[Intro]
Yeah.
Cold Verse.
You said Emvee name, you drew the picture, made the posts…
Cool. This one’s for you.
[Hook]
You made a cover with a bat to his face, that’s soft, not raw,
Postin’ “report Emvee,” beggin’ cowards to law.
You can scream his name loud, still your pen don’t hit,
I’m the problem on the mic, y’all just background shit.
Two of y’all link up, still not close to my pen,
This is one Cold Verse, I’ll spin that block again.
Y’all can call yourselves gods, I just smirk and laugh,
’Cause the “Zona God” title get smoked in a paragraph.
[Verse 1]
I seen that art, Goose swingin’ on Emvee with a bat in your hand,
Shirt with your tag, his name on the other, like you king of this land.
That’s cosplay rage, lil’ cartoon flex for the feed,
Whole image say “killer,” but the audio read “need.”
“REPORT EMVEE” in caps, tryna weaponize fans,
That’s not rap, that’s a tantrum with a plan.
You ain’t out-rappin’ bro, so you reach for a ban,
Try to cancel what you can’t catch, weak little man.
You typed “I run this bitch,” but your run too short,
If his name not in your mouth, half your songs get caught.
You don’t build off skill, you just cling to his wave,
Drop a diss, drop a post, pray the outrage pays.
Dash jumped in like backup, but the script still thin,
Two verses of opinions, no punches within.
Y’all whole angle is “Emvee this, Emvee that,” no proof,
That’s not exposé, that’s you confessin’ your roof.
You don’t know him off-screen, you just jealous off stats,
You watch numbers like sermons while you scroll and react.
You drew blood on the cover ’cause you can’t draw crowds,
So you trace one man’s name and scream over loud.
[Hook]
[Verse 2]
Now let’s talk me—
I’m the one they call when it’s time to clean house, no cap,
I turn “Zona God” albums into warm-up laps.
I write schemes inside schemes while you rhyme one sound,
Y’all chase views in a circle, I move mountains with nouns.
I’m the “who wrote that?” echo when the playback run,
Y’all the “skip this” moment when the playlist spun.
You a duck named Goose and a runner named Dash on tracks,
But every time the beat drop, both birds get lapped.
I bend consonants, line ’em like domino rows,
You still trippin’ over rhymes from a decade ago.
I stitch multis in the middle of a bar for fun,
You still reachin’ for a punch that never quite come.
I’m the best, and it’s ugly ’cause I say it out loud,
I don’t need your little peer group, I perform for the crowd.
You need Emvee in the title just to nudge that play,
My name don’t need a victim, I stand off spray.
I body beats, not people, but the message is clear,
On wax, y’all dead, I don’t need fake fear.
You want war on a song? I’m the last one to test,
I’m the verse that make “Zona God” look like a guest.
So Goose, flap on, Dash, keep missin’ your mark,
I’m the one they quote when they scroll in the dark.
You teamed up for attention, I showed up for sport.
This is Cold Verse court—
And y’all too short.
[Hook-outro]
ColdVerse
