Graveyard Flex

Bury the mic in the dirt, grave digger hands,

Blood on my kicks, red rivers on the Vans.

Snakes in the grass, hissing at my plans,

Cut the heads off, leave 'em food for the sands.

A hundred eyes on me, Medusa at the gala,

Chains on my neck swing colder than Alaska.

Whispers in the shadows, plotting for disaster,

I move like chess pieces, checkmate the master.

Bitches, murder, and clout, that’s the anthem,

Talk big game, but they never could fathom.

Bitches, murder, and clout, what you after?

Laughin' in the smoke, ghost face in the rafter.

Dark nights, moonlit, wolves on patrol,

Shadows in my mind, they keep eating my soul.

I keep receipts, every promise they stole,

Turn the heat up, I’m cooking till it’s charcoal.

Coffins in my lyrics, each bar’s a tomb,

Turn a room to a crypt, every beat go boom.

The reaper stay texting, sayin’ “I’ll see you soon,”

But I dodge like Neo, dancing through the gloom.

Hunger for the top, appetite’s carnivorous,

Talk about the real, but they all so fictitious.

Heart so cold, Arctic feels envious,

Clout chasin’ vultures circle like they’re venomous.