Black Sea Devil Rap about " Dead Plastic Balcony Battle" FunkyG is too high to understand

Interview Battle

Round One–Three

Setting: Live stream, two mics, one ocean between ’em. Devil up in the Tower, cold wind, phone glow. Funky G in the BK crib, Timbs up on the radiator, red cup on the table, burner phone lit. Tonight’s topic: how you report that balcony plastic smell when you just a tourist in the buildin’.

Black Sea Devil From Tower

Round One: The Question

Yo, Funky G, peep the question, no cap, You been out the way, you know the map. Not the tourist map, not the postcard view, I need the real BK talk — what a visitor do? I’m up in the Tower, but my mind on the block, Somebody balcony got that plastic smoke locked. Not barbecue, not campfire, not grill, That chemical tang make the whole floor feel ill. I’m a guest in the buildin’, I ain’t on the lease, So how I move proper? How I find peace? They burnin’ that plastic, the smell get thick, Do I call the super? Do I hit the clique? Tell me straight, son, don’t dress it up pretty, How a tourist report it and still keep it steady? No panic, no drama, no wildin’ in the hall, Just the clean BK method — break it down, that’s all.

Funky G From NYC

Round One: The Answer

Aight, Devil, listen — I’ma keep it a buck, I been in that spot, I know how it stuck. First rule: don’t trip, don’t lose your head, You a guest in the buildin’, so move with respect. Step one: clock the smell, don’t just guess, Is it plastic, trash, weed, or chemical mess? Plastic got a scent you can’t fake, son, Sweet toxic sting when the burnin’ done. Step two: document, no cap, no story, Nokia flick, timestamp, glory. Shoot the balcony, smoke, the floor, the rail, If you say it, it gotta be visible, fail-proof scale. Don’t be loud in the hall, don’t be wild on the stoop, Don’t call names, don’t turn the whole buildin’ loose. You a tourist, so your power is the record, Clean file, calm voice — that’s the method.

Black Sea Devil From Tower

Round Two: The Push

Bet, so I clock it, I shoot it, I keep it tight, But who answer the phone when the smell bite? I ain’t the tenant, I ain’t sign no lease, So who make the call when the smoke won’t cease? Do I hit the super? Do I dial the city? Do I wait for the smell to get pity? You said document, but who see the file? How a visitor get heard past the smile? Break it down simple, no riddle, no maze, Tourist in the buildin’, plastic in the haze. I need the nine, the whole procedure, BK clean flow — no street preacher.

Funky G From NYC

Round Two: The Whole Nine

Aight, Devil, here’s the play, run it back slow, Tourist protocol, BK flow. Step three: non-emergency, that’s the lane, Don’t dial 911 for a smell and a pain. Unless it’s live flames, smoke in the stair, People trapped, fire hazard — then you call prayer? Nah, then you call fast, no pride, no delay, Life over property — that’s the BK way. But if it’s just smoke and a chemical reek, Check the local ordinance before you speak. Open-burnin’ banned in a lot of towns, So that balcony fire? Deadass, shut it down. Step four: buildin’ management, landlord, super, You a guest, go through the top, like a trooper. Say: “Yo, 4B balcony burnin’ plastic, foul, Whole floor catchin’ smell, whattup, y’all?” Keep it calm, keep it clean, keep it legit, If you come hot, they gon’ dismiss it. No beef, no name-call, no ego trip, Just hazard report — that’s the smartest script. Step five: 311 or complaint form, Many cities got a line, quiet and warm. File with your name or slide low-key, Either way, the paper trail start to be. Date, time, unit, floor, smell, Photo, video, keep it real. If language hard, use the phone translator, “Burnin’ plastic, balcony, floor four” — operator. That’s how a tourist get heard, not erased, Hazard on the record, no face-to-face. You don’t need lease to breathe clean air, You just need proof, patience, and care.

Black Sea Devil From Tower

Round Three: The Turn

Say less, G, but hold the train, You a tourist — do you even gain? You ain’t on the lease, you just there for a stay, They gon’ hear you out or wave you away? Do they laugh at your word? Do they shrink your claim? Do they act like the smell just a passing game? Tell me truth, no sugar, no gloss, Does a visitor voice carry weight or cost?

