CHALLENGER'S RAP

• Nigga stop playing around, mess with bitches your size nigga, I'm coming for your throat nigga
• What’s good, Kalligraphy? More like Tragedy
• You comin’ for the X-factor? Bitch, you barely got an ABC
• You scribblin’ weak lines thinkin’ you a poet, but the flow’s diabetic
• Sweet? Nah. It’s pathetic. You ain’t prophetic, you just forgettable and frenetic
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• They told me you was spittin’ I said, “Where? On the sidewalk?”
• Your rhymes softer than baby talk, your whole style needs a walker
• You claim you intricate, lyrical, divine
• I’ve seen more depth in a puddle, you wasted-ass design
• You need a dictionary, thesaurus, and a whole damn library
• Just to form one bar that ain’t elementary and arbitrary
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• Why you comin’ for the crown? You can’t even spell respect.
• Your pen weak, your punchlines softer than a neck without a spec’ of pride.
• You ain’t a writer you a typo in the game,
• A misspelled name, a faded claim to fame, forever drownin’ in shame.
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• Want your blueprin? You an F-minus, extra remedial,
• Your flow so tedious it’s damn near detrimental
• I’m that bad bitch you wish you could verse with,
• But you too busy rehearsin’ basic curses and reversals that don’t work, bitch.
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• You call yourself Kalligraphy pretty letters, empty soul, nigga
• No substance, no control, no fire, no goal just a joker playin’ role
• I’m the truth in cursive, the venom in the ink,
• While you over there stutterin’, losin’ your sync, standin’ on the brink of extinction.
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• So pick up your Webster’s, find yourself a clue,
• And if you come for me? Bitch that’s the last dumb thing you’ll ever do
• I’m the final exam you didn’t study for,
• The bar you can’t reach, the slammin’ door in your face now get off my floor
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• This ain’t a diss it’s a public service announcement
• You weak. You worthless. You Kalligraphy? You redundant
• Now step aside let the real writers eat
• You just another name the game’s gon’ for-get
• Peasant.
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• You call yourself a wordsmith? More like a word-myth, a broke linguist
• Your whole flow is a typo, a grammatical crisis, a weak-ass haiku in a world of epic verses
• I'm the library of legend, you the footnote forgotten, the scribble in the margin that the scholars never bought in
• You tried to step to the throne with a vocabulary that's hollow, but your lines are so shallow they're beggin' me to swallow—my pride? Nah, I'd rather follow common sense than your nonsense
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• Your metaphors are mixed like a drink that's been spilled, no skill, just a mess that the janitor gotta clean up still
• You claim you're complex, but you're basic arithmetic, two plus two is four, and you still ain't got the score you poor, metaphorically, mentally, and more
• I'm the quadratic equation of lyrical domination, you're the long division of weak repetition and hesitation
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• HAHAHAHA, let me take a second, you thought you had bars? You got behind-the-counter candy, the kind that's stale and too cheap to be handy
• I'm the five-star Michelin verse, you the drive-thru curse, the poetic blunder that makes the whole crowd disperse
• You need a dictionary, a thesaurus, and a whole encyclopedia just to comprehend how far beneath me you are you bizarre, amateur star, wannabe czar of nothing but faux pas
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• Your flow is so tragic it should come with a warning label: "May cause boredom, drowsiness, and irreversible ego disable"
• I'm the verbal vaccine, the semantic surgeon general, while you out here sick with weak lines, terminal
• You ain't a threat, you a typo in my draft, the laugh I had before I autographed my masterpiece and left your ass in the past
• This ain't a diss, it's an obituary notice, your flow's so atrocious it's downright ferocious how unnoticed you'll stay now get the fuck out my way, you verbal heresy, you poetic decay
• So take your weak wordplay and your fragile esteem, and go edit your dreams 'cause around here, you're just a broken theme, a faded gleam, a would-be that never could-be
• Ha who's this bitch? should've stayed in school, kid
• Now the lesson's over. Class dismissed.