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Lyrics
[Verse]
Golden age ghosts in the corner booth,
Industry puppets, marionettes lose the truth.
Labels peddle streams, algorithm fiends,
Chasing clout like a rat with caffeine.
Gimmicks stack paper, art takes the L,
Bars diluted, watered-down well.
Syllables empty, rhymes barely breathe,
This rap game a mannequin, no soul beneath.
[Chorus]
Broken beats, plastic dreams,
Where’s the art? It’s ripped at the seams.
Mic check, but the mic don’t scream,
This ain’t hip-hop, just a hollowed scheme.
[Verse 2]
Flexin’ on the ‘Gram, no pen in the pad,
Ghostwriters ghostin’, it’s a trend that’s sad.
Streams buy respect, pay-to-play sets,
No grind, just shortcuts, cash the checks.
Spotify kings with no stage control,
Lip-sync raps, no heart, no soul.
They mumble, they stumble, no cadence to run,
A marathon lost before the first gun.
[Bridge]
They rap for the 'fit, not the fire in the chest,
Chained to the numbers, they forget the quest.
Icons roll eyes from the vinyl sleeves,
This culture ain't culture, it's a corporate disease.
Details
GeneratedOct 29, 2025
Duration1:41
LanguageEnglish
Style
minimalist, hard-hitting, rap, boom-bap with gritty drum loops and sparse piano stabs
Credits
Prompt byLil_Dumbass
ModelAria v5
Prompt
A song about the state of the current rap industry being trash
