Day Of The Dead (Kunta Diss)
• Written by WEALTHMASTA
It’s the return of the swervin’ purger who hurts the deserving ones
And then curves all yo burdens and murders em, got the burner tucked
Opps gon turn to dust, cause they got more sand then Bernie or Colonel does
Comin’ at me when they probably still get tucked into bed by a nurturer
Claim you upping the pressure, wanna bet that I’m storming in and busting the dresser
Tough to preserve when you switching colors and texture, ain’t never crushing the sector
Don’t make space for the mammoth, I’m leaving you flip flopping bitches deceased
And still breaking the standard, so the KKKK clan turning into a feast
You claim you from Compton’s outskirts, but I’ve never seen your crew without skirts
Except when they’re turned outwards, cause you ain’t straight, but I know doubt hurts
Dissin’ people uninvolved in the beef is foul work, and done by cowards
That’s why everyone in yo clown herd deserves to have their house searched
Happy Halloween, but it’s more like Day of the Dead
Thought skeletons were in the closet, it was the K guys instead
Now you gon snap off the skull, because “you’re gay”s what I said
And bitches ain’t Thanos, but you still fuckin’ came for the head
KO, Dijon and JID gon meet JiDion once those K-I-Ds begin listing off
All of the diddlers, better get those fake IDs that you scribble on, pray thy team doesn’t pivot wrong
Late night fiending for kiddies, y’all blame my people for shit you got
Going on all the time, so when I hit yo ass with a ray-like beam, don’t just pity on
Yeah, you said you had a 3 day edge, well NNN is coming so that’s weak AF
I don’t think you need a keg, the only bar from yo mouth is between KeyJ’s legs
Claim you got the sticks, but this is where the kink play ends, bitch the only thing we “sounding” is the EAS
Saying you’re on that hood shit when you’d get left in the alleyway dead
What’s the center of the problems, cause we all know kunta’s a bum in the paint
Throwing punches cause he’s upset none of his dumb shit gets praise
Y’all plummeting lames, keep the bar so down I gotta duck to escape
Day1 talking shit, I don’t think y’all’s ass baby’s exactly the son of the saint
Scoping all of these dumb clowns, you tried it and then blew your thumb out
Dumbass learned how to hush now, you know I turn villains into Cub Scouts
Got the Ruger, you gon get stopped, target locked, blast your head off
Kill everyone except your pet frog, you make fun of death and rape just to get props
Uh, yeah, 40% win rate tryna spit? Stop
He clueless what he’s having, dawg, I ain’t tobacco, I’m magma, snap your jaw
A constant hazard, drag him, if you’re mad then someone better fax that call
He won’t revisit a jail hall, I pulled up and now his body in a casket, thaw-
-Ing, he’s pre-diabetic and dyin,’ so I guess he’s lucky that all I spit’s acid
Bum tokin’ with his lungs foldin,’ boutta face the end and he’s cryin,’ gaspin’
Relyin’ on beef, cause you ain’t in your Prime when it comes to that tiny package
You should wear a shirt that says “I got clapped” then, it’s not my fault your life is wack, bitch
(Outro)
Happy Halloween
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About the Artist
WEALTHMASTA
Member since May 2 2024