Yo, step to the mic, you’re a joke in this game,

Your rhymes so weak, they’re a stain on the fame,

I’m spittin’ infernos, you’re flickerin’ a spark,

Tryin’ to bark in the dark, gettin’ marked for the arc.

You mumble nonsense, can’t keep up with my pace,

I’m Usain on a plane, you a cane in the race.

Your flow’s prehistoric, it’s stuck in the mud,

Like a fossil in chains, gettin’ crushed in the flood.

I’m a lyrical titan, a tyrant with threats,

You’re a sidekick with sideburns, dyin’ in debt.

Your mic’s allergic to the heat that I fling,

I bring metaphysical missiles that sting.

You flex fake clout, fabricated façade,

I'm breakin' your image like mirrors abroad.

You’re a ghost in the scene, just a shadow of hype,

I’m the soul-snatcher slasher, I battle at night.

Your crew’s a mirage, they scatter and scram,

I'm the rapture, disaster, collapse of your scam.

Your stage presence? Zero, you glitch when you load,

I’m a freight train of fate, you a ditch in the road.

You’re drownin’ in dreams, in a fantasy crash,

This diss ain’t a jab, it's a full body slash.

[Chorus] You’re trash, you’re done, better run, lil’ punk, Your rhymes so lame, they belong in the junk! Fall back, you flop, you’re a stain, you’re a chump, Get wrecked, get smoked, you’re a lyrical dump!

[Verse 2] I’m back for the kill with a lyrical blade,

Like a digital criminal spittin’ grenades.

Your dreams of the top? Already erased,

I'm a flamethrower poet, you’re a flicker in space.

You’re a gimmick, a fad, just a flash in the pan,

I’m a tactical radical, crashin' your plans.

Your verses collapse like a house made of cards,

I’m buildin’ the temple, you stuck in the yard.

You’re a puppet, a clone, no control of your voice,

I’m the architect, dominant, leavin’ no choice.

Your ego’s inflated, your energy’s weak,

You’re a digital blip, I’m the voltage you seek.

You brag ‘bout your wins, but they hollow and fake,

I'm volcanic, organic, I rupture the quake.

I’m surgical, precise, like a sniper on beats,

You stutter and stumble, defeated in sheets.

Your fanbase is bots with no soul in the stats,

I’m the pulse in the cypher, the truth in the raps.

You’re a relic, a ghost, from a long-gone trend,

I’m the echo of future, you can't comprehend.

This diss is your funeral, final and grim,

Like a sermon of verses, I'm buryin’ him.

And that’s a wrap! He ain’t comin’ back from that one...

"Ma! Yo, Ma! I’m done in the booth!"

"Yeah, I finished the diss track. Nah, he ain’t respondin’ to this, trust me he probably deletin’ his SoundCloud right now."

"You heard that line about his fanbase bein’ bots? Yeah, that was fire, right?"

"No, I didn’t curse too much! ...Okay, maybe like... a little. But artistic expression, Ma!"

"Can we eat now though? I'm starvin’. All that rhyme-slayin’ burns calories

[Fa