Shotty Horroh Vs Arsonal hits 10 million views

It’s been five years since battle rap legends, Shotty Horroh (Manchester, United Kingdom) and Arsonal (Newark, New Jersey) went toe-to-toe at Don’t Flop’s 4th Birthday; and it’s now hit 10 million well deserved views. This is one of the most monumental moments in battle rap history, making it the first non-virally captioned English speaking rap battle to hit 10,000,000 views.

We’ve compiled the lyrics for arguably the most famous battle to ever happen. Make sure to congratulate and follow both of them here: Shotty HorrohArsonal.

[Round 1: Shotty Horroh]

Some said I wasn’t gonna show up
Well, that’s what the talking’s about
But I show up for the showdown
To show off when the show’s on for all of the crowd
I am here; applyin’ fear like a .44 or a hawk in your mouth
When someone forces you to withdraw an amount
More than a mortgage and house out of your storage account
I am fear, like walking towards that last zombie corpse on the ground after you’ve used all of your rounds
And you’re not sure if he’s down
You are scared, it’s unfair, that’s why he needs to bring his mates to portray he’s some John Gotti
But our names says it all
He needs an Arsonal and I just need that one Shotty
“We don’t talk about guns here, sunshine!”
Because you don’t know the customs in our bits
London man will roll up to the club with two old muskets rolled up in a carpet folded under their armpits
Unroll the rug to expose the type of guns that look like trumpets or something you used to use for hunt in safaris
Point it right in your face
Without so much than a yard between the gun and the target
Buck will put the finishing touches to the Predator look this motherfucker has started
Tell that crab with the dreads he isn’t fucking with Arnie
But wait, I’m a white guy, from England
And I have no business talking about that “Crip” shit
But I do want to talk about that bitch shit
When you nearly got your wig split by Trick Trick
You told him you didn’t know Shotgun Suge
Then got on stage and admitted that you did, prick
Soon as you let that shit slip
We saw your face change and your pitch shift
You noticed you wasn’t in your district
You was probably on his hitlist, so you gave Calicoe the puppy dog eyes and tried hopping onto his dick
You denied knowing Suge like Peter denied Jesus
We can take this shit to the Biblics!
Whereas I will die for my brothers
And those I have chose to live with
I will refer to those from all religions
I don’t promote the Holy Scriptures
All I’m saying, the minute you deny the folks you sit with
It exposed the bitch in that soldier image
What did you think, bro?
You was gonna gonna roll to England and face some over British Chauffer-driven bloke that flows about tea, toast and biscuits, cricket and bowling wickets?
What did you think, I wouldn’t expose you like the photo pictures loaded up by Loaded Lux of Calicoe when he was going swimmin’? Pussy, know your limits!
What did you think, bro?
I wasn’t as cold as most of them old folks in your own division?
And I would have leaved you voted with them
I don’t give a fuck if it’s no votes and no decisions
The people at home have a right to their own opinions
And the polls and posts are gonna show the business
This is for the folks at home to witness; focus, listen
How can this man hear me? I’m leaving Ars in another predicament than Van Persie when they transferred him
You wanna talk about gat burstin’ and crack servin’
Pussy, I know you don’t put that work in
Only time Arsonal lets shooters go
Is to Mancini or that twat Fergie
Says he’s a gangsta though
But if he’s catching bodies then why’s he touring?
If they’ve got warrants out for the Glocks he’s fired
And he opt to fly then the cops’ll find him, surely?
But when they did that background check-out
And his background checked out
They didn’t stop him trying to board it
It was like they finished top four
Like the way Arsonal qualified for Europe

