Heh-heh… Three big monsters against one little bug? Good. I was scared this might be fair. V-V-Volbeat! Light ’em up! When sunlight sinks, I inherit the ceiling, Flash-code tongue with a poisonous meaning. When daylight drops, I inherit the night, Draw death in the stars with a tail full of light. Pure Bug blood, no second-type disguise, I wear every weakness and still out-survive. We crawl from the dirt, take root in the cracks, Your kingdoms collapse—we keep crawling right back. We evolve through the pressure, transform through the pain, While your so-called great types stay exactly the same. Dark hides, Water runs, Psychic lives in its head— Bugs adapt to the world when the old world is dead! BUG TYPE! Tear a hole through the Dark! BUG TYPE! Put a crack in the smart! Psychic minds feel the mandibles connect— Natural selection coming straight for your neck! BUG TYPE! From the dirt to the sky! Cut one down—we adapt, multiply! s Break us, burn us—we adapt, multiply! Three oversized targets beneath one light— Volbeat proves Bug is the best damn type! Absol, pale omen with a blade on your skull, Brooding on a mountain for a century dull. Step forward—little Hot Topic cat, One horn, white bangs, and an edgelord act. You don’t cause disaster, you follow its tracks, A misunderstood weather vane painted in black. A tragic reputation, but pity won’t matter— Bug hits Dark, and I’m serving disaster. Dark Type, all menace, cheap tricks and deceit, But a swarm sees through every shadow you keep. You prey on the frightened, attack from behind— Then a six-legged nightmare makes cowards of night. Your bite may stop Psychic, your crimes may look slick, But Fighting breaks bones and Bug tears through the trick. You named yourself darkness like darkness means might— I was born in the evening; I weaponize night. BUG TYPE! Tear a hole through the Dark! BUG TYPE! Put a crack in the smart! Psychic minds feel the mandibles connect— Natural selection coming straight for your neck! Metagross, four minds welded under one dome, Still needed four opinions just to leave home. A million calculations, predictions precise— Yet none of those processors said