conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Write me a song called 2013 BET Hip Hop Awards - TDE Cypher with the following description: Watch the cypher
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Hip Hop Awards: TDE Cypher [EXPLICIT]
   — 
  BET.com
  "Ha, ha. Joke's on you. High five..." Kendrick Lamar, ScHoolboy Q, Ab-Soul, Jay Rock and Isaiah Rashad do hip hop and the West Coast proud with this classic Cypher.
  
  
  
  
  TDE was featured on a cypher for the 2013 BET Hip-Hop Awards, during which Kendrick ripped a “sensitive rapper.” Sway has ScHoolboy Q call Kendrick so that he can speak a bit on his verse. 
  
   (Watch the whole interview from the beginning to hear Q speak on their cypher).
  
  Beat used is the timeless, grimey street classic Shook Ones Part II by Mobb Deep. Make sure the lyrics are different from the original song.
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: [Intro: Kendrick Lamar]
  Cypher
  TDE
  Schoolboy Q, what's hatnin'?
  [Verse 1: ScHoolboy Q]
  Most of these niggas shouldn't be next to us
  We keep our distance from those, those acting like hoes
  Xanny imposed, weed in my clothes, 
  cubics is gold
  Your wig'll get told, put the realest niggas
  Niggas, product of cap-peelers, gangbangers, and dealers
  Streets keep watching—"Oh, ayy..." click, boom
  The ghetto bird get shot down, straight to the top now
  They want a third strike on my background
  But nah, homie, put the mask on when I slide on 'em
  Put the cash in the safe, and here's a extra slug 'fore I shake
  You smoke faster than me with a eighth
  Or better yet, a wet break on a plate
  Burning your faith, all your senses covered in tape
  Fucking with them boys in blue
  Chill out before I send them rags at you
  You running to the cops saying, "How we do?"
  Saying, "It's just rap, and them lines ain't true"
  So I just do Q, fuck it, a ménage à two
  Or maybe trois, baby girl need a papa, I be her da-da
  Coochie spanking, give praise to Allah
  Get blazed in my car, with 
  Oxymoron
  —Rock [Verse 2: Jay Rock]
  Rock got it, Rock came from rock bottom
  Sparked the flames, still remain as a top shotta
  I ain't no backpack rapper, I ain't no lyricist
  And if we ain't talking to you, mind your business, then
  Cold with it, Black Hippy, yeah, we cold niggas
  All the girlies love us, get a whiff of us, they bones quiver
  Heard some clowns throwing stones at us
  Holding boulders, champ
  Once you hear that "YAWK," watch the domes shatter
  It's Top Dawg, we running rap
  Wack rappers feline, reason why we don't run with cats
  Nine-double O-five-nine, where my family at
  Pull up in that family van, holding tools like the handyman
  And to be real, not with all this rapping, politicking
  Rapper competition, wrapped up my position
  'Til I'm finished, 'til I make a couple tickets, then I'm outty
  On them islands with my crimeys, chilling, hide your feelings
  Now, can I live?
  Look, I gotta keep my feet on top of the dirt
  'Cause everywhere I go, they like, "When you dropping some work?"
  Been a threat since birth
  The rap game's pallbearer when I'm dropping the hearse
  I ain't new to this, I'm true to this,
   
  industry's nightmare
  Red strings in my Nike Airs, yeah, the white pair
  I'm Jay Rock, America's most wanted
  My charges? Killing emcees without warning
  Rock! [Verse 3: Ab-Soul]
  Yeah, it's Ab-Soul, gimme the loot, I'm the skinny Biggie
  In New York City with Puffy, puffing the sticky
  All odds against me, still even the score
  Prolly why I'm always OT, on tour
  TDE, believe me, we want war
  I don't even know what piece I like most no more
  Two fingers, two triggers, what's the difference?
  We all gon' die one day, and 'til then, I'm gettin' paid
  My grandma watching, so I ain't gon' curse
  Still gifted like a Wale verse
  Backwood full of OG Bobby Johnson
  Medicine in my soda, tryna dodge the coffin, ah
  And these days are so bittersweet
  I guess it's just a balance, we battle naturally
  And y'all still tripping off of JAY-Z tweet
  I still got laps to run when me and JAY-Z meet—peep
  Soul Brother No. 2
  The first one used to make beats for CL Smooth
  Top got the S550, but the CL smooth
  And rolling weed is the only time I see L's move
  Soul!
  [Verse 4: Isaiah Rashad]
  Look, ayy, I think I found my second home,
   
