Anygma vs Fredo (Anygma's Rounds)


King of the Dot: Back 2 Basics 2
Anygma
2015

(Note: This is how it was originally written so anything different in the live battle was improvised, especially the third round where Anygma forgot one important scheme and jumbled up the order of his ending lines.)

Round 1:

You know how I know you’re not a real Filipino?

You’re not just a fat American, but you’re also a fucking fat Filipino

But for real though

Fuck your fob-hating upbringing, you should get stomped straight to oblivion

For thinking you’re some hard Asian, mudslinging our race for its rough English

If only you would partake of enough wisdom you would not save such opinions

Cos your scarred neighbors were no different from your mom and pops’ choppy language when they first lived here

Your large frame that’s equipped with a lard brain must be a hindrance

In being at least half-heartedly thankful you were given a better starting place for you to finish

It would be smart changing that dulled vision if you act like a green card ain’t a fucking privilege

Especially since American really means y’all were part alien to begin with

Of starvation, you have no inkling, you weren’t farm raised so what’s up with this pig’s pen

No walk of fame on that one strip but he’ll be stargazing when I jump kick him

Teeth will part ways with blood trickling down his shocked face and slumped lips

Looking like Art Blakey when he’s drug tripping

So try and diss real Filipino shit

You don’t know what survival really means

Never dug a hole to shit in the jungle and wipe your ass with a leaf

You couldn’t improvise everything that you would need from a tree

You haven’t opened a bottle cap with your muthafuckin’ teeth

You’d probably rip your hair out if you lost electricity for a week

You are what you eat and all your shit weak, can’t even develop immunity to diseases

I bet you couldn’t cook or stomach an adobo made from a janitor fish or even zombie pieces

Never hustled on the streets, scuffled with police, get busted just for weed

You don’t know what survival really means, I dare you to try drunk and high driving a motorcycle in the Philippines

Yeah, y’all got drive-bys

Back home we don’t even need guns, every day you can die right when any vehicle drives by

So get it straight homes, it’s peso, not pay-so

Your name should be Predo and not Frey-do

If you ever came home, I’d introduce you to real Predos to make you feel safe yo but you’d still be afraid though

Fuck Fredo, and Fuck J-Pro, but J-Pro helped me with my visa and married a Filipina

So now he’s cool based on my say-so

You’re in quite a predicament, for all those years of trying to fit in

With your rhyming style considered slightly more interesting

Cos it doesn’t remind them of flip shit so they’re surprised by your pigment

Acting like you got no pride in your kinsmen

You’ve picked your side, you might as well drop the hyphenated description

Then FlipTop goes wild on the internet and all of a sudden he’s dying to visit

Prying for riches on top of a hotel plus I have to buy him a ticket

As if we owe you some type of recognition when you, out of all these sly little bitches

Who have never provided assistance should know better than to try and swipe a slice of the pie from our kitchen

But I guess when you’re sired by an immigrant, have no diet restrictions, live life like the sky is the limit

And hasn’t had the tiniest glimpse of what it’s like to persist in the dire conditions of the islands you’ve relinquished

Let alone rise from the trenches and build an empire from the pillage

Then you grow up to be an oversized, inconsiderate, conniving, insipid

Slimy, opportunistic, bribed politician looking-ass muthafuckin dipshit

Your anatomical design is inconsistent

You’re actually the giant of midgets

And you got a digestive system that makes you fart silent but liquid

You don’t know back home shit cos your American eyes can’t envision things outside the world that you’re living in

And I’m not even nationalistic yet I know both local and American shit

Not cos I’m Americanized, but cos, of the world, I’m a citizen

So fuck whatever you’re speaking, I don’t need you to give me a reason to rip you to pieces

Shit, even the embassy in Manila didn’t put a check on business or leisure

Since they knew I’d represent all of our people who’d really kill for a visa

 

Round 2:

Storing weight is an enormous waste (waist) and sorta’ strange if you’re poor in taste

If a four bar multi joke that ends with a simile is all he chases then I can’t support your statements

If you insist that shit’s more than basic, then you’re fucking with yourself and that’s an orgy ain’t it?

And with that size you put the four in fornicating

Fuck Fredo Algebra I don’t have to further explore your nature

Even your corny alias is formulaic

You’ve referenced the Hoffa punch separately in two battles, and still the punchline in both wouldn’t land

So I don’t even need algebra in proving that your stupid ass couldn’t do the math

But what prevents fat old Fred Algebra from being one of the west chapter’s best rappers?

I mean, he’s got vet status and sometimes his pen: savage, I guess man’s really just lacking that X-factor

He tries to perfect his syllable count, but he doesn’t make his syllables count like you’ve switched them around

Using numbers to solve for letters, no wonder Fredo’s Algebra couldn’t figure shit out

Shit’s tragic, thought he’d make big numbers off hit classics

If he called his album “arithmetic”

They thought they became cooler when they named their crew “Great Muta”

I don’t care if you took that from some wrestler, in Tagalog that means y’all literally giant eye boogers

Great Muta… y’all some lame putas

If y’all weren’t gay, y’all would be straight losers

You said in an interview, your clique picked Great Muta cos of his signature move

And that y’all represent the green poison mist that he spits at dudes so

Since rappers spit, and you’re a rapper, and Great Muta spits poison, yeah, I get it, cool

There’s an ocean of creativity and y’all picked to swim in the kiddie pool

It’s not original and hardly an inch removed from the physical act of spitting

Dude y’all might as well have called yourselves the “Poison Spitting Crew”

Then all of a sudden you made a backronym for MUTA, “Most Unstoppable Team Around”

As if that really was the initial definition y’all had meant to use, that shit is stupid

Is that supposed to get us spooked?

