[Verse 1] Fake pose, fake clothes, act much bigger, Stage shows, rented gold, stats look thinner, Big talk, mic check, bars sound scripted, TikTok rapper with a personality rented. I hear click-clack chat from your big-mouth captions, Quick snaps, wrist flash, all manufactured, Big man online but your street cred vanished, Six fake stories and they all contradict ya. Talk like a criminal, posture gets shakier, Four man crew but they're all content creators, More fake chains that you borrowed for cameras, One real question and the whole act fractures. no Tongue tied, one line, stumble when beats drop, Front like top five, numbers got bot-bought, Hush now, tough guy, nobody buys that, Touch one mic and your whole little hype act flatlines. [Hook] You talk like a king but you're chasing a name, You pose for the crowd but you're playing a game, Fake little rappers, you're all too close, Same copied image in different clothes. [Verse 2] Dead-end career with your stream-count clutter, Red-ring lights and your paid-view numbers, Ten men claim that your mixtape's heavy, Then ten men leave before track two's ready. TikTok wristwatch, trends get borrowed, Big talk today then a new style tomorrow, Lip-sync syllables stitched from six names, Quick change image when the clicks start fading. Copying, cropping, repeating the sequence, Stealing their slang while deleting the evidence, “Real from the street,” but you speak like a tourist, Every new accent depends who's booming. Ring-light glare with your rented-out fashion, Three cheap chains and a whip for the caption, Cryptic mathematics inside your statistics, Add up the streams and the maths look fictitious. [Hook] You talk like a king but you're chasing a name, You pose for the crowd but you're playing a game, Fake little rappers, you're all too close, Same copied image in different clothes. [Verse 3] Now I'm knee-deep deep in these weak-minded rappers, Teeth-grit rhythm while they rehearse their swagger, Cheap little gimmicks keep getting recycled, Three quick singles then the whole brand dies out. Backspin language, copy-paste cadence, Track sounds stitched from your favourite playlists, Rattle off buzzwords, hashtag table, Pattern gets stale and the act ain't stable. Red room, rented booth, bassline banging, Head nod, fake crew, camera still flashing, Every multisyllable exposes the weakness, Verbal demolition with surgical neatness. Quick little tongue-twist, twist till your tongue slips, “Six slick spitters sell second-hand dumb scripts,” “Big-brag beginners bite bars for business,” Say that three times without stealing my rhythm. No skill, no depth, hype won't save ya, Road-man costume with an online tailor, Sun comes up and the fake act shows, Same weak rapper in expensive clothes. [Hook] You talk like a king but you're chasing a name, You pose for the crowd but you're playing a game, Fake little rappers, you're all too close, Same copied image in different clothes. [END]
