[Intro – slow, mocking] Oh, poor boy wrote a song. How brave. How loud. How absolutely forgettable. [Verse 1 – fast, tight phrasing] You whined in rhyme like a bitter teen Cried “whore” ‘cause you lost the queen You begged me bare, then broke in two When I fucked you and outgrew you You throw words like a limp-wristed curse Tried to hurt me with your own goddamn thirst You write like cum, spit, guilt, repeat— But baby, your trauma’s obsolete [Pre-Chorus – slow, venom sharp] Three things I learned from your bleeding pride: 1. Dick can whimper 2. Ego lied 3. Poets don’t fuck—they just confide [Chorus – fast, theatrical] Witch, weasel, weak-ass poet You moaned like a dog but wrote like a sonnet Your balls were loud, your climax meek You came too fast and stayed too weak You think your rage makes you divine? You're just an ex with a Spotify line [Verse 2 – relentless rhythm] You cried on my thigh, then called me names Tried to shame me with your cumstained flames Said I fucked your friends—damn right I did And guess what? They thanked me. Better than you ever did You're not a man, you're a tantrum in pants A keyboard Casanova who can't fucking dance You licked my shoes then blamed the floor Then wrote a song when I asked for more [Bridge – rule-of-three attack] Fuck your verse, fuck your fame, fuck your fragile flame Fuck your lines, your fans, your pixel shame Fuck the stage you sobbed upon This witch burns back—and brings the dawn [Chorus – repeat with extra bite] Witch, weasel, weak-ass poet Your mouth says "queen" but your heart won't show it You loved my cunt but feared my fire So you cast yourself the fucking liar Cry into your chords, whimper into your screen I made you, unmade you—now stay unseen [Verse 3 – half-sung, smirking] I took your hate and fucked it raw Spat your love out like metaphor You’re a fragile fuck with an ink-stained dick Who tried to hex a goddamn witch Three things you’ll never write again: 1. Me 2. Truth 3. Anything worth pain [Final Chorus – slower, final kill] Witch, weasel, weak-ass poet You barked so loud, you made me show it Not love, not grief, but holy wrath Now bleed your art Down your own fucking path [Outro – whisper, then silence] Next time… Try poetry After puberty.