[Round 1: Arsonal]
Once again I’m here, in another cracker’s country
In another cracker’s face, taking another cracker’s money
Now if this cracker crack a smile
I’ma say ain’t nothing fucking funny
You are ugly. In the UK, Arsenal’s a household name
A known fact that’ll get you far
Wait, I used that against Conceited
I gotta give this Shotty bitch a different bar
My last two opponents both sniffed coke
But through a different straw
Since you like football, I’ll chop your head off your shoulders, ‘mate’, and kick that shit before it hit the floor
You’d sure fly across this room
Break every lamp and dent the door
All before it fall into the GOAL! I did all that just to score
You the type to put a date rape drug in a drink
Don’t hit the whore
You got too much pride to ask for my “ortograrf”
So you still ask me for my signature
Now, last night I was this close to dig his lover
I walked out the bedroom to get the rubber
Come back, lift the covers
His bitch and my baby… fucking Stifler’s mother
Little freak bitch, every day of the week bitch
She wanna snack into a Slim Jim
Ooh yeah, and slobber on that beef stick
Real talk, no joking, I’ll fuck you up on some G shit
Then do it again a little different
And call it the “Beat Yo’ Ass Remix”
Wait, wait, wait. I said that too. Ness was the Beat Yo’ Ass Remix, so Shotty, I might have to beat your ass truly
They gon’ film me beating your ass
And make a Beat Yo’ Ass movie
I’ma get ass off beating your ass
From one of these Beat Yo’ Ass groupies
Then have my homeboys come carjack you
For your beat-up ass hoopdie
Now, us fellas know the best place to write rhymes is on the toilet or on an aircraft
I mean, I see straight through the garbage you got in store for me; your raps clear trash
Now, I’ll strap you on a new year Jag doing 95 on a deathpath
So when you crash
Syringe needles and razors pop out the airbag
You got a vest on? Headshot. You got a helmet? Neckshot
Ruger in my right hand, two straps and a left Glock
It’s funny how your body went from flesh to a wetspot
I’m squeezing down on my left and right trigger to shoot
Like I’m still playing my Xbox
What would you do for a Klondike? Let me guess, you’d fuck that Big Ang bitch from the Mob Wives
That Blicker ring, I’m hittin’ things
Your whole career was side swiped
Unanymous intervened
DNA throw him in the chicken wing without the fried rice
To beat me you gon’ need street fighters; Ken and Ryu. You gon’ need Megan Good’s mom’s voodoo doll from Eve’s Bayou
Two midgets on mopeds with broke legs to breeze by you
And a book on how to deceive
That mean’s Adam need Eve’s bible
You big fag, I’ll run up on you, pop, slap his dad
Give him whiplash, then put a hand grenade in his shitbag
You a bitch ass cracker who wouldn’t ride if this was Six Flags
I swear to God
I’ll put every word on the stitching in my Crip flag
I’m out in London on some ape shit
Grape shit, bandana on my face shit
Have him muted, this nigga wouldn’t say shit
He unable to talk; he’d be the nigga to catch a case with!
I’ll call him “Amnesia;” your memory get erased quick
Let me put my hands up and step back for this, because if you a G in any way, shape or form, you should react to this
If you got any respect for the relatives that passed
I should get slapped for this
What I’m saying is, I shouldn’t be able to say another motherfucking word after this
But I’m glad your uncle dead, fathead
He wasn’t nothing but a knucklehead crackhead
With a head full of ringworms and a face full of blackheads
He deserved to get caught in the crossfire
When that MAC spread, and if God gave him a second chance at life I’d wish him back dead!
On some wild goth shit. I’d go to his grave, dig him up, chop his body and smoke his ashes on some How High shit
And as soon as his ghost appear
I’ma turn into Dan Aykroyd and hit him with that Ghostbuster
Just to make sure the coast is clear
And when I meet him in the upper room
After the angels bring supper to him
I swear to God, we gon’ stomp him in front of Jesus
Me and a hundred goons
Now, if I’m lying, I’m dying and I ain’t dead, so here’s the topic
Last night, I was on a stage at a rave
And a crowd was forming a moshpit
I saw a nigga getting shot, brutally beat, dropkicked, and aVietnamese gangster done stabbed a nigga with a chopstick
I’m thinking in my head, “Damn, that’s some nasty ass shit.”
Out the corner of my eye I see this nasty ass bitch
It was Shotty Horroh’s mom flashing them saggy ass tits
I told my dawg put his paws on her, he Lil’ Scrappy’d that bitch
Three minutes. Listen, I get love in the room
From the men, women and children
And tell that fucking security guard
I’m the only thug in the building

