Dead Man Rappin

Dead Man Rappin

This ain’t rap…
It’s a closed casket in four verses.
No hooks. No apologies. Just truth in its rawest form.

You built your name off echoes, I’m the voice they follow,
You act like a giant, but your foundation’s hollow.
Took my style, took my words, bit the hand that fed,
Now I’m back to collect — hope your pride ain’t dead.

You talk loud online, but in person, you fold,
Tryna flex fake gold with a tarnished soul.
Your bars? Recycled. Your moves? Predictable.
Claim you woke? You sleepwalk through principles.

You a guest in the house I constructed from pain,
While I was bleedin' on beats, you were practicin' fame.
Tried to diss me in subtweets, that’s coward technique —
I respond with a verse, and you gone in a week.

Your squad soft — they hype you for clicks,
While I sharpen my blade with a hundred real hits.
This ain't beef, it's me settin’ the record straight —
You not competition, you just food on a plate.

Let’s talk respect — you never earned that rank,
You a verse away from collapse like a Ponzi bank.
Your catalog’s a myth, your buzz artificial,
I spit facts that sting, your lies superficial.

Said you the king? Then I’m the guillotine swing,
Takin’ heads off clean, I don’t need to scream.
You rap like you scared of the truth in your chest —
That’s why you wear chains, tryna cover regret.

This the burial — no choir, no light,
Just a pen and a beat, and your name in white.
Every shot I take? Surgical. No flinch.
Now your story gets erased — inch by inch.

Your next post gon’ be a long caption of pain,
While I keep winnin' without mentionin' names.
This is more than a diss — this is judgment day,
Now step off the mic. Let the real ones play.