Third Degree

Third Degree

You wanted smoke, now you swimmin’ in flames,
Should’ve stayed in your lane, now you barely a name.
I don't throw subs—I name names and throw facts,
While you duck real rappers, I confront and collapse.

You a mannequin with bars—posed but hollow,
Your buzz die down fast, your whole style borrowed.
I see through your act, that flex got no core,
You a caption with a beat, I’m the art of war.

I spit daggers with direction, every word is precise,
You play tough online but in person? Mice.
I make classics, you make tracks for trends,
I build legacies—while you depend on friends.

You a feature rapper—never held your own weight,
I press play on your album, and I still hear fake.
Talkin’ ‘bout stats, streams, plaques, and wealth—
But none of that means nothin’ when you lie to yourself.

Your catalog light—I could bench press your disc,
One bar from me’s worth your whole top ten list.
You play loud in the booth, but your bars say nothin’,
I rap with purpose—your verses just stuntin’.

You came for the crown? That’s a death wish, bro,
You step to the throne, I turn kings into smoke.
Don’t ask for a war if your pen ain’t sharp,
I write verses that echo, you just talk in the dark.

This the third degree—no escape, no help,
This ain’t rap beef, it’s you vs. yourself.
‘Cause deep down you know you ain’t cut for this level,
You rhyme for applause—I rhyme to unsettle.

They gas you up heavy, now the tank run dry,
You stood tall in the mirror but shrunk under my eye.
Your aura don’t match your ambition or clout,
Your whole team quiet now—what’s that all about?

You dissed for attention, now you beggin’ for peace,
But I don’t squash nothin’—I increase the heat.
So next time you reach, better pray I don’t grab,
‘Cause I don’t write disses, I design body bags.