[Round 2: Shotty Horroh]
This is Saw, I am Jigsaw. You wanna play a game, don?
Don’t Flop got some kinda hype
And you’ve tried to walk through this door with that sensor beam, so I constructed a trap attached to the frame’s lock…
A 12-gauge prop with its aim locked
And a brain shot, soon as you get your foot in the chain pops
Breaks off, forcing the mechanism to press the trigger
And give him ghostface features, like a tape of Raekwon’s
What I’m saying is, it’s a trap
He walked into that Sensa
And walked into a Shotty taking his face off!
You wanna box like Rocky, we can do that ASAP
I’m Diddy behind them hooks, like, “Take that, take that.”
Your boys might jump in; you look like Wale, so they may back
But you in England right now
And I know this one motherfucker called “Payback”
You gonna dread-locking up with me
This won’t be no close shave, fam
You won’t let the chrome spark
You have no arms, I should’ve battled Ahab
I’m about to go from the culture you oppose of
And vulture-look at the money grab and make cash
See, I’m about the science, he’s about the math
That means we are not the same class
I roll up on him while he’s listening to his Drake tracks
With a blade that’ll take off that Lil Wayne mask

[Ghetts: He’s fucking gassing me up!]

You’ll pull out Squidward’s clarinet, but you don’t play that
You’ll have blades travel down you faster than skate ramps
Or Wesley Snipes running down a train track
You’re fake, I’m in a position to say that
Because when I’m gonna off man like Dustin
I’ll see all the matches like Rain Man
He sounds like he about to say
“Hey! Smokey back here taking a shit!”
That makes me think that you blaze crack
You this hyper because you burn stones in white Ace cans
And you’re ashamed
So you cover up the burning, like Kane’s mask
So you moved down south?
They’re just gonna start finding your needles in haystacks
Addiction is a sickness, you are ill; that’s why you hate Smack
Everytime you hear his name you want to do 8 grams
And make a vein clapse
And stop talking about midgets, cuz I motherfucking hate that!
No, no, that’s not it
I’m saying midgets are really cool people, but they are though
They’re just misunderstood. And just for that, I hope an Oompolumpa gives a footrub to your mum
She ends up with an Ewok in her mouth
And a munchkin in her cunt, wanking seven dwarves while Mini-Me and Willow cover her in cum
You could never talk about people’s physical appearances when you look like both Kenan and Kel
You look up to small people
You want to be like Illmac and Conceited as well
You believe midgets are little magical demons with spells
That don’t receive any L’s
And that’s why he dropped to his knees against Dizaster
Just to see if it would help
Look at his face though, he’s scared to death
What kind of fucking Crip shows up to the bits wearing red?!

