[Intro]
(Slow, menacing banjo pluck)
(Heavy 808 sub-bass enters)
Five years in the shadows, Savannah... I saw it all.
You didn't build a career, you built a crime scene.
I got the receipts. Let’s talk about that "first hit."
[Verse 1]
You started your engine on the tears of a victim
Found a girl who was broken and decided to kick 'em
You made a diss track claiming that her trauma was fake
Just to see how much money and clout you could make
You bullied a woman while she bled from the soul
Using "rape" as a ladder just to reach your goal
Then a year ago you’re crying, "Oh, I’m sorry I lied"
While you’re sitting on the millions from the pain she inside!
You’re a vulture in denim, yeah, you feast on the weak
But you’re quiet as a mouse when it’s my turn to speak
You ain't no singer, you’re a product of the wires
A career fueled by Auto-Tune and industry liars
You’re "hard" in the lyrics, talking 'bout that Glock
But we know you’re the first one to run 'round the block!
[Chorus]
Savannah, you’re a predator, a liar in a gown
The "Queen of the South" is wearing a plastic crown
Your marriage was a joke, yeah, the punchline was me
Ask your man how I taste—he was my "personal" fee!
You’re fake in the booth and you’re fake in the life
You’re a terrible artist and a part-time wife!
(Ad-lib: TELL THE TRUTH!)
[Verse 2]
Upchurch was right, you’re just bad for the biz
Ask the blind man you robbed what the "Savannah Way" is
You’re desperate for a hit, yeah, you’re chasing the "Roll"
Willing to "Jelly" anything just to reach your goal!
You took a bite of "Adam’s apple" just to get in the booth
We know what you did for the "Feature," and that’s the truth!
You tried to block my music, tried to kill off my light
So I took your man home in the middle of the night
He told me your music was trash to the core
While he was knocking on my bedroom door!
I was in your videos, I was there on the set
Now I’m the nightmare you’re gonna regret
You’ve never shot a gun, you’ve never held a line
You’re a coward with a contract, wasting our time!
[Bridge]
(Music strips back to just bass and snapping fingers)
Wordplay with the "receipts," yeah, I’m checking the tax
You’re a ghost in the booth, hiding under the tracks
You ran from the women who wanted the smoke
Now your whole reputation is a localized joke!
(Ad-lib: I SEE YOU RUNNING!)
[Chorus]
Savannah, you’re a predator, a liar in a gown
The "Queen of the South" is wearing a plastic crown
Your marriage was a joke, yeah, the punchline was me
Ask your man how I taste—he was my "personal" fee!
[Outro]
(Heavy distorted guitar solo)
I know where you live, girl.
And I know the truth about every "struggle" you sold.
Get on Live and come clean... or I’ll drop the rest of the receipts.
I have proof and the next song will show it..
(Sound of a shotgun rack)
(Final 808 Thump)
IronwoodRow
