74 lines

Yo — I felt a fight approachin’, tension closin’ in its orbit,

but kids a joke — I’m just exposin’ him, let UNO know the truth:

your writin’s so unfocused it’s atrocious, hopeless,

generic to the bone like every note was ghost‑script.

 

Some past battles? Yeah, they were close, I’ll own it —

but this one ends with your body thrown in a hole where the stone is.

What’s a “titan” to a “joke,” when the moment gets explosive?

I got your coffin measured — stand beside it,

watch you choke while this writer gets corroded.

 

You rhyme like you ain’t ever trained phonics,

no logic, stray topics, straight comic —

your lines wander like the page’s breakin’ from the weight on it.

Another “special” gettin’ killed —

007 still — I aim proper, lift your spirit, take the shot,

soul exit — no problem.

I’m cold‑hearted — froze solid,

ancient snow fallin’ — a whole blizzard in my bones talkin’.

 

And people still duck my pad to this day — ironic —

’cause you’re the one with the low ceiling

claimin’ you’re a “vet,” ranked with the best,

till you stepped in the ring with The Great Nate

and watched your claim collapse under stress.

 

It was great for a sec —

then you turned “next lame,” bent outta shape, a real pain in the neck,

brain is a wreck, deranged, distressed —

hallucinatin’ unchecked ’til the meds kick in,

claimin’ “your art speaks to you”…

nah bro — those voices aren’t real, quit pretendin’.

 

Talked about success — “heavyweight on the threads,”

but really you spend every day on the Web,

28 with no friends,

heavy set, heavy breaths —

you ain’t makin’ your steps,

just makin’ excuses, fakin’ your rep,

ashamed and depressed —

hang up the pen,

no one relates to the pages you’ve bled.

 

Basement creations ain’t amazin’ or blessed —

you’re just obsessed, repressin’ regrets,

livin’ stressed with no sex, no progress, no checks —

I dissect every defect,

every weakness you defend just feeds death.

 

With this diss dialect I leave zeros with two options:

Move silent — fight the feral voices in your conscience —

or face exposure like the emperor’s robes —

naked truths, no cloth hidin’ your nonsense.

 

Friendly or enemy close — it’s a coin flip,

you’re a snake with poison you spit,

can’t appreciate the depth of the koi fish,

FYI — starin’ is rude,

so I toss cheer into the void quick — boy, this

shit is harder to explain than the struggle you avoidin’.

 

But when it comes to bars?

This lyricist is the hardest in existence,

haters can’t knock it — it’s all about who aims the farthest,

and The Great Nate carved this target,

locked the game down — name carved in the cartridge,

pumped in your veins — sharp as a blade in the darkness.

 

Make no mistake — I’ll make you a heartless no‑brainer,

rip out the heart, then the brain —

watch the blood waterfall like rainstorms breakin’ the plains —

I got faith the whole world’ll feel me

like drops of rain engravin’ their names

in the dirt where your coffin lays.