Please battle me I’m bored

can somebody battle me please, 🙏🏼

i think I rattled the feed,

I made everyone afraid to speak,

unbeaten on the beat, but the grill still lit,

too afraid of the beef (vegetarian)

shit, i’m a butcher to sheep,

shook up the opps, when I taught ‘em defeat,

I welcome comp—stomped, come n step up n see,

just sign a waiver if u coming at me,

I break down a bar on the beat,

if I was me I’d be scared of me,

if I was u I’d be scared to breathe,

in my vicinity, pardon the reach,

if I swing, make it sting when I pen,

leaving beats in shreds, they playin pretend,

I aim for the head, add a rep to the set,

that’s how I gain my respect,

don’t rap for the trend, I just talk to the dead.

how I practice, is that rap?

nah, it’s mental gymnastics.

it’s a habit—breakin bad ima addict, flippin’ semantics,

stretch a scheme til it snaps, then I laugh while I patch it.

ain’t no gimmicks, I’m past it—this passion’s elastic,

I bend dupes through loops, still landin it classic.

flow acrobatic, syntax cinematic,

every line stitched tight—call it verbal chromatics.

no cap in my speech, no ghost in the attic,

I’m the one who writes scripts… and flips the dramatics.

I don’t ask for a crown, I just snatch it,

made my name off pain and passion, no captions.

rappers fold under pressure, I fold em in fractions,

break down styles like equations, no distractions.

I breathe in schemes, exhale out classics,

every bar’s laced—this ain’t luck, it’s practice.

so if you step, better prep for the heat,

’cause I don’t just rap… I compete when I speak.