Verse 1
Yo, I snap the mic like a snap of a twig, quick with the fuckin trickery,
Verbal gymnast flipping syllables, you’re stuck in fucking predictability.
I spit fast, then I slow it down to crush your fuckin arrogance,
Every line a scalpel, dissecting your fuckin fall from veracity.
Bitch I’m circling your reputation, you’re boxed in a cage of doubt,
I break down your motive, every fuckin motive you hide out.
I’m the fuckin blueprint in the blueprint, you’re the fuckin sketch on a napkin,
When I launch the chorus, your fans’ eyes start to fuckin slack in.
Pre-Chorus
Metaphors stack like skyscrapers, I’m laying the fuckin foundation,
Your bars drift like leaves in a fuckin storm, I’m weather observation.
I calibrate fuckin tempo, your heartbeat’s out of sync,
I’m the headliner whispering victory in every blink.
Chorus
I’m the fuckin north star of rhythm, you’re the fuckin dimmest flare,
When I step in the fuckin booth, I command the fuckin atmosphere.
Rapid-fire cadence, I’m weaving a fuckin cyclone of thought,
Every rhyme a revelation, every beat I’ve fuckin bought.
Verse 2
I study the craft like a fuckin monk with a microscope,
I find your weak links bitch, then I cut them with a psalm of hope.
You ride on a fuckin clichés, I cartel the lexicon’s throne,
My verses hit like artillery, your bitch ass chorus sighs alone.
I fuckin flip diction with surgical precision and speed,
You’re a fuckin footnote in margins of history’s creed.
I’m cataloging legends, you’re the fuckin pawns on a board,
When I drop the bridge, you’re a bitch left scrambling for more.
Pre-Chorus
Phonetics collide bitch, fuckin syllables spark in the air,
I’m architect of cadence, you’re a fuckin bitch ass tourist with glare.
I ride the percussion, your fuckin tempo falls apart,
I etch your name in silence—fade out to the fuckin dark.
Chorus
I’m the fuckin north star of rhythm, you’re the fuckin dimmest flare,
When I step in the fuckin booth, I command the fuckin atmosphere.
Rapid-fire cadence, I’m weaving a fuckin cyclone of thought,
Every rhyme a revelation, every beat I’ve fuckin bought.
Bridge
It’s a duel with the art, not a war with your dumbass flaws,
I respect the craft, I’m chasing nothing but the fuckin truth without pause.
If you want to step closer, bring a real fuckin signature,
But I’ll rewrite your bitchass verse with a verdict that’s vulture.
Verse 3
I loop internal rhymes like a DJ spins time,
I leap through your weak spots, I’m exact with the rhyme.
I’m the fuckin furnace of craft, I’m forging your fuckin downfall,
But I won’t trash your name; I’ll elevate mine tall.
I’m the echo in the alley where legends are born,
A phoenix in the fuckin chamber of beats after the storm.
Outro
So here’s the rhythm blueprint, the fuckin craft laid plain,
Fill the fuckin blanks later with fire, let the crowd feel the fuckin flame.
