CHALLENGER'S RAP

• You ain't a threat, you a typo in rap’s manuscript,
• I'm the red pen, every word you spit get clipped.
• You bark online, but in person you whisper,
• Your whole style's soft — like it came from your sister.
• Try to box me? You’ll need gloves of steel,
• I swing metaphors that make prophets kneel.
• You “talk” like a shooter but aim like a mime,
• Couldn't catch a body if I gave you time.
• I’m a different breed, no leash, no collar,
• Bars so rich they print themselves in dollars.
• You drop lines? I drop guillotines,
• Chop your legacy down like deleted scenes.
• Every round I spit is a warhead launch,
• Turn your buzz to silence — funeral march.
• You got heart? Cool, I’ll carve it slow,
• Make the stage your grave, put on a show.
• I dismantle styles and recycle remains,
• Treat rappers like trash — sort out their brains.
• You flexed once, and it’s still your peak,
• Meanwhile, I ascend like the verse technique.
• I don’t battle for clout — I battle to purge,
• Split syllables like blades with a poetic urge.
• You rap like a parody, clown with a mic,
• I rap like a eulogy, black suit tight.
• I’m the reason your girl know what real bars are,
• She said you rhyme like a TikTok star.
• She said my punchlines hit like karma’s debt,
• Yours hit like bills you still ain’t met.
• You a gimmick with a fragile brand,
• I walk through flames just to shake your hand.
• You spit fillers and name drops, I spit facts,
• Every round I craft makes timelines collapse.
• I got double entendres locked in the scope,
• You got lines that couldn’t even hang with hope.
• I draw blood with a verse, then laugh in your face,
• You draw blanks — I call that negative space.
• Your fanbase? Bots. Your bars? Chewed gum.
• You rap like you fell off before you begun.
• I came to sun you — your light’s too dim,
• This battle a pool, and you can’t even swim.
• You the type to scream “real” while rehearsing hard,
• I’m the type to kill silence with thirty bars.
• You got smoke? Cool — I inhale that threat,
• Exhale schemes, and leave your rep in debt.
• A round from me is like judgment day,
• Expose your soul through a vocal display.
• I break layers — make your spirit shiver,
• Turn your fans to mine like a soul transferrer.
• Every punchline’s a blueprint made for war,
• Turn your punch into pulp, spill guts on the floor.
• I don’t do back-and-forth, I do finality,
• End careers with calculated brutality.
• This a clinic — I diagnose your flaws,
• Prescribe defeat, then enforce the laws.
• I don’t need angles, I’m the full rotation,
• You just orbit my greatness — satellite in rotation.
• You won't win on stage, won't win in text,
• You won't win even with divine context.
• This ain’t a battle, it’s an execution drill,
• Where I ghost you for real — and the footage will thrill.
• Now go write an apology in broken bars,
• I just shattered your image in sixty-four scars.
• Next time you step, bring a plan or a will,
• ‘Cause I don’t do mercy — I aim to kill.