King Of The Chess Board, Game Over [ fuck Upchurch]

Open up, it"s biscuit vision, set to wreak collision

OG poet spitting bars, you just a weak rendition biscuit vision creeping, I"m gripping the crown

King of the chess board, your Pawns falling down

You ain"t no simple man, but simple, man

Rhymes flimsier than bubbles in a frying pan

Holler boys ain"t hollering, silence on the track

Ghost Ranch burnt down, ashes can"t come back

Up Church"s latest hit, it"s more dirt than grit

Can I get an outlaw? Naw, you can"t commit

Rolling Stoned? Nah, just stoned and stalling

Gettin" rowdy, yet your whole crew"s falling

Rolling up that hillbilly, but where’s the thrill billy?

Three deep in your feelings, sounding kinda silly

YZ and all those rides are stuck in the mud

Blessing your L, with this lyrical flood

Ctrl Alt Delete, on this Music game feat

Cheatham County

Redneck b**tch tryin’ to church up my upstate,

Holler Boy anthem can’t handle my checkmate.

Creek don’t run deep; it’s just a shallow stream,

Biscuit Vision sharp, slashing your muddy dream.

Dirty South king, chest moves with precision,

Creek Squad shattered by a poet’s biscuit vision.

Mud-to-gold? Nah, boy, more like fool’s dust,

Chessboard captured—watch your crew combust.

Rollin’ through the Holler; no Ghost in my sight,

People’s Champ crumbled, pawn sacrificed tonight.

Alpha Omega, but you stuck in beta waves,

I’m all Smokin’ Section, fire burnin’ through your plays.

Do-si-do with disaster, crickets for your Rhymes,

They say Real Country, but your talk shows decline.

Holler Boy lament, can’t rap your way up,

Biscuit’s on the throne—better just give up.

Hiawassee bars whiter than your moonshine,

Country boy’s fallin’ while the creeks incline.

Bottle and Mary Jane can’t save your flow;

It’s a chessboard, Upchurch, now you know.

Dirty South king, chest moves with precision,

Creek Squad shattered with no bars, obsolete

Dirty south like a faucet, them rhymes dripping slow

Cashville stunting? More like crashing the show

Staring at the sun, blind to the shine

Radio Jammed, static, heavy disincline

High Dixieland? Low, miss the mark bro

Hype train left the station, where’d your fans go?your not a bad mother fucker your an ass clown got the whole creek squad bowed down spitting on your dick while you suck on a glass dick wearing a creek squad pearl necklace always trolling Adam Calhoun, jam Wayne,tom McDonald and anyone else that flows better then you do.....you jealous ass pocket pussy pawn shop tweaker get some sleep your knights are in disrae your days the same who"s going chicken hunting chicken willie poets running through you with a hatchet in hand king of the chess board your kingdom in disrae biscuit vision poet has you fools mated decapitated up church your crown I"m taking bow down to the king I"m taking out your creek squad pawns and banging your queen you pawn shop tweaker put down the glass pipe your ghost ranch castle has been set on fire poet slid on you like a bishop game over