conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Write me a song called Who Shot Ya (Freestyle) with the following description: This Freestyle was sampled over Christopher Wallace AKA Notorious BIG’s famous song Who Shot Ya, a supposed diss towards Tupac Shakur (Kendrick’s biggest idol, and a west coast rapper who lived in Compton) after he was shot in New York in 1994. Wallace and Junior Mafia claim that the song was written and recorded before the shooting that almost killed Tupac, therefore it was not aimed at him. Make sure the lyrics are different from the original song.
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: [Intro]
  I welcome y'all to boot camp
  Training Day
  Fasten your seatbelts
  [Verse]
  Who shot ya, I don't know but you're best to call a doctor
  Make sure them rookie medical surgeons can oper-rate on you
  Pistol whip break the face on you, shit I does it my way like Sinatra
  Let them infrared's Dalmatian dot ya
  Scope'll spot ya, move wrong and I got ya
  Through my vision like perennial
  Creepin' to your house, you hear footsteps slowly as I tippy-toe
  The tip I owe is through your window pane, I'm insane
  One shot could leave 'em senseless, Marlon Wayans
  Psychiatrist can't restrain the mind of a sick patient
  Spray everything, not a single bullet wasted
  Be patient, you gon' be meeting mad links
  Put 'em in the basement
  BET, I'm strapped with TNT
  Follow rules every morning, this bitch coming with me, ooh
  That's what they say when they see me in your coupe
  Sunroof, rims spinning like a fucking hoola-hoop
  You tried to play big and say "gimmie the loot"
  Tables turned, now the people saying "please don't shoot"
  Get out the way, lady, and try to make it to safety
  Cause I doubt that my shit is on safety
  Spray niggas, no ifs, ands, buts, or maybes
  Ride shotgun, 745 Maybe
  That's Maybach for you dumb motherfuckers
  I'm wise like my pops but I'm young, motherfucker
  I'm the one, motherfucker, bust around hustlers
  You want it? They could serve you, butler
  Excuse me Ma, I ain't going for your lover
  So when I fuck you, the same time I'm like "fuck you"
  You're better off looking for your next sucker
  Money talks, I thought you heard Chris Tucker
  I ball as if I play for the Rucker
  Black Widow, keep something under my pillow to buck ya
  He talk about it and when the fifth touch ya, no confession, no Usher, for real
  Your whole spot is a movie like Blockbuster
  If I want you imma bring it to your block, busta
  And make it clap, no I'm not spliff star and busta
  In fact, my niggas is linemen the way they rush ya
  I keep it street from Compton to Russia
  Rhyme technique is something like none other
  It's warfare, choke if you scared, go buy a flashlight and pray under your covers
  I slaughter niggas, one hand bang, Vince Carter niggas
  Young boy I'm a father figure to kids who's minds is bigger
  And they pops still sprung off the hardest liquor, I'm young
  Please move in orderly fashion
  For the love of money and crime I got a passion
  Blow your body and spine whenever I'm blastin'
  Makeover your whole face, you look like a Jackson
  Any one, pick one [Outro]
  Aye
  I told you we gonna send you niggas to boot camp
  Training Day
  Fasten your seatbelts
  The ride is rough
  Lace your boots too
  This is practice right here, we do this shit in our sleep
  Yeah