BARS

You a bootleg rapper with a dollar store beat,

Your flow so weak it got rocked to sleep.

Talk slick, but your bars don’t land, they crawl,

You ain't next up—bruh, you was never called.

 

I flame mics, you just spark fake drama,

I'm war-ready, you fold like cheap pajamas.

Say my name, better watch how you speak,

I bury careers in a verse—R.I.P. in a week.