Funky G From NYC

Round Three: The Drop

Nah, I hear you, and here’s the real talk: Tourist rights thinner — but you still got walk. You ain’t the tenant, so you can’t force door, But management still want a clean floor. Fire hazard hurt everybody in the crib, So report the danger, not the person — that’s the bid. You say “unit 4B got plastic burn,” You don’t say “I know who,” that’s how lessons learn. Language problem? Use translator, deadass, “Balcony, smoke, chemical” — that’s the pass. No drama, no beef, no name-callin’, Just facts, timestamps, and calm ballin’. They can’t wave you off if the record straight, Photo, time, smell, hazard date. Tourist or tenant, smoke don’t discriminate, A clean complaint make the buildin’ relate. You don’t need power to press the button, You need proof, patience, and proper sudden Report — not revenge, not ego, not pride, Just fresh air back on the BK side.

Black Sea Devil From Tower

The Co-Sign

Aight, that’s the play, clean as a whistle, Smell it, shoot it, clock it, tell it — no hassle. Non-emerg line, ordinance, super, form, File the hazard, keep your cool, weather the storm. BK to the Tower, one ocean apart, Black Sea Devil and Funky G — that’s the art. No studio, no label, just trip and talk, You know what I mean, man? That’s the walk.

Song Lyrics

Dead Plastic Smell

🎵 “Dead Plastic Smell”

Black Sea Devil From Tower feat. Funky G From NYC

The question, the deal, the dodge — Y2K Brooklyn remix cut.

[INTRO — spoken, low beat, phone static]

(Black Sea Devil)

Yeah... two mics. One ocean. No studio. No label. No cap. You know what I mean, man?

(Funky G)

BK to the Tower. But hold up, son — I’m high right now. Ask me anyway.

Part I — The Question

[VERSE 1 — BLACK SEA DEVIL]

Funky G, I gotta ask you somethin’ strange, Been sittin’ in my brain for days. You know that smell — that dead plastic stink, Balcony burn, make the whole floor think. Not campfire, not barbecue, not grill, That chemical tang hangin’ still. They burn it slow, let it rot in the air, Tourist walk in like, “Yo, what that there?” I’m up in the Tower, but my mind on the block, Somebody balcony got the whole buildin’ shocked. Not smoke from a joint, not cook from a pot, Dead plastic smell — that’s the thing I got.

[VERSE 2 — FUNKY G, hazy]

Huh... dead plastic? Man, I’m floatin’ right now, Weed got me high, I ain’t trackin’ the how. Say it again? Slow it down for me, bro, I’m somewhere between the couch and the floor. (laughs) Plastic smell... balcony... tourist... dead? Yeah, I heard somethin’ like that — but it left my head. I’m in BK, Timbs up, radiator hum, Red cup sweatin’, eardrums numb. You askin’ ‘bout smoke while I’m cloud-deep, Man, the whole question put my soul to sleep.

[PRE-HOOK — DEVIL]

That’s what I’m sayin’! That’s the whole damn thing! They burn it slow, and the tourist don’t sing. The smell is the weapon, the years is the plan, And the man behind it — he a quiet man. No shout, no flash, no public scene, Just dead plastic smell and a clean routine. Tourist walk in, think it’s just a buildin’, But the air got history — and the truth got hidden.

[HOOK — BOTH, Funky G slurrin’ the last line]

Dead plastic smell on the Black Sea air, Tourist walk in — tourist ain’t there. Coast got secrets, the wake got pay, Apartment, car, percent of the day. Dead plastic smell on the BK floor, High man nod, but he know the score. Question get asked, answer get smoked, One man talk truth — one man choke. (Funky G, fading) ...you know what I mean, man... I think... yeah...

[VERSE 3 — FUNKY G, still hazy]

I see the Tower, I smell the block, But my brain movin’ slow like a busted clock. Dead plastic, wake cake, coast cut, Man, you askin’ too much while my lungs shut.

Part II — The Deal

[VERSE 4 — BLACK SEA DEVIL, the reveal]

Here’s the tale, G — cold, no gold, Story ‘bout a tourist and a hand too bold. Not for the thrill, not for the fame, For the funeral claim when they whisper his name. Body go home, family cry in the hall, Devil walk in suit, tie, calm and tall. Part of the cake — that’s the quiet cut, Apartment, car, percent of what. That’s the arrangement, handshake, code, No camera flash, no public road. Coast get paid when the tourist fall, Wake get money while the tears hit wall. I ain’t sayin’ who, I ain’t sayin’ how, Just the dead plastic smell and the silent vow. Black Sea Tower, wind blow cold, Some stories bought, some stories sold.

