Rival rapper
[Verse]
Yo, step back, let the champ clear the floor,
Your bars are like your credit score, man, tragically poor.
I'm the sharp knife in this drawer, you just a rusty spork,
I spit fire, you less spark than a burnt-out cork.
Call yourself a king, I see no crown, only paper hats,
I'm deep in the game, you just skimming like dirty dishwater fat.
My rhymes are heavy, weigh 'em on a freight scale,
You're lighter than your fan mail, fragile as a fairy tale.
You think you're running marathons, I lap you on the first stretch,
Your career's a car crash, I'm the safety tech.
Try to swing at me? You’re punching above your weight,
I knock verses out the park, you can't even swing the gate.
[Chorus]
This is the sound of the throne when I'm stepping up,
Echo my name, you just a whisper in the cut.
Dropping these bars, watch the crowd go nuts,
You're a footnote on my page, now shut up and strut.
[Repeat Chorus]