  sunny California
  And it's your lil' nigga
  "Brother, you ain't meant for corners"—it's what they told me
  So I never looked back, I got a shell in the bag
  Fat as elephant ass, so we flood in the path
  Passing propellers, I tell her, tell her, "We flying, just listen"
  See, we diamond, just shining, and they gon' find us just glistening
  Brought sand to the beach, and we left with your bitches
  For the record in Guinness, I'm a heckling menace
  Where's Robin? I'm giving,
   fucking minding my business
  He a regular victim of some regular women, huh
  Regular niggas, you always cater to sluts
  You always wasting my time, you always faking the funk
  I put your motherfucking dreams in your face
  And keep looking for some women to be all in your face
  That deep dussy, rich nigga, king dussy
  That Tennessee dussy make a nigga be dussy
  You could never rap better than me
  'Cause you ain't dedicated, you ain't underrated
  You ain't underlooked, you ain't overbooked, you just undercooked
  It's supposed to be me and my niggas in the record book
  Now they got me out here by myself, still fresh as fuck [Verse 5: Kendrick Lamar]
  I hate y'all, I'd do anything to replace y'all
  Shout-out to Face Mob
  A Geto Boy 'til I'm unemployed with a day job
  And kicking boxes
  I kick ass and then kick knowledge
  I'm way more polished than ninety-nine percent of the scholars you thought had graduated
  I'm the master that masturbated on your favorite emcee
  Until the industry had wanted me assassinated
  You either corny or an opportunist
  I let you eat, now go back to church and steal crackers at communion
  What are we doing? I'm 'bout to crack the da Vinci Code
  Yeah, and nothing been the same since they dropped "Control"
  And tucked a sensitive rapper back in his pajama clothes
  Haha, joke's on you
  High-five, {
  *smack!*
  },
   
  I'm bulletproof
  Your shots'll never penetrate
  Pin a tail on the donkey, boy, you been a fake
  I got my thumb on hip-hop
  And my foot in the back of your ass
  Aftermath get the last laugh
  I serve niggas like Master Geoffrey
  , jump on the curb
  Turn a shotty to a verb if you let me, you know I'm a killer
  I'm on your head, they know I'm a killer
  The West Coast Cosa Nostra, under oath 'til it's over
  You over-owe us
  So what the fuck?
   I fuck you niggas up, I fuck you niggas up
  She suck and fuck, I fuckin' duck you fuck-niggas like when I want
  You go at us, you going fucking nuts, acting irrational
  Pop you, then pop an Adderall, know the drill like a lateral, nigga
  I'm more Pappy Mason than Pastor Mason
  Pacing back and forth, racing, my thoughts on them racing Daytons
  I spilled blood on my apron cooking this shit up
  I feel like some of y'all is hating
  Quite frankly, your bitch booty should thank me for grabbing it
  Turn these hoodrats to actresses, what a magic trick
  Accidents never happen when murder's involved
  Immaculate tactics, so follow me, if you need me, just call on me
  I say, "Hold up, wait a minute
  Your career ain't shit unless you got some Kendrick in it"
  You pussies ain't shit, ain't no room is left on my dick
  'Less you look like Jordin Spark, make my mark on that clitoris, mwah
  Hollywood's been good to me
  Lil' hood nigga, used to pawn mom's jewelry
  Family jewels big as fuck, and I got the balls to say it
  Balls-deep, balling out 'til Spalding need a replacement
  I'm outchea, the West in your mouth, chyeah
  Invest in the vest of Vietnam vets when you out near
  The white court building, spilling its Merlot
  Fillin' women, a Virgo pimped the industry
  'Member these Stacey Adams and fur-coats
  Shook, you're scared to death
  You're scared to look in the mirror when Kendrick is near you—
  King Kendrick!