Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Justus Where Are You, artist - The Jokerr. Album song Trail of Destruction: A Chronicle of Epic Disses, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 15.12.2013
Record label: The Jokerr
Song language: English
Justus Where Are You |
A little under a week ago, a phone call took place between the Jokerr and Justus |
Justus wanted to squash the beef between the two |
So the Joker wouldn’t be afraid to appear and battle him live on the stage at |
an event |
Of course Justus would coordinate |
Now Justus coordinates this event |
And to follow he would be the primary benefactor of all monetary profits |
generated by the event |
So in essence, he wants the joker to come battle and ti put money in his pockets |
I don’t think so |
It finally happened, everyone was waitin for it, you like to cook the beef stew |
But ain’t got the muscle to taste and pour it |
You woke a sleepin giant |
Yeah I’m straight enormous you can feel the ground shakin from me in my |
basement snoring there’s a reason my reputation proceeds me |
It’s cuz I’m beastly, and I smash bitches like you easily |
I might be cheesy, but jokerr’s like ouiji |
If you an emcee, and you can’t touch me |
You can’t read me |
I’m bout to place some power cords |
Negate ya crowd reports start sniffin out the wackest hater with the brownest |
drawers |
The chicken’s always get to dissin when the falcon soars but I see right |
through you motherfuckers like shower doors |
I out weigh you |
Out write you |
Out think you |
I out spit you, and when I fart, I out stink you |
And guess what, I’m coming at you, and I’m finna catch you |
I didn’t wanna smash you |
But I guess I’m gonna have to |
Cuz you don’t know where to draw the line |
You just like to press buttons called you a chicken |
Said quit the bitchin |
But you kept cluckin |
Or put your money where your mouth is |
And bet something your head is so fucking big |
I hear your neck bucklin |
You’re not knowing me |
I’m ready for anything you can throw at me |
From on wax |
To spoken word poetry on stage |
Off stage, guns, rocks, blaze pillars, grenades |
You try to slander me socially |
It doesn’t matter |
Jokers the mad hatter |
With a chocolate lab bladder |
Pissin on you fire hydrant ass rapper’s |
I stop shit |
I ain’t havin it |
I could reach up to stop a helicopter roter blade just by grabbing it ha |
I ain’t loyal to friends you just mad cuz nothing |
You’ve writtens been worthy to be bitten like foiled and cringe the turmoil |
begins, but you couldn’t go toe to toe with me if we were Siamese twins |
Joined at the shins |
Hehehehe, oh man what a line |
What a line |
What a line you think this is a gimmick |
You’re not with this corny gimmick shit |
You’re fucking 30 years old |
And still talkin about runnin up on people for sayin shit |
Like you need to defend your manhood or something, heh |
Allow me to break down what’s really going on |
Since nobody else wants to do it, heh |
Listen |
You wack as fuck, and can’t accept the rap careers a bit impractical |
You bit my homie’s myspace page |
Shit is laughable |
It’s cool you’ve been at it for twelve years, in fact it’s admirable |
But all you got from it’s a drug habit and lack of capital |
You’ve opened up for nationals, old ticket’s, and packed bars |
But A&R's showed up and rolled quicker than nascar you don’t leave an impression |
You don’t even leave a stench, you can stomp through powdered snow |
And not even leave prints |
Now you might pick up a couple weak spirited muthafuckas |
Here and there |
From your tenured appearances suckle hustle |
But the real spitters ain’t feeli the crap you try and publish |
Illest lines a mile of rubbish |
With poorly designed covers |
You’re a dime a dozen, punk, struggling rhytm puppet |
Stuck up in a cloud of smug, and unable to rise above it |
You front like you runnin shit |
But inside, you cry and covet |
You’re the poster child for modern suburban cyber thuggin |
Justus yeah I said your name bitch |
Do something bout it |
I’ve been huggin down in my bunker |
But I’m bustin out if, fuckin cowards random internet slander under the guise |
of honor |
Actin like you got something invested in Kavy’s involvement |
It’s sad to acknowledge the Kavy beef cuz it’s obivious |
It ain’t about the beef |
It’s my statue you got a problem with |
I’m the rapper who leaves other rappers in gasp and appalled I’ll make you |
question if you should even be rappin at all if I’m Eminem |
You’re not even the dirty dozen |
Just a thirty something |
Getting murdered by the nerdy youngin |
You payin attention |
This is how you supposed to rhyme homie |
You had a chance, 09, it’s jokerrs time only |
So put me up against the cheetah |
I can sprint faster threaten me |
I’ll just collapse in a tensed laughter |
I don’t flinch bastards |
You can hit me with a wreckin ball |
I wouldn’t move a thousandth of an inch backwards |
I’m on to you |
Plottin your little convoluted chronicle |
Wantin the jokerr to come play the dope in your little carnival |
Please, homie, real niggas recognize real |
So when real spitters hear the jokerr wreckin they like Ill |
It ain’t jealous resentment |
Just mutual shrugs and acknowledgment |
We open the hand, and pass love through the palm of it |
You’re just bitter cuz you ain’t make the club |
You an alderman, and now you got bigger problems than Obama’s economist |
I called you out back in august |
You didn’t respond to it |
And now you request my presence |
For you to make a dollar with fuck that |
That’s a bunch of bullshit and I’m gone with it |
I know you won’t show up |
You feel threatened |
I ain’t gon fall for it comin at me on some street shit |
You can swallow it all the niggas I know |
Know all the niggas you mobbin with the source magazine party and club missed |
following pete throw him around |
Like a couple groupies stalkin him |
He told me bout you two runnin up on his ass |
Jockin him like a couple fans, with his fam standin there watchin it |
So if you say it ain’t happen |
You’re callin him a liar |
Then in that case, you got an entire empire to brawl against |
See you don’t wanna kick off the Arizona apocalypse |
I never claimed to be street |
Bu everyone on my roster is |
That’s why I see through your little brash |
Glass cockiness street muthafuckas don’t need to talk |
Cuz there walikin it |
But in the case of bitches like you |
It’s just the opposite |
You got a bigger mouth than a yardie hippopotamus |
Talkin the bla to the Arizona beats populence from a corner cubicle of your |
jobs corporate offices |
But all your talkin yielded you an unintended consequence, a, landmine was |
planted |
And you just stumbled onto em |
So here’s your official decree |
I recommend you honor it |
Any rapper steppin to jokerr, murder and abolish them, this ain’t a gimmick, |
I ain’t fuckin around |
I ain’t some insecure producer dressed up as a clown |
I ain’t some punk bitch who’s never felt the pain of the streets |
I know exactly what I’m doin when I’m paintin my cheeks |
I’m paintin the scars |
Paintin the blood |
Stitches and scabs, and bitches like you |
Claimin I’m just a gimmick and plague |
But jokerrs are all the people who you dissed and Mistreated |
You’re the reason the jokerr exists |
You just couldn’t see it |
So where you at Justus |
Haha, yeah |
So where you at Justus |
Hahahahahaha |
Let’s hear it Justus, come on, come on |
Where you at Justus |
Give me your best shot!!! |