BUILDING BLUEPRINT
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Lyrical Analysis of...
Clapback 2 Claptrash ( Ja Rule Diss )
- This ain’t no murder inc', it's a burglary of ink
- Let’s dig Ja's grave deeper than his last weak link
- Time to clapback at the fake clap king—
- You brought a pillow to a gunfight, sing singin’ your way in the ring
- You barkin’ up a Shady tree, lemme branch out proper,
- Ya style’s old news—like a Ja Rule concert flyer at a barbershop locker.
- You was half pop, half flop—
- Soundin’ like Ashanti carried ya verse just to make the track not drop.
- You from Queens, but you the Jester, ain’t no throne in your scene,
- Ja think he rule, but he lost the crown to a guillotine.
- I’m cuttin’ heads clean with schemes meaner than 50’s grin,
- You couldn't rhyme "fire" with a lighter in a gas filled wind
- You tryna act heavy but got no weight in the game,
- Call it Rule of Thumb—you never pointed in the Hall of Fame.
- I'm surgical, Ja—this scalpel spit, slash your gimmicks,
- I split Ja's syllables like divorce court minutes.
- You “Pain is Love”? Nah, pain is hearing you rap,
- That voice got more nasal than a cokehead's relapse.
- A Rule with no law, I’m settin’ the verdict,
- You fell off harder than Murder Inc’s unpaid service.
- Your discography’s a joke, I’m laughin’ with no chill,
- Even your double entendres couldn’t cop a real deal.
- I’m iller than Irv’s taxes, slicker than your fade,
- This ain’t beef—it’s a butcher cuttin’ weak rappers for trade
- Ja in a box—like he’s boxed in and boxed out,
- Tryna draw heat, but your pen’s run out of clout.
- You past tense—no presence in the present,
- Every verse you spit’s a ghost—haunted, unpleasant.
- I rain reign on the kings that pretend to be royal,
- You Ja ruled the mic once, now the mic recoil.
- Shoulda stayed in them Fast flicks, tryna act hard,
- Instead you crashed in rap lanes—no stunt cars
- Murder Inc? Please, the only thing you murdered
- Was a melody—gaspin’ for breath, straight unheard of.
- Shoulda been Ja “Mute”, not Ja Rule the fool,
- When I rhyme, I school—when you rhyme, you drool.
- I ain't 50, but I'm fifty times the grim reaper,
- You soft as lullabies on a broken boom speaker.
- I dig deeper—autopsy every whack line you said,
- You ain’t fire, you a flicker—like a lighter near dead.
- So next time you think of speakin' my name for a pulse,
- Remember: dissin’ Em is like signin’ your own results.
- You ain’t worth a reply, but I gave you a hearse,
- You a parody now—R.I.P. Ja… reverse the verse
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