[Intro: Both Female MC 1 and Female MC 3] My sisters! (What you gotta say?) Let these plastic bitches know! [Record scratches] Look [Verse 1: Female MC 1(Commanding, methodical flow with heavy vocal projection and gritty streetwise confidence)] I see a lot of synthetic, not a lot of soul You chasing FYP metrics just to reach a goal A manufactured Barbie with a rented-out pen I'm kicking off the hinges, bitch, I'm forcing my way in Your whole career’s a pop-up shop, the pop is artificial Your surgeon did your body, but your bars are superficial The lace is melting down, you hoes are fronting on the edges I'm pushing off the culture vultures jumping off the ledges I'm surgical with syntax, leaving bitches needing sutures A golden-era terror, I'm the mother of the future You doing "girl math" just to calculate a hit But a fraction of your fraction couldn't copy what I spit I don't do the Shade Room, sipping on the petty tea I pull up with the heavy bass to rattle your degree Birkin bag is loaded but your catalog is vacant The industry is baking you, you looking real complacent Talking 'bout a bussdown, bitch you having a breakdown You stepping in the cypher, get prepared for the takedown Miss me with the lip injections, this is blood and spit The PR team is sweating 'cause they know you ain't the shit Y'all trading in the Mecca for a ten-second aesthetic Your A&R's a medic 'cause your vital signs pathetic No discipline, just praying on a viral dance trend I'm pulling up like karma, bringing plastic to an end. [Verse 2: Female MC 2(Rapid-fire breath control with complex internal rhymes)] Step aside, let a real sniper calibrate the pressure I'm folding up these Fashion Nova bitches in a dresser You tweeting for engagement, bleeding out for validation I'm leaving socialite rappers in silent incubation It's an epidemic of edits, you Facetuning the flaws A "soft life" aesthetic, but you breaking hip-hop laws You love to hate on the app, you typing with acrylics But in the flesh you hyperventilate without the lyrics! Stan Twitter generals hiding behind an avatar You getting roasted by a bot inside a tinted car The timeline is a hazard, toxic gossip in the veins You popping Plan B 'cause the industry is running trains No gimmick, no routine, no choreographed twerk I'm putting all these baddies in the dirt to do the work You weaponize the controversy, begging for a sponsor I'm dropping heavy 808s and stepping like a monster They do a TikTok challenge just to inflate the streams I'm Freddie Krueger in the booth, I'm tearing through your dreams You bought a million followers to mask the deficit But algorithms cannot hide the fact you ain't a threat The shade is just a smokescreen, tearing down your sisters You playing in the sandbox, raising up the blisters So keep serving up the drama, chasing after clout I'm the reason that your A&R is throwing you right out! [Beat drop] [Spoken word by Female MC 3] Wait hold on bitch... Let this sister spit some... [Record scratches] [Beat return] [Verse 3: Female MC 3(Guttural, raw, unapologetically aggressive. She hits the consonants hard, emphasizing street survival and anti-commercial pride)] Cut the beat. Let the sub-bass rattle the floorboards! I'm leaving these industry plants chopped on the clipboards Y'all romanticize the trap from a penthouse suite I got the mud on my Timbs, sweeping the whole street You talk about securing bags, but the label is tricking A 360 deal got your royalty clock ticking You trading in your essence just to be a commodity I'm treating this vocal booth like an armed robbery! Strip the aesthetic naked, take the chains and the rings This is hardcore rap, bitch, we don't care if you sing You a playlist plant, watered by a suit with a check I'm a fully grown tree putting a branch at your neck "Soft life"? Bitch, I'm from the era of the hard knocks You picking out your lace-fronts, I was picking out locks The female scene is bleeding 'cause you bitches love to hate Crabs in a barrel, fighting for a paper plate Pick-me energy, desperate for a male co-sign I'm drawing in the sand, crossing the authentic line You crying over shade rooms, losing your damn mind I was ducking the indictments, leaving the feds blind You switching up your face just to fit into a mold But plastic gonna melt down soon as you get old So put respect on the architects, the mothers of the game Before I wipe your whole aesthetic right out of the frame! [Outro] Oufff... (My god...) We want blood bitch!
