[Intro]
Yeah…
You ever watch a clown crown himself king of a place he don’t run?
This that moment where delusion meets reality.
Let’s go…
⸻
[Verse 1]
You the desk god, huh?
Scrollin’ on your phone like the warehouse owe you love, huh?
Bare-minimum legend, king of “I don’t do enough,” huh?
Actin’ like you built the place — boy, you can’t even lift the stuff, bruh.
Every day I walk in, you freeze like a mannequin,
Quick drop the phone like it’s evidence you panickin’.
You ain’t slick — whole shift watch you vanishing,
You the type to brag ’bout work you ain’t even managing.
Act divine? I’ll knock that halo crooked,
God’s gift? Please — if they rewrapped you, they’d return you where they took it.
Lazy written on your face like a permanent tattoo,
Act tough ’til real work shows — then you fold like bad glue.
⸻
[Hook]
You ain’t built for this grind — you just sit and pretend,
Work stoppin’ every second soon as I walk in again.
“God’s gift to the warehouse”? Boy, stop the pretend,
’Cause if laziness was a trophy, you’d be top-three… and not number ten.
⸻
[Verse 2]
You mastered the bare minimum, yeah, that’s your religion,
Prayin’ every day nobody checks on your decisions.
Scroll-scroll-scroll — that’s your full-time position,
If effort was a drug test? You’d fail with no suspicion.
Soon as I clock in, you vanish like a ghost,
Actin’ like you grindin’, but you coastin’ the most.
I walk past the desk — you freeze, screen close,
Lookin’ guilty as a thief still holdin’ what he stole.
You ain’t never put in sweat; you allergic to ambition,
Got a PSS title but zero recognition.
You swear you’re the backbone, holdin’ down the building —
But when real pressure hits? You crumble like the ceilings.
⸻
[Hook]
You ain’t built for this grind — you just sit and pretend,
Work stoppin’ every second soon as I walk in again.
“God’s gift to the warehouse”? Boy, stop the pretend,
’Cause if laziness was a trophy, you’d be top-three… and not number ten.
⸻
[Bridge]
Bare minimum? Yeah, that’s your whole biography,
Actin’ like management wrote you into the prophecy.
Truth is, if effort was currency?
You’d owe the whole company — with interest — constantly.
⸻
[Final Verse]
Every day you clock in like the job’s beneath you,
Till I show up — then suddenly work tries to meet you.
You ain’t foolin’ nobody; we see you, we read you,
False king with a cardboard crown — boy, nobody needs you.
This ain’t a diss — nah, this a full intervention,
’Cause your “God’s gift” ego needs early prevention.
You ain’t runnin’ the warehouse, stop the self-invention,
You just sittin’ at a desk seekin’ phone-screen attention.
⸻
[Outro]
So next time you claim you’re the chosen one in this space,
Remember:
Even GPS can’t find your work ethic…
’Cause it never existed in the first place.
MIG1274
