 When you talk about ratchets in your vids, all types of different weapons, but if you outsmart your adversaries, you and Nina Smith from Wesson, before a bullet, take your cap off, I'm gonna teach the kid a lesson, see it's kind of like magic. Yo, what's good, don't flop all fucking day, you know the score is er, hosting, as always, please make sure you follow me on my social media, link's on the screen right about now. We're at one of the final training days of the year, it's been a fucking great year of events. I appreciate everybody coming out this Saturday, and we're gonna get into the next battle of the day. Okay, MC on my right-hand side, Swatter Kitsch, make some noise, let's go. All my left-hand side, JB, make some noise, let's go. JB won the flip, you wanna Swatter go first? We have three rounds, round on one of my man Swatter, let's go, training day. I'll go first, I'm killing them for the hell, death row in the venue. I probably need tweezers just to fiddle his elbow. Anyway, let me start like this. You have no potential, no potential. To be blunt, JB, you're a broken pencil. See, you got beat by a wren, then got beheaded on every occasion. You should consider a second vocation. I'm saying, you carry on with that talk, our resort to violence, reorganize your internal organs in your core alignment. See, me talking, I bring burns with words, that's first degree yours, a course assignment. Boring, you walk in every, pause is heightened. You're the dwarf embodiment of an awkward silence. Patent flatulence, that's no accident. You let pure gas, you let fracking in it. I'm a fucking no. What's this manufacturing? I'm a fracturing, you're overgassing in Volkswagen manufacturing. Look out for his mandatory stroke of the nose. And then wait, I'm so incredible, death face. Carry scripts like hammer fisters, battleships to passive them. Never put down a patent script and think, why am I fucking rapping like this? Battle rap needs Jacob Burke in shores, like every face needs herpes swords. Sure, bitch made curtains for you, burkers in shores. You are short, fake, imperfectly formed. When we meet, you can't outreach me with beef we all heard before. I'm saying, that's a super reach, brother. Hard before, scurvy swarming, burning walls, serbian border, emergency wall. If you sound like this when you spit, bro, and your eyes don't blink closed, you have thou sound down syndrome. That's some sound info. He left some sounds ingrown. I'm saying, if gets around, he's a town info. In one of your shit rap songs you said, you were too weak, like a fortnight. Sorry, I could not keep that bottled up, like a cork mite. I'm supposed to treat him, this game is not a boss fight, but I don't mind. For the most part, I've been killing no names like James Bond mob types, or a plain cod offline. You had those baker dots, guys, so you, me, your name drops stock price. And if you lose to me, it won't be the same again after. We'll take a step backwards when my name extends past this. Use the remains of dead rappers to make a step ladder, just to drag you down for a main event battle. So don't chat your shit about how you know in the sport. Well, I've been raising my standards, you've been lowering yours. This is your tenth battle, you are not some vet. This is my tenth this year, and I ain't lost one yet. Say I rock a Napoleon complex, or me and Napoleon having communist conquests. If you were a foot taller, I climbed the inches to make size no difference, like I know it is. Well, you stagnated, I was rising in this, now it's no biggie, kill him, sky's the limit. So scientific, your mouth just goes a mile a minute, and that bravado's making promises you're right and isn't, while I write in pictures, like Egyptians. Visit Soweto with the hook, like hieroglyphic. Frankie was the top writer, that title removed, and I ain't trying to lose, you can all slide in the queue, stay light years ahead of what they're trying to do. It's Rex Banner, but their bars look different when I'm inside the room. The skis is a fatty-op. You wouldn't know about corks, you sound like you have one in your batty-op. That round, you haven't been burped in a snap time now. I can't rap on beat, feet 308 feet and stab his brain to the grey meat. I'm past the peace, like the JB's break beats. This JB actually breaks beats. I'm gonna 3-0 you like your height and feet, feet to top. I'm gonna 3-0 you like your height and feet, feet to top. You've never been seen on tracks, freeing off a drop, never heard on beats, keeps shittin' off the top. Now, that would be six keys of E mixed with whiskey. That's JB on the rocks. JB on the rocks. You could probably sleep in a sock. In a sock, I don't know what the fuck I was gonna say. I used to be like you. Then my feet size grew. Game and right like you. No one takes advice from you, Mr. Size Five Shoes. I don't know why you're starting, bro. You're an actual garden gnome. You're Adam the Rapper's half a clone. You've cloned the pattern, so you're a clone of Sol and Adams. Grow it down! Sol and Adams, grow it down. You stole your clothes from Adams. Your face looks wide-eyed and animated. Grow it down, I'll just shrink you. You look like an animated head. Fuckin' tree dwarf. Your nemesis is the seat of a seesaw. Fuckin' tree dwarf. Your nemesis is the seat of a seesaw. I was short-sighted before, now I see short. I got 50p, says you can't bench-press a tree bore. Pick me s'mores. I ain't gonna stop on the dwarf. I ain't gonna stop on the dwarf. For you, a fork in the road is an obstacle course. I'll stamp on you. I'll tow micro-labeled body envelopes, stamp drop you. I'll two-finger-slap-box you. I'll