Alen as Whitty
Cole as B-Rabbit
Written by: Alen & ColeTheCole
Mixing & Mastering: Light
Beat Produced by: Itzzeyrox
Thumbnail by: Alen

(0:13) Whitty:
Oh, hey. You wanna battle? You’re quite impish.
Not sure if there’s a point when you’ll end up choking once I finish.
‘Cause judging by your past raps, you won’t handle this fast scrap
Fired off ‘Caesars; a drop of heat would leave your ass cracked
So I’ll try and go easy but it’s quite hard against a pukin’ loser
Who’s a cuck, resides with a jobless mom alongside abusing daddy boozer
I’m warning ya, my lyrics hit like a verbal Tha Free World
So I suggest you scram without a word like how you let your ex girl

(0:34) B-Rabbit:
Came to battle on another friday night; how peculiar,
I wasn’t expecting to find Julius Oppenheimer Junior
I’ll defuse this bomb; the lines he drops ain’t heavy
I’ve seen hotter shit when eating up my mom’s spaghetti
You nervous, stupid? A lo-fi fight’s more your style; you’re at the wrong shed
Songs and disses are weak while my punchlines hover overhead
You’re dead, against I; this battle you should abandon
It’s no wonder your shots are suckin’ when this mod’s non-canon

(0:56) Whitty:
You’re pushing my limits, dude. It’s best not to pursue this.
I like you, so let’s just forget this happened; Don’t make me do this.

(1:01) B-Rabbit:
I’ve expected more heat but your bars are just so weak, man
You’re creating more fire when you’re burning posters with your hands

(1:07) Whitty:
ENOUGH; I’m sick of dirt like you who refuse to leave me alone
I’ll stain you with bars so filthy they get worse than your trailer home
Your life only declines; no rebounding from this ‘bout, you clown
Your mental state crumbles more than your fucking car breaks down
I’m cracking fingers, you eat fists
Catch your career dead in a damn ditch
I’ve been raising the bar and frame rates
You’re throwing beer bottles in strained hate
The shots I fire are so violent, son
Your best shots are off a paintball gun
After this duel you’re gonna lose yourself
Make like Cheddar Bob and shoot yourself

(1:28) B-Rabbit:
Hey, temper temper; You ain’t tough, you’re a fuckin’ bore
This guy tries to be hard, please, his real name is Whitmore
I could freestyle a better verse, I’m ballistic with the way I bite
Why you surprised Rabbit’s owning you in a fuckin’ hip-hop fight?
I work with metal all day, your ass should be afraid
I’ll battle you smash you down get a promotion and get paid
Go throw your mic again and cry over this loss in sorrow
I’ll be nabbin’ the seven digits from your mother for a dolla tomorrow

Whitty vs. B-Rabbit. Rap Battle #3

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Lyrics/Karaoke/Trivia: https://docs.google.com/document/d/16F8TWJn7ltHQwYrjHXNpUcpnqzEQ3VcL0u1dEUxfXUs/edit
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