(Intro) [Heavy rain. A creaking floorboard. Then a deep, slowed voice.] Yeah. Y'all want a real one? [Beat drops — dark 808s, eerie choir sample reversed] Let's go. --- (Verse 1) I said shut the fuck up — you heard me, you birdy? You talkin' like a gangster but your whole life's a purdy Little fairy tale, retail rap, sellin' fake crack You never seen a body drop, you just seen a heart attack On a screen — Netflix and chill, you a killer with a mouse click Talkin' 'bout the streets? Bitch, you couldn't find the curb with a GPS and a map stick Respect? You don't know the meanin', you just seen it in a rap lyric Thought it meant "fear me" — nah, it means "I'll die for you, period" Real gangsters move in silence, you a fuckin' alarm system Every post a false alarm, every song a victim-less prism You reflect nothin' but ego, no shadow, no depth You a thug a bitch — that's a title, not a threat --- (Chorus) No respect, no respect — you don't know the code You a bitch in a hoodie on a stolen road Thug a bitch, thug a bitch — that's all you are A rental car gangster with a stolen star Rappers all pussy — yeah, I said it, every last one Who ain't never seen the bottom of a fuckin' gun You want respect? Earn it. You want fear? Burn it. You want the throne? You gotta bleed for it, not just wear it --- (Verse 2) [Beat intensifies — faster, more aggressive] I seen real gangsters — they don't post, they don't boast They the ones who give you bread when you can't afford toast They the ones who hold the door, then hold the body You the ones who run your mouth, then call your mommy "Mommy, mommy, they be talkin' on the internet" Bitch, I ain't talkin' — I'm a cigarette Lit at both ends, burnin' through your fake skin You a paper tiger, I a real lion — where's your wake, then? You ain't a gangster, you a thug — and a thug's just a dog without a leash Barkin' at the mailman, pissin' on the couch, callin' it peace I said rappers all pussy — yeah, that includes you With your fake chains, fake pain, fake crew, fake voodoo --- (Chorus) No respect, no respect — you don't know the code You a bitch in a hoodie on a stolen road Thug a bitch, thug a bitch — that's all you are A rental car gangster with a stolen star Rappers all pussy — yeah, I said it, every last one Who ain't never seen the bottom of a fuckin' gun You want respect? Earn it. You want fear? Burn it. You want the throne? You gotta bleed for it, not just wear it --- (Verse 3) [Beat drops to half-time — heavy, cavernous] Lemme break it down slow so your iPhone can record it Respect ain't a word you can afford, you gotta store it In your chest, in your breath, in the way you face death You'd sell your fuckin' mother for a verse from a lesser Rapper with a check and a necklace — pathetic, you reckless Real gangsters say "thank you" when you pass the salt Real gangsters apologize when they're wrong — it ain't a fault It's a strength, but you wouldn't know, 'cause you're hollow You follow a code you never read, a bible you couldn't swallow You a thug a bitch — and a thug's just a coward with a audience Scared to be nobody, so you pretend to be somethin' horrid But horror ain't a chain, ain't a tat, ain a trigger Horror's wakin' up real and findin' out you ain't nothin' but a figure A silhouette, a regret, a debt you can't pay So you talk loud on the mic to keep the real fear away --- (Bridge) [Beat cuts. Spoken — cold, quiet, every word deliberate.] You wanna know what respect is? Respect is a man who lost everything — his house, his wife, his name And still shows up to his mother's funeral in a clean shirt. Not to be seen. Because he said he would. You? You'd livestream the eulogy for a check. You ain't a gangster. You ain't a rapper. You ain't even a good liar. You're just a thug. A bitch. And the only thing you're thuggin' is the air out of real hip-hop's lungs. [Beat comes back — massive, distorted] NOW GET THE FUCK OUT. --- (Outro) [Screamed, then cracking] NO RESPECT! NONE! ZERO! NADA! You a fuckin' piñata — fake outside, nothin' inside but a disorder Rappers all pussy — yeah, I'm the order The surgeon, the mortician, the motherfuckin' border Between real and pretend — you on the wrong side Thug a bitch — that's your grave, that's your ride Now lay in it. [Silence. A single beat. Then a whisper.] Respectfully? [Beat drop — gunshot] Not fuckin' respectful at all. ---
