That's Round 1, y'all know I came to chalk him out
I'll look him dead in his fa-
No, let me do me...truly...smooth, see
I'll rebuttal my own sh*t and have somethin' rose from this new T (tee)! Bow!
Round 1

[Round 1: Chef Trez]
I say, yo
Salute to the DMV
Salute to Wavy, too, that n*gga wild when rappin'
But I'm a real street n*gga, n*gga
Like, really, the Cal' is blastin'
You say it's on silent like...the crowd reaction?
They all focused
I'll BOW! so they look that way, then (*swoosh*)...
Real killas get away wit' a loud distraction
See, I'm somethin'-
You lookin' in the sky like don't none of this sh*t faze you
‘Til you the n*gga I stick a blade through, the arm
Movin' left and right, I'll let it wave through
Intestines, liver, kidney, the n*gga Wav' through
Knife to his back: I can even pedal through Wav' (wave), too!
This battle gon' be somethin' different
You think I'm playin', right? Say good night!
You dead off rip
Why would I take you light?
You take advice?
You should've stayed away from this stage, you ain't as nice
You got a push, popped out, then died, but that's the way of life
I wish you would trip!
You ain't never been on no hood sh*t!
Stop the fakin'
Every n*gga I know named Joseph was a good kid
And yeah, my name is Santrez
But in this ring, I slaughter guys
So if they put Wav' (wave) over San' (sand)
That's only gon' bring out my darker side!
I'm one of the n*ggas you should run from
You all performance, no bars
Don't forget where you come from!
You'll get a head shot and a leg shot wit' a dum-dum
Now you don't gotta walk like a zombie, you gon' become one!
But how you walk all dumb wit' it?
You think it look slick?
n*gga, even wit' the biggest pants that way, it won't fit
You gotta salt the barrel, or remove the clip, wit' double socks
So when you tuck it in your shoe, the barrel don't rub against your skin!
Is he a killer? Naw!
He prob'ly do got guns that can lift us all
But these sh*ts'll shake America
Have the country rockin', like Tim McGraw!
Wait, I say-
You barely put in work
Smack, that's what y'all lettin' him do?
No promotion, no network, and that's the way y'all lettin' him move?
Then he say I ain't as nice as him?
Well, sh*t, to tell him the truth
You ain't had a bar as fire in three years
n*gga, you ain't even better than-
Wait, that wasn't even you!
Talkin' ‘bout you “fathered it”
That's Montana of 300, you stealin' other artists' sh*t
Well, for stealin' from 300, I should off ya sh*t
Catch ya b*tch pushin' ya seat out, give it that Sparta kick!
He hella gassed off his Twork win
But y'all think this f*cker is nice
Well, here's some f*ckin' advice:
Keep it rap, before I f*ck up ya life
Why would I cut him wit' knives, when I could gun-butt him wit' 9s?
Split through the dark, and have it goin' against the white meat like Brother Polight
You weak, scrap!
Name any place in this world you wanna meet at
If it's beef, then the heat clap
Gun under his chin
Man, all that sh*t, and the way your name see that
I'll still shoot, barrel spark and flash under the beard
I'm bringin' Mr. T back!
My bro called and said, “Chef”
I say, “Bless”
He said, “Don't they find treasure in the bottom of the ocean?”
I say, “Yes”
He say, “So why you battlin' Joseph? You already ahead a couple steps”
‘Cause you have to pass Wav' (wave) when you bury that Chess (chest)!
But it's Mr. “Debatable” ‘til I squeeze a K
It's gon' hit you, or your people's face
Now it's really debatable, ‘cause I'mma put it to one (2-1) either way!
n*gga, you can't get street wit' me!
If you go to talkin' wild, you better speak quickly
If you beef wit' me, you'll get the MAC wit' the bandanna tied around
I'll do the scene gritty
Aim down, wit' the rag over Wav' (wave): watch him 360!
You ain't done much
You let your shorty twerk on stage, you lil' dumb f*ck?
If I let a ratchet show her ass, everybody gon' witness a gun-butt!