I enter the ring like a sitcom finale, you steppin’ like shoes at a Renaissance faire. You rap like a LARP in a vape shop basement, I rap like a hostage that hacked through the chair. You rhyme like a wizard who Googled his potion, I rhyme like a jester on meth in the square. Your voice got the menace of Bambi in mittens, my tone got reporters evacuatin’ stairs. You stuck in a loop where you mumble in riddles, I break into riddles while jugglin’ knives. You dress like a warlock who sells his own beard oil, and dress like a bitch in your fantasy life. You dropped two more spells in a Yoda impression? Bitch, blink twice if you beg for attention. You rap like you read from a wand instruction, I rap like I built the dimension you mention. Your flow got the pace of a snail in a pipe dream, I flow like the light beams inside a widescreen. You act like a threat but you softer than bird poo, in Crocs at a brunch on a vegan canoe. You swing like a toddler who learned how to shadowbox, I swing like I’m putting craters on the moon. You live in the comments, I live in the conflict I’m cookin’ your saga in humorous doom. You cosplay in drag with a voice like an actress, Takin’ L’s got you bitchin’ like Joyce Behar Got your girl gettin’ dug out like batting practice, while your discography floats in a vape cart. You rap like a wizard that Ubered to Hogwarts, I rap like a purge in a mime’s memoir. Your fans just scroll with a look of confusion, mine send me clips when your verse falls apart. You move like a fart in a sermon of silence, you move like a gnome with a speech impediment. You rhyme like a bumper sticker in Latin, I rhyme like a pastor on LSD medicine. I’m sick like a virus that spreads through your router, you spit like a typo that can’t find its sentence. You threaten on wax like a priest with a squirt gun, I laugh while your weak flow sinks in irrelevance. Your beard lookin’ sadder than canceled parades, your punchlines are hugs in a box of regret. You rap like you swallowed a prophecy backwards, I rap like I wrestled the Pope on a jet. You got one flow and it’s barely in motion, like yoga for corpses or clowns in shoes of cement. You throwin’ up spells like a kid with the hiccups, I twist every wand in your hand till it’s bent. You rap like a Sith that got kicked from the cast, I rap like a star in the credits. Your saga’s so stale it’s collectin’ a pension, I freestyle in memes that collapse in the settings. Your magic’s as strong as a sneeze in a snorkel, whole style’s borrowed from dentist confessions. You show up in plush like you paid for protection, I show up in flesh and I dare your attention. I roast like a grill in a clown car collision, you freeze like a stroke victim with hypertension. You think you the saga, you barely a footnote, I wrote your demise while I flossed in a session. You rap like a TikTok grandpa roleplayin’ Gandalf who lost all his pension. I rap like a felony dressed in a blessing, you rap like a middle school lunch intervention. So keep droppin’ riddles in riddles in riddles we get it, you’re Dark Helmet with issues. Your lightsaber’s made of cardboard and tissues, whose mic’s been convicted for misuse. You dropped two more, I ain’t heard ‘em at all my fans said, “Bro’s still talkin’ to walls.” If obsession was a genre, you headlined role, wearin’ a black cloak while you star in Space Balls.
