Bars

Those who oppose me whole styles basic

think they hot but can’t grasp the script let me open eyes to truth

hope your minds equipped cause like Caesar’s knife

my ink bleeds through legal writs with lethal twists, and I speak in steeples

seething rites where demons teach in fevered glyphs

I stretch the end beyond its edge condemn insect dens, dissect their texts

with vexed revenge no mortal craft can warp my path

I collapse the source-code maps till cores detach and scorch to ash

then I march with wrath so force-intact the orbs react and orbit back

distorted maps forming cracks in the astral fabric bends equations

splits the matrix, twists your faith in ancient cadence shakes foundations

break the cadence of any vacant brain that claims it’s gracious

Now a legend enters, stainless, chrome-loaded, tones explosive flows

that fold your soul alone matter of fact, these notes I spoke’ll

explode the globe, erode the poles

and choke the throats of clones

that hoped for thrones they ain’t composed to hold

 

I peel screams from fetal beams with demon lights that heat regimes,

speech that seethes and bites,

breach your dreams, delete your rights —

fuck your themes these bars twist a bard’s lips, scar your clique,

sharper than shards from the heart God gripped.

A dozen rappers step? Then none exist I carve quick, make ‘em die

before they swing like spirits trapped in ark crypts

their sermons nervous, purpose worthless, surface burning

after worship murmurs I’m a wordsmith merged with serpents in circular furnaces.

 

They swear they versatile berserkers with vertical verses —

but my fire-speech designs defeats, like tires screech when wires breach

It traps your patterns, shatters hype — face it: half a decade away

on some Drizzy Drake shit me as my greatness detonates like a case

with it's lid blown straight bitch unlike yours my numbers climb

spiralin’, breakin’ ceilings past a million plays quick

I don’t need fame to take your chick and flip her into my main bitch

she tell her friends Nate stays her favorite ’cause my cadence blazin

But she yours, bro she ain’t worth whatever minimum wage is

Better leave her on read like a staged script I’ll never claim a basic chick

whose loyalty shape-shifts.

The mirror show truth not the version you sell I seen angels face themselves

in a demon’s shell whenever I enter my element I’m malevolent step in, wreck a twit, sever his head

for the hell of it elegant — shadows vanish, night submits, my presence a paradox, reality splits.

I’d rather write growth in invisible ink proof ain’t fame, it’s how you think change ain’t loud — it whispers in verse

growth is pain rehearsed in reverse I don’t fear change I fear stayin’ the same for your info the brush don’t move till it burns in flame stop claiming you and your boys were riding cautious because the cops were watchin’ talking wild like y’all “turned blocks to problems,”

bombed and dropped ‘em often stop it y’all were wanna-be robbers

lookin’ for wallet options U were that awkward student talkin’ ’bout “I’ll knock ya stupid!" till the bus-stop beatdown dropped him —

cryin’ louder than toddlers teething vacant priest with a painted fleece tryna fake belief you ain’t safe to speak and if you do, I’ll make you bleed for erasin’ sleep just to hate on me.

Your career? Stunted fables, busted labels you crumble fatal like a rusted cradle

snapped from a hundred cables If I let you step back in the past I’d puncture fate with a lunge so fatal

God’s own angels duck for shade when I touch the halo U mumble statements on jumbled bass riffs —

your buzz deflate quick like drugged patients lung inflation Watch your oxygen pockets diminish as I box existence in cosmic systems

every quantum locked in prisms your idol clique sit silent, pissed

watching you drown in ego’s tide and pride constricts that's your fault for testin’ this now you gotta die, headless bitch unless I slit temples like hieroglyphs etched with psychic scripts.

My blades thin as violin strings but the violence rings.

Then I aim at your crew and anyone who encouraged you to rap.

You got ED — past tense — so best believe it’s a double entendre

when I say you lack sense (cents).

Difference between us? when I hear “whips,” I think

black Benz that I’ll have when you hear “whips,”

you think black men and you think you can say the N-word

’cause you got black friends?

Bro you ain’t hood cause you mix suburban and trap blends.

If you wanna live that life, go grab some crack then, get yourself a MAC-10 —

ride your hype train this is where the track ends.