[VERSE 5 — FUNKY G, too high to answer]

(long pause, lighter flick) Devil... that’s... that’s a lot, my guy, I’m three blunts deep and I can’t even lie. You askin’ me if NYC run the same? If funeral money play the same quiet game? (coughs) I mean... maybe? I don’t know, bro, I’m gone, Weed got my head like a radio on. Ask me tomorrow. Ask me when I straight. Right now I’m just vibin’, and it’s gettin’ late.

[BRIDGE — DEVIL, beat drops to half-time]

So that’s your answer? That’s what you give me? A shrug and a cloud and a “maybe, G”? I asked you a real one — is the game the same? And you too high to even say the name. You got the Timbs up, but your mind on the run, I asked ‘bout the dark — you hid in the blunt. BK to the Tower, ocean between, One man see clear — one man lean.

[VERSE 6 — FUNKY G, the dodge]

(laughin’, coughin’) Devil, listen — I ain’t duckin’ the question, I’m just in a whole other dimension. The plastic, the funeral, cake, the cut — That’s your world up the Tower, that’s your rut. Me? I’m in BK, high, chillin’, I ain’t confirm nothin’ — I ain’t willin’. (beat) ...but off the record? Yeah. Same game. (laughs) Nah, I’m playin’. I’m too high. What’s your name again? I can’t be witness, can’t be prosecutor, Can’t name no name, can’t sign no signature. Smoke in the room, truth in the air, You asked the wrong man — I’m already there.

[HOOK — BOTH, Funky G barely audible]

Dead plastic smell on the Black Sea air, Tourist walk in — tourist ain’t there. Coast get secrets, wake get pay, Apartment, car, percent of day. Dead plastic smell on the BK floor, High man nod, but he know the score. Question get asked, answer get smoked, One man talk truth — one man choke. (Funky G, mumblin’) ...same in New York... I think... I dunno...

Part III — The Non-Answer

[VERSE 7 — DEVIL, the close]

So there it is. Question got asked, Answer got smoked, truth got masked. He ain’t say yes, he ain’t say no, He just got high and let the whole thing go. That’s the game, though — that’s how it run, The man who know the most say the least when done. No stamp, no seal, no courtroom light, Just a shrug in the smoke and a quiet night. I came for BK truth, got cloud instead, A high man laugh while the living dead Metaphor hang in the Tower air, Dead plastic smell everywhere.

[OUTRO — BOTH, beat fadin’]

Then it’s BK to the Tower, one ocean, one lie, One man asked — one man got high. Dead plastic on the Black Sea shore, Funeral money and a closed front door. No studio, no label — just trip and talk, Black Sea Devil from the Tower — and the question we lost. Funky G in the crib with the radiator hum, Truth got smoked till the night was done. (fadin’) You know what I mean, man... You know what I mean...

5-Minute Live-Stream Script

The Dead Plastic Deal

Title: “Black Sea Devil From Tower” vs “Funky G From NYC” — The Dead Plastic Deal
Total runtime: ~5:00
Format: two co-hosts, one ocean, live. Funky G high the entire time. Devil cold and curious.

00:00 – 00:30

Cold Open — Black Sea Devil

(Camera on Devil. Tower behind him. Beat low. Wind hiss.)

DEVIL: Yo. Two mics. One ocean. No studio. No label. Tonight I got a question for Funky G — and I already know he ain’t gonna answer it clean. The dead plastic deal. Balcony smoke. Tourist in the buildin’. Let’s walk it.

00:30 – 01:00

Welcome — Funky G

(Cut to Funky G, NYC. Red cup. Eyes low. Timbs on radiator.)

FUNKY G: BK in the buildin’, son... Yo, Devil, I’ma be honest — I’m high right now. Like, high-high. Couch-level. Radiator-warm. Ask me anyway.

DEVIL: That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. You already dodgin’ before the question land.

01:00 – 01:45

Round One — The Smell

(Split screen. Beat dips.)

DEVIL: Here’s the question, G. You know that dead plastic smell? The one they burn on the balcony, the one that hang for years? Not barbecue. Not campfire. Not cookin’. That chemical tang that grab a tourist by the ears.

FUNKY G: (long pause) ...say it again? Slow it down, bro. I’m somewhere between the couch and the floor.

DEVIL: (laughs) That’s the whole point. You already ducked it.

FUNKY G: Nah, nah — I’m listenin’. I’m just... spiritually buffered.

01:45 – 02:30

Round Two — How To Report It

(Devil leans in. Beat gets steady.)

