Diss the Defiers

Ay, look

I'm a dissenter, sparking tremors from the tremens

Tell the opps, throwing shots at Gen, poor upper level remembrance

Your pride grid’s so brittle I could slice it with a spork

Soundin’ like they got they mitts on a Baby’s First Word Report

A tape and a bootleg SP-404

Tapping all them shiny pads, got a weak score

Forget em, I’d rather spit raw unfiltered

Rather be check to check but with real ones who feel it

Not a king on, a clerk, a jester, I could go on

Look it up, “X Factor got schooled” ain’t lit up in neon

That buzz circuit, y’all in it by default

Take away your clique of purists, you ain't got no vault

No rack for playlists, no fifty-K for fake exposure

No backend deals pushing obsolete rap folders

A gimmick plan, yeah, they’re saying I dissed Solo

But that was a year back, you’d be claiming hype like you co-wrote for FloJo

And once your pride fades and the checks stop rolling

You’ll be flatter than when Jeezy left you begging Key for consoling

I leave you stunned, like your machismo got revoked

I’ll be tipping cones from you while you mop my booth in a cloak

One dude claimed this was Canibus vs. LL though

That’s a sitcom take, I’d fry all y’all like Eggos

Heard you had to fast all your roster just to feed your pride

Stomping through Chiraq looking for me with your leg stuck inside

Heard you rate em but hate cassette loops

My Masta is cool, and your masters all sound like soup

Hiding beneath that blog speak jargon

Never drop a real project cause your peers might star in

Cool, I heard you planning vengeance, tryna rally up some henchmen

Only scraps you ever witnessed was from flicks on Netflix extensions

You tryna pose like a thinker but you slipping

I evolve, while you revolve around bitch shit

I'm a rapper, you a trend hopping weak biter

Had an art fair with toddlers, chose the corniest team flyer

Chose the wrong lyricist to shade low-key with sneak gestures

You flame us while hidden on Discord, we flame you publicly with each record

For the archive, I peep the grime you emerged from

First you mimic Wealth, then you call him buns

One phrase, gassed up on stage, collapse, embarrassing

Time to shelve the mic and go invest in Claritin

Saying CLK is DIY just waters down the mission

True spitters grind hard without a sponsor decision

Underground, but it built off of X, not K energy

Mad cause your name ain't ringing, the fault’s your weak identity

But a few got suckered in, they ain’t know no clearer

That you a pimp, just chasing that mirror

Yo, what's a rap champ who can’t improvise a rhyme?

All these foes in bars, so come test me, alright

I’m from Chiraq, you called folks out on a whim

But when they stepped for the smoke, you dipped out again

You don’t want that heat, you’d rather scrap, you’re smaller

Cool, you got it, we’ll measure who the bigger corn baller

Oh you win, round two, clap it up with the shitty

Heard you hate white spitters, funny, you rockin’ Crispy

You rap like country stars, as tough like eyelash glue

If you that good, talk about something beyond you

Pop divas facing real hip hop, you should be beefing with Ice Spice

Y’all tried to record, y’all need backup singers to sound right live

They say you original, but let’s walk through this tunnel

You built your whole cadences off Golden and Corrupt bro

Spread chatter about us til the conversation’s dry

Heard you dropping another instrumental, featuring forks and chai

The carrot top puppet, scratch off at a rash convention

Heard you pull dates by saying you got a different gender section

Wanting signatures, but your server’s full of barbiturates

The evolution won’t be streamed while your fanbase flips

I’d lend you a hand, but this finger got more to say

This beef won’t resolve, even Crispy would look away

News blog martyr, come with your notes

You should Skittle slide back under your stagecoach

PSA: hungry rappers should come to X

Your off the dome is suspect, the rest sound pieced in like presets

These tone splitters flip when I check em

And your so called freestyles? All tracklisted on your album

Flexing your circle just to keep us from venues

But you fronting hard, you’d fold one on one with no menus

We gon battle, so go write your bars

I’ll still show up and leave you seeing stars

Big-headed, overblown, hope you like this scripture

Lookin’ forward to your reply, sincerely: Sigma