column-war-max-box you. You are fool-barred. A few bars of flute parts, put your head through the fuel shaft, and have two parts in the fuselage. I could do some more cool bars, but a short joke is all that you... Ah! Two, let's go, man. Hold it down, everyone, thank you. You got that. My dad is a playwright, mum is an actress to boot swag. That everything in life has been handed to you, swag. That I went to Bronze Grove private school and made a jazz trio to swag. That everything I just said is actually true swag. So when I think about it, something crossed my mind. All your written battles are with posh white guys. Do you ever get stuff and think something's not quite right or ever get the feeling you're a posh white guy? You probably call me posh. But coming from Oxford makes that bit suffer, because you preach a quality and like Boris Johnson. Pick something. But when push comes to shove, so it allows the conservative numbers. You and me posh is like a pot calling the kettle a pig fucker. Don't act like this battle's a massive statement. When we know as gene codes, let's cash this claim or a man to say for it. Why act like a big man? You never cashed a check for millions. Handled mega dealings or had expensive weekends at resorts. Of course, man. Guess whatever, he's rich. You've got too many carry-ons. The man is Kenneth Williams. Numbers more than some, but I saw more than one. Stoods gas you in a pit like Formula One. Your rule rumble was shit. They should have told you to quit rapping. Show us a bitch at it. You know that the shit happens, you're sent and sounds like the set of how high. Cause at the end we saw you get smoked by a big cannon. Freestyle's meant to be your thing. Cause you don't write so well. Be hit a wall after the cannon. Side show and melt. That's how you do a 60 second round. Time. I see through your rapping like a parcel scam. I'm shipping bars by the ground. These bars by the ground. These are archery. You need to marshal the plan. You pick up my pen, it would take off half of your hand. Sit down. I will bury you in a jar full of sand. I spit flames, char carcasses and a carvery stand. You just came for a Tee-hee-ha-ha sarcasm slam. Sick of that shit. You lecturing guys on charisma is like gathering Jewish relations advice from the Third Reich in Hitler. You are a vibe killer. Listening to you is like licking the wrong side of the risler. You's like licking the wrong side of the risler. Ancient scripts like Tetris pricks, electric switches. Did we get the picture? Fucking hell. See, the minute you said in a verse, that didn't work. Listen, Mr. Unsticky Rizzler verse. Listen to you spit a word. It's like camera is a double insult. Camera and raping a pig in a villager. So they called S to brand hypocrite on your forehead. They enforced it to swing swords to your cortex. How many more of these people are you going to bore next? I want to hit skip ad button, snooze, snore, ignore text, but can't wrap forward. You're trading two, one, two, four X. You don't even know about trading two, one, two, four X. That's how fucking irritating he is. Talking about this and that and Posh and Oxford and... Who's this guy preaching at? With your 0.09 meter swag. Fucking supply teacher swag. You're saying... I've identified him. One more generic rhyming, identical assembly line, generic guy. Fucking attention deficit style says I haven't had sex in a while. You have a depressing life. I'm intelligent design. You're a one-dimensional geometric line. One second I smoke an ounce of J to a tenth of his size. Esmeralda processed in twin pentium drives. I'm not going to lie, getting written just for you is an obstacle. It's how much can I write listening to as little of your music as possible? Your last album was 18 hours long. Give up the ghost. It could be the greatest of all time. No one's finished to know. It starts with a phone call. On the ninth track you pick up the phone. But you bought your first song you just give up and go. So that came out. In the end didn't get no love. Critical reception's fun, but if album sales don't get those funds and you're performing free for every one, the ends won't come. You need to step those up. Record labels expect those numbers to expend those sums, while you're dragging your career out the gutter like, Steptoe's son. I mean, what was it, Kinch? An alto sax? For junkies came. Now Kinch without no sax. You could tell you he's over it. Then some nights get flashbacks to when sax became a part of that one-time at band camp. They say battle is climate music. Too hard to switch characters. A view pervaded the industry and it shackled us, but Soweto broke the mould for it in this standard because he proved you can make music and be a shit fatter one. Let's be honest. You're either talking about dicks or double time. He says off the top, we know it's bad. I don't care if you're old school. That is not how you're supposed to rap. How are they going to market any battle that you're posted at? Come see the famous jazz musician. He raps about fucking mums and sprotum sacks. You've asked Brucey with shit. A view that views support too. Only way it could be worse, if they choose to use your tunes. Let's go. Amazing move. Off him how he's vision-distorted. Fucking nose is that. Picking your organs. Jumping his nose is that. Stick it at your risk. That's all. You're so approachable to that. You're quite a mean man. You're quite a mean man. Because you are a joke. You're a joke. I'm not saying you're bad. You should remind me of it a bit. You even need to use the remote. You're battling the sunfrogs to put up with future songs. Why are we splitting filler? An'ari!