DEVIL: Aight, practical first. I’m a tourist. I ain’t on the lease. Balcony burnin’ plastic, smell get thick. How I report it without turnin’ the buildin’ sick?

FUNKY G: Aight, deadass — here’s the BK clean route: First, don’t wild out. Don’t bang doors. Don’t shout. Clock the smell — plastic, trash, weed, or chem. Plastic got that sweet toxic stem.

FUNKY G: Second, document — Nokia flick, time stamp, balcony, smoke, unit, floor, damp. Don’t make it personal, don’t chase no name, report the hazard, keep the record tame.

FUNKY G: Third, non-emergency — that’s the line, unless flames, trapped folks, smoke in the shrine. Then you call fast, no pride, no delay, life over property — that’s the BK way.

FUNKY G: Fourth, super, landlord, management team, say: “Unit 4B burnin’ plastic — foul, clean?” Keep it calm, keep it legit, keep it cool, tourist voice soft, but the proof rule.

FUNKY G: Fifth, 311 or complaint form online, anonymous option, quiet grind. Date, time, odor, photo, floor, hazard report — that’s the door.

DEVIL: So I don’t need lease to breathe clean air?

FUNKY G: Nah, son. You need proof, patience, and a level stare.

02:30 – 03:15

Round Three — Tourist Power

(Cut to Devil. Then Funky G. Beat half-time.)

DEVIL: But hold up — I’m just visitin’. They hear me out or wave me off? Do they laugh at my word? Do they shrink my claim? Tell me truth, G — does a tourist get flame?

FUNKY G: Tourist rights thinner — but you still got walk. You can’t force the door, but management talk when hazard hit the whole buildin’ lung, fire smell weak, but the record strong.

FUNKY G: Report the danger, not the person, no name-call drama, no ego version. Language hard? Translator on phone, “Balcony, plastic, smoke, floor four” — tone.

FUNKY G: No beef, no threat, no street sermon, just facts, timestamps, clean concern. That’s how tourist get heard, not erased, hazard on paper — no face-to-face.

03:15 – 04:00

Round Four — The Dead Plastic Deal

(Devil’s face cold. Beat drops darker.)

DEVIL: Aight, now the real question. Not the balcony. Not the report. The dead plastic smell... it ain’t just smoke. It’s a story. It’s a coast. It’s a corpse joke.

DEVIL: They say Black Sea Devil move quiet, tourist meet the tide, family cry by it. Not for thrill, not for fame, for the funeral claim when they whisper the name.

DEVIL: Body go home, wake get paid, apartment, car, percent laid. Handshake, code, no public scene, dead plastic smell and a clean routine.

DEVIL: So I ask you, Funky G — is it the same in NYC? Same funeral money? Same quiet cut? Same coast game with a BK front?

FUNKY G: (lighter flick, long pause) Devil... that’s... that’s a lot, my guy. I’m three blunts deep and I can’t even lie.

04:00 – 04:30

Round Five — The Non-Answer

(Funky G coughs, laughs, leans back.)

FUNKY G: I mean... maybe? I don’t know, bro, I’m gone. Weed got my head like a radio on. Ask me tomorrow. Ask me when I straight. Right now I’m just vibin’, and it’s gettin’ late.

DEVIL: So that’s your answer? A shrug and a cloud and a “maybe, G”? I asked you a real one — is the game the same? And you too high to even say the name.

FUNKY G: (beat, whispers) ...off the record? Yeah. Same game. (laughs loud, covers self) Nah, I’m playin’. I’m too high. What’s your name again?

DEVIL: There it is. Question got asked. Answer got smoked. He ain’t say yes. He ain’t say no. He just got high and let the truth go.

04:30 – 05:00

Co-Sign + Call To Action

(Both on screen. Beat builds, then fades.)

FUNKY G: That’s how it run, though. The man who know the most say the least when done. BK to the Tower, one ocean, one lie, one man asked — one man got high.

DEVIL: Dead plastic on the Black Sea shore, funeral money and a closed front door. No studio, no label — just trip and talk, Black Sea Devil from the Tower — and the question we lost.

FUNKY G: Drop a 🔥 in the chat if you want the full song.

DEVIL: And if you want the next battle — the balcony burn one, the funeral incense one, the happiness one — holla in the chat.

BOTH: You know what I mean, man? Let’s ride.

(Beat drops. Stream rolls.)

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Devils From Black Sea Tower vs Brooklyn Rap