How can you be ignorant of us and think that we still all live in nipa huts

When you’ve got more than just Filipino blood, shit he evolved from a coconut

He did evolve from a coconut, check his genetics

Brown, round, dirty husk euphemizing his chin size

And get him to open up and it’s all white on the inside

See he doesn’t exactly walk and talk Caucasian but he’s a cocky Asian

The wigger type, got white washed with low quality paint and a faulty paintbrush

I always knew the states was a melting pot of races but

Brown boy wannabe the black wannabe of whites? That’s darned amazing!

So I discovered that the only reason why you’ve never thought of coming back to the motherland

You’re already fucking fat, but your mum so fat, your mother’s land, what’s up with that?

You should get an award for best reluctant over-actor, check him chuckle at his own jokes after

In an attempt to cover up his character

Trying hard to pretend you’re not trying hard when all your impressions are always directed at the camera

But I do commend that one time you didn’t look amateur

When you embraced your whiteness, couldn’t guard the wall

And couldn’t walk any farther in Game of Thrones, that was pretty accurate

Besides the acting stuff, I heard he’s an environmental fashion buff

He uses recyclable material, was inspired by his slimy massive jugs and put out a line “Fredo’s Algae Bras”

And when I say your clothes are tight it’s only cos of your body type and that’s all besides the Hiphop sizing

If I had a penny for every free hiphop shirt I’ve taken home since, I’d be so rich

But I don’t give a fuck about clothes bitch, I got my own fits

And y’all are just keeping up with the joneses

I donate my wardrobe to broke kids and the homeless

The clothes don’t make the man but it will help make you a grown pig

If y’all haven’t noticed he looks exactly like popo, shit

You just need the uniform, I’m sure you’ve already got the donuts

So go pretend your clothes are fresh and hope it sells but it won’t make cents/sense

Cos no amount of thorough threads will ever make you thorough bred/bread

 

Round 3:

If you’re clearly opposed to being brand stamped as some kind of nerd

Why’d you say “lyrical flow” in your team backpack cypher verse?

How’d you even get votes, your shit was ass crack as far as I’m concerned

Ranked seventeen in the polls? You must have had some real G’s ransack cyber turf

“Here we go with the critical blow, it’s like I fed my lyrical flow with miracle grow”

Here we go with the critical blow?!? It’s like I fed my lyrical flow… with miracle grow?

I’m insisting to know, were you also “flippin a dippin” a scroll and was it spiritual though?

And putting miracle grow on your lyrical flow means you’ve admitted it openly, your skill is artificially honed

You said you’re a mix of Thesaurus and Diz, so you’re another stereotypical clone

Your shit is exposed, think your syllable’s dope with your simpleton prose

When you’re only as intricately woven as some kid skipping a rope

Getting stuck in the Ground Zero League must’ve been painful,

Compare our records and it’s bad enough that I was paid to slay fool,

But before this, among a bunch of other no-names dudes, you had to battle Pariah, Joe Cutter,

And were supposed to battle Manik, god damn it, the organizers must really hate you

And whether or not your wild imagination helps

Having said all that fat shit against Reverse Live, you must really hate yourself

I guess we have to accept the fact that you’re just too fat to embrace yourself

I’ve read harder instruction manuals than you, and he’s worried I know this

When it’s not his turn, observe him real closely

Pacing with such a concerned, nervous emotion like his burger was stolen

I can tell you’re a fat boy with chicken legs and wanna get fatter only so you can think of more chicken when

You see your legs become thicker chicken legs

And here’s one of his best quotes against Rone

“I’m not A-Class, DNA, Caustic, or any other fucker that you lost to”

So if you’re not like the people whom you claim beat Rone,

Then that means you took a loss too, and guess what he lost too

Fuckin’ worthless bitch

I make people feel smart when my verse proves things and their worldview’s fixed

You make people feel smart cos you’re stupid

See I’d rather have an uncommon accent and be subtitled

Than be the fat kid who’s self-entitled

Even if I’m someone’s genuine idol, I picked the stress and trials

To perfect a cycle wherein it’s just an extra prize to beget the title

As opposed to being the guy that expects they like you

Tryna clown on me when your rounded cheeks amount to greed

From devouring pounds of beef and yours is the only mouth you feed

Let’s see you house emcees, wake up every day to think about the scene and how it should be

Help out careers regardless of how you actually sound to me

Get the local hiphop to live out their dreams and even if I personally never put out CDs

Bitch, all of that is what I’m proud to be

So don’t even test, saying I’m not tight just tightens the rope on your neck

My opus has wrecked all sorts of notions and expectations

It’s no exaggeration that your own kinfolk have already checked

Even my footnotes so foot soldier better show some respect

You’ve been wishing for vacation so here goes the arrangement,

I got a million folks just waiting for me to put dinner on the table

So this pig gets shown the blade from my scribbled notes’ paper

Cut through skin, all folded layers into strips and flown in crates,

Even the Muslims will throw me thanks for bringing home the bacon

And yo, win or lose, FlipTop 470 million views

It took you 30 plus battles to total a million views

Well isn’t that cute


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