one prompt two prompts three then four one prompt two prompts three then four everyone can sprint but fuck, they cant run [Gunshots] too many trips so many traps at this point, could have learnt the fuckin craft cos anybody can sprint on a beat now, so prepare for a beat down peak crowd, big mouth, cheap style, get the weak praised speed loud, each round spit fast till the meaning get squeezed out beats bounce, crowd wild, nobody stop to ask what hes speaks bout like... what the fuck is he saying these days, whole lanes get built on a brief phrase three taps, screen flash, gemini handin out clean takes meanin gets replaced by a sheen that the machine made cheap grace, deepfake pain with a preset heartbreak me nah, I still came with the tab and the S pen out rewrites, dead nights, bad drafts till my head break with doubt real weight, real strain, real blood when the text land you cant type in a prompt and then claim that your chest bled man... fill up the grid with a blur just to get praised for velocity packin a pattern with so many syllables nobody checks if the sentence before it got blood or quality or if its just a monstrosity chat GPT atrocity its peeking my curiosity, Im not tryna cos no animosity but theres got to be someone on here with the capacity an electric biology, or heck maybe the trick got mistaken for substance, but taylor trained the crowd to applaud what wasnt hard to repeat, not what was custom so I didnt come here to show I can run with the drum I came here to write music an bury a truth in a pocket so yeah, Im calling anybody on this platform out if they think that they can tag me, handwritten lyrics only lets really see who got hands no ghost in the prompt no bot in the backroom no polish pass from a chat window thats it bring sixteen that can stand on their own feet without a machine cucked in the back seat but..... anyone can rap fast dont even gotta make sense no more just tiddy tat, blididdy blat little bitty clickity clack for the idiot app but this motherfucker came strapped with a backpack packed with a craft that was wax sealed shut, still wrapped like a black lit tract from a last witch act that they stashed in the ash with the Salem batch that same old flame they was scared might catch same panic pattern when the page get scratched with a phrase so strange that it shake that mask off a famed mass chamber where they spray that gas dont worry, Ill hold while you flipmode this track back to try get ahold and catch that ash everybody wanna rat a tat tat on a track like that all chitter chat, knickknack, pitty pat rap with a riddle that rhymed but it didnt mean jack you cant fake that crap cant stage that sting cant make that hit with a taped back trick and a great big dick when the bassline kicks if it aint got ache in the grain of the page, its a blank ass script you wanted “how did he do that” I want “how the fuck did he write that shit” I want the kind of line that dont end when it ends the kind that come back in the quiet and finish the crap the kind that take one cheap little memory turn it to a corridor, then lock somebody in with me givem a night that slits in the ribs like a name you breath the kind that wait till the lights go out an stop the beat beating in their chest an leave so yeah, Im calling anybody on this platform out if they think that they can tag me, handwritten lyrics only lets really see who got hands no ghost in the prompt no bot in the backroom no polish pass from a chat window thats it bring sixteen that can stand on their own feet without a machine cucked in the back seat again... anybody can make music now everybody got access to Suno and chat GPT whole feed full of rented voices, prompt built poses synthetic soul with a backbeat beatin underneath I can hear when the prompt did the heavy lift see when the script got stamped an half these lyrics got bot fingerprints and 12 neat little em dashes in em like my band thats why Im lookin at half of these “writers” like who the fuck are you foolin exactly you didnt even catch that eminem line did you you typed a wish in a box and let the machine do the heavy patchin that aint craft, thats captions that aint pain, thats patterns that aint depth, thats data dressed up in a voice that learned how to mimic your damage the mud dont hand back four clean options when the line dont land how you wanted it so yeah, Im calling anybody on this platform out if they think that they can tag me, handwritten lyrics only lets really see who got hands cos anybody can make music now thats easy the gate fell off the tools got cheap the trick got sleek the whole world learned how to package a feeling an if your feeling me, come rock this beat do you accept © 2026 Hotwife of Pi. All rights reserved. All lyrics are original works written and published under the name Hotwife of Pi and are protected by applicable copyright law. No part of these lyrics may be copied, reproduced, republished, distributed, adapted, performed, recorded, transmitted, used for artificial intelligence or machine-learning training, or otherwise exploited, in whole or in part, without prior written permission from the copyright holder, except where permitted by law.