[Round 2: Arsonal]
I knew you’d say something about my battle with Dizaster
That’s your downfall, Shotty, you one predictable ass rapper
Your girlfriend got the same physical features as Fat Bastard
Her stomach stick out further than her booty do
That bitch literally ass backwards
Let a nigga come to my city, talking them real nigga lines
I’ma show him, in my city we like to kill niggas’ moms
See, all the real niggas either dead or in jail
Only a few real niggas rhyme
I ain’t never seen a clock or a casket in a cell
So in my book, Smack, ain’t no such thing as real nigga time
Y’all wanna know why I didn’t battle on the last Smack?
You can have that, that ain’t even what I’m mad at
I’ll change numbers
If they can’t dial Jones, they stock drop, like the Nasdaq
I’ll pistol whip your skull till Calicoe get his dad back
I said, no fingerprints on the gun
My gloves made out of glad wrap
So if I hit you with a straight right, then you entitled to jab back
I’m trying new shit in this battle: experimenting with a lab rat
I ain’t even taking you serious
This just some comical shit to laugh at
I can never get tired of fans, I mean as long as it’s not a Stan
I went from Math to a Klu Klux Klan member hologram
You look like a white Supremist chemist that’s part of a Taliban
Who talk tough in his rap, with the heart of Juwanna Mann
I’ll snatch your soul, like Shang Tsung
Slit your throat with Kitana fan
Then grab the Robert Downey Jr. off my waist
That’s that iron, man
I own UW battle league, but I started in the Lionz Den
I’ll have you in a coffin telling stories
That mean in a casket you lying in
That’ll teach this homie not to ever falsify again
My mission’s to defeat you till they greet you in a higher land
I’m in a riot van, strapped like a cop, dressed like a fireman
When my cannon start wildin’ out I ain’t talking Mariah man
Now let me ask you: Have you ever been in a jail cell?
Have you ever heard a Ruger go off besides Hell Rell?
Do you have the mindpower to turn a dyke bitch to a girl girl?
And get the same beats free that Kanye and Pharell sell?
No, because you ain’t like me. Now you don’t like me
You threatening to swing; just do it! Oh, you ain’t Nike
Eurgh said you the best and I shouldn’t take you lightly
But I only came to fuck three British bitches and sightsee
This is no comparison, switchblade your abdomen
Squeeze down your vocal chords; Shotty will never rap again
In a few days the whole world will see
What these cameras capturin’
A million views guaranteed
And I bet you they want me back again
I’m streetsmart and book smart
White boy, you just look smart
If life was an automobile, it’s a Suburban
And you only gon’ find me in the hood parts
Let me break that down, I said: I’m streetsmart and book smart. White boy, you just look smart
If life was an automobile, it’s in the suburbs and you only gon’ find me in the hoodparts
Obviously I was brought up ’round poverty
Psychologically, I got the mindpower to separate you from the thug that you disguised to be
Since views don’t lie, and I got the whole world watching me
A science lesson is what this gotta be
On how to break down an Adam properly
Now, I wanted to physically get at him
So I went on Twitter to add him
I found out his name was Adam
So I gotta break down an Adam
See, the definition of “atom” is the basic unit of matter
When your mother named you Adam
She was inferring, basically, you didn’t matter
Same name, spelt different, but with the same definition
So if Adam, atom, and Adam, I mean, that ain’t repetition
But if Adam’s without Eve
Then men are strong and he’s living proof
But you a faggot, cuz you let a pussy trick you
Into biting the forbidden fruit
That’s when God sent me down here
To snatch every bit of confidence from your conscience
Since you tried to convince the world of your accomplishments I’m your consequence
I’ma derail the niggas you ridin’ with
Televise the shit, revise the script
Then keep on shooting rounds out of chopper clip
Now, I could break down your life in eight bars
You really ain’t hard, you a fake fraud who used to play ball
In battle rap, you the Ray Charles
Meaning you ain’t really seeing nobody
But acting like beating me really ain’t hard
Your chances slimmer than Big T in China
Running a marathon on the great wall
Wake up, if he front lining, I’ll shoot him in his 8-ball
All y’all clothes gon’ be red
Like y’all was hit with all red paintballs
My goons travel with me, so I barely gotta make calls
You wanna be a leader, stand in front of LeBron
On a fast break, nigga, take charge
I hate y’all… and “hate” is a strong word
But I just cooked, killed, buried this nigga; them all verbs
An action word describing the pain that I caused
And it all serves the same purpose
Your life’s a circus, you clown niggas is all herbs
You a herb, I’m a smoker though
I’m walking round with a Pinocchio
That’s a long range with a long nose
So I’m hitting targets in Tokyo
When that bullet hits you, it make you say “Aah”
You my Jun Jun, you Lil’ Romeo
You a bitch and a snitch
So I’m letting all your little homies know
Now, like I said before, everybody in the building love me
Men, women, and children
Tell the security guard one more time…
I’m the only thug in this building!

[Round 3: Shotty Horroh]
Eurgh, this is my main event? I’m not even part stressed
That’s some cheap Wayne looking T-Pain fell asleep on a park bench with a large head looking like a Klingon from Star Trek
He loves Crippin’ up, but since he fucks with them Bloods
He’s an unfinished book, cuz he’s part red
But who you reppin’, dude?
You’re both red and blue, like the second suit of Clark Kent
But I’m the Kryptonite to this Crip tonight
Lex Luther, forget Mook, I’m your arch-nemesis, heartless
What happens when those Bloods and Crips have a disagreement, what does your heart rep?
Do you rep that flag, and dead that man
Because his garms red, even though you half-bred?
Or do you rep the French if you have and stand next to that man and listen through war talk and calm threats?
Or kill your own, like Saddam’s men and Bin Laden?
What did you think, there was no space in my graveyeard left?
This is wrong, I mean ron, you could never give AR tests
You say your hands blue, like hypothermia?
That’s not what my gangsta radar said
All you reds and blues flagging together look like the Union Jack and you can get your union jacked for tryna claim our set
This is a blue getting caught red-handed
Same time I’ll have his palms read
I can read your future and if you ever had Horroh scope
You was tryna find out what the alignment of the stars said
I don’t know a shadow about the Tarot
But let me tell you what the cards read: Murder
Plus I shuffle with a half deck, and every singe card’s “Death”
This is how it’s meant to be done
Here’s how you decompile an arsenal into fractions and bits
This is someone that claims to have beat Dizaster
This is someone that actually did!
With all due respect it’s not about the flag that you grip
It’s about the fact that your mans a slag with a dick
That will shag her actual kids
For a drag off your spliff or a packet of crisps
Let’s talk about his mum though, cuz she’s a slut
Her pussy’s got fallopian tubes that are growing and ooze that’s left the pussy swollen and bruised
And smelling like smouldering fumes
Everytime your dad tries to poke with his tool
He disturbs a million crabs tryin’ to go for a snooze
As they hold on her pubes
She got fucked off every rapper in here
On camera, it looked like an actual cypher
I mean, I fucked her, she got passed to Delypher
She had Unan and Pamflit beside her, passing the cider
Shit, we need some more camera angles on her nasty vagina
So we opened up the fucking nasty vagina
Put Bodybag in, his camera and flyer
Shit, even Sam the graphic designer smashed her
And passed on the flyer!
Now you’re in another cracker’s stage
On another cracker’s stage, wishing that he didn’t battle
Oh my god, Shotty done fucked another kid up
Hip hop’s Jimmy Saville!
And your dreads look stupid as fuck!
You’re always causing fights in your battles
I find that shit more than pathetic
I find it ironic that the source of the beef is always the relish

[Round 3: Arsonal]
I blame you, white boy, for 100 years of slavery
Don’t play with me, you seen me murder a nigga from A to Z
But that was a tutorial
I was just teaching niggas to see the way
I knew my alphabet since 3
I’m 25, don’t you know I can kill a nigga from Z to A?
For example: I’ll hit him why he nappin’, catching Z’s
Your brother ask, “Why (Y) you do that?”
I say his ex (X) pay for it
And if she double, you (W) getting blew back
I got a red op like the V A in the morning
With a folder full of missions with pictures and you (U) on it
9 under my T-shirt, passenger of that S-Class
Coming to where you are (U, R), any questions: just ask
Any Q-uestions, just ask
I got a half a P on my trunk, two O’s on the dashboard
Listening to Renegade and Em (N, M) verse on fast forward
L lit, so I’m smoking, O-K, I’m a pot head
Murdered this white bitch like O-J
To get away from the cop feds
I know that this gold H on my belt cost lots of dough
And as a G it’s up to me to make the choice that I gotta flow
If I see your bitch, I’ma F her, on sight, no effort
Give her two E pills and give her hard D for breakfast
Now you see (C) how intelligent I can be (B)
When I’m on my A game
That was the alphabetical “orda” “sloorta”
In reverse, Shotty Horroh
Now, they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Quick draw, you wouldn’t see it as it rises from the holster
Because my shooter is my driver
He disguises as a chauffer, to keep the element of suprise but bring the violence a little closer
If you don’t understand that
Then your streetsmarts is on retard
And you was brought into this world
With a default called a weak heart
Your little brother trick-or-treat
I’ll put anthrax on his sweet Tarts
You a fag, wait, I’m not gonna call you a fag
Cuz like DNA said, out here “fag” means cigarette
But you a bitch ass nigga
Wait, you white, you ain’t even a nigga yet
You a punk ass white boy who gets tough over the Internet
Facing an ignorant ass black nigga full of hatred and disrespect
So I close my eyes and drift off into a journey
My mind takes me there… BOOM!
I awake in front of a grown ass white boy with no facial hair
I’ll visit your mom at the doc
While she getting that pre-natal care
Slice her Achilles’ tendon
Open and snatch the newborn baby out of the ankle-chair
Now, all that tough guy rar-rar shit need to get left alone
You was pronounced dead at the signing
When this was set in stone
Desert Eagle tucked in my lining
You know that weapon chrome
Pistole whip his jaw, I broke his English
Now his broken English even relying on Rosetta Stone
What happened to lab battles? It’s funny how shit change
UW had two events, nine battles total, 13 big names
I hire top tier niggas to fuck each other over, then I flip change
So I’m not only a pimp, my nigga
I’m a mastermind in the pimp game
How dare you try to compete when I do this shit in my sleep?
I’m the farmer, you the sheep, you couldn’t shit out what I eat
You’ll be constipated for weeks
I’m dominating the streets
Shotty, I’ll face fuck your mom while she ovulate in the sheets
See, cuz I’m the nigga that be tryin’ to get ya
And cause problems with ya, shot will hit ya, doc will stitch ya
Headshot, your mama miss ya
No blunt, no rolled up papers, when I finally get ya
I’ma cremate ya and smoke your ashes out a Bible scripture
I’m disrespectful, I’ll scratch my balls then tap your face
I’ll smoke a blunt in a confession booth
Whilst confessing to Pastor Mase
Look at you for 9 minutes with the “this nigga is average”-face
Then breakdown how your girl loves to suck dick
Then tongue kiss you with the aftertaste
She try some new shit with me
The car on the wrong side of the road
The steering wheel on the wrong side of the road
I’m in the passenger sheet, she sucking my dick while she driving; that must be some English shit!
Red light means “Blow, bitch!”, green light when she stoppin’
We reached our destination
There’s niggas waiting to put their cock in
If I knew she was into gangbang
Fuck being in England, I would’ve blew that bitch to Compton
Ruger on my waistline, Buddha got me space blind
How you gon’ take charge when my shooter’s on the base line?
It was all a joke until this intruder try to take mine
I’ll put the seven in your chest
And capture the shooting all on FaceTime
Cuz I’m a bad mother shutcha
Wesley screwrdiver through your ribs, let your guts show
Throw him off the roof; call him nutso
I got goons you ain’t never see before; no MC Gusto
40 niggas, 80 straps, big body, Mercedes black
I’m here to bring the 80s back
When niggas in the streets had beef they had to pay for that
Hand-held .22 that could probably fit in a baby lap
Bodybag, homicide… on the dirt, on the grass
I don’t give a fuck, I’m just rapping, yup, I’m tryna spaz
Shotty, guess what… I just kicked fucking Shotty ass
Shotty in a bodybag, your bodybag in a…

[Random person in crowd: Bodybag!]

No! In a bodycast!
Now, tell the truth: Why you ain’t come to America
And battle me in a man league?
You look like the type of nigga
To sniff the car seat right after your man leave
Now, that’s some nasty ass homo shit
Now, I know you seen Dizaster get Dojo kicked
You better be lucky that this battle on some promo shit
Cuz I’m famous for the same sport that got Miguel Cotto rich
And look, I’m done with this white boy; I like you, my man
I’m gon’ – oh, alright, he don’t wanna swipe with my hand
It’s cool, it’s cool! Because the last white boy who tried me
Eurgh, tell him what I did… I dropped that nigga body!

(Credit: Rap Genius for lyrics)

Leave A Comment