The Final Shot

Verse 1  
Yo, step to the mic, I’m lit with precision, a verbal fuckin magician,  
Spit tight like a cage with a lock on the fuckin vision,  
I’ve trained through the nights, no sleep in the kitchen,  
Bars hit hard like a verdict—boom, there’s the decision.  
You talk big shit on the surface cocksucker, I dive to the core base,  
Shatter your fuckin ego in syllables, leave splinters in your praise,  
I lace every line with a sting that you can’t fuckin replace,  
Throw your weak rhymes in the trash, I fuckin dispose with taste.  

Chorus (Hook)  
This is the final shot, I’m aiming for the fuckin top,  
No flop in my plot, I’m torching every fuckin prop,  
When the crowd starts to rock, and the haters start to mock,  
Like a fuckin bitch sucking a cock
I rise from the pit, drop wisdom, never halt.  
The final shot, the moment you’re caught,  
I blur all your myths till your idols are naught,  
Yeah, I’m coming for labels bitches and every fuckin last thought,  
Stand back, I’m calculating every line that I fuckin brought.  

Verse 2  
My syllables sprint, I’m rapid-fire with the fuckin cadence,  
Every verse a verdict—you’re the defendant, I’m the basin,  
Washing away your fuckin ego’s residue and ancient,  
Rhyme schemes twist like a labyrinth, dangerous and patient.  
You copy, you paste, you chase what’s trending,  
I innovate, I create, no pretending,  
I drop the fuckin heat, then pivot, transcend-ing,  
My pen’s a weapon, and I’m fully unending.  

Bridge  
I’ve seen the shadows in the fuckin industry’s hallways,  
I kept my head up when the pressure weighed days,  
Now I’m breaking the ceiling with lyrical arrays,  
Every line a collision, every verse a blaze.  

Chorus (Hook)  
This is the final shot, I’m aiming for the fuckin top,  
No flop in my plot, I’m torching every fuckin prop,  
When the crowd starts to rock, and the haters start to mock,  
Like a fuckin bitch sucking a cock
I rise from the pit, drop wisdom, never halt.  
The final shot, the moment you’re caught,  
I blur all your myths till your idols are naught,  
Yeah, I’m coming for labels bitches and every fuckin last thought,  
Stand back, I’m calculating every line that I fuckin brought.  

Verse 3  
You tread on thin ice, I spit the fuckin  flame between words,  
Every metaphor hits hard, like fists in the fuckin nerves,  
I craft a cyclone of verse till the silence preserves,  
The echo of truth in the verses you deserve.  
You chase clout bitch, I chase craft, there’s a difference you can hear,  
My cadence cuts deep, leave a mark that’s severe,  
The Final Shot’s loaded, the trigger is clear,  
When I pull it, your echo vanishes, disappear.  

Outro  
So here’s the drop that you didn’t foresee,  
I’m more than a rapper, I’m the fuckin storm in the sea,  
Final shot, sealed, like a vow to the beat,  
I rise, you fall—this is where you concede.  

rap, trap, hip hop, glitch, fast rap, instrumental buildup, male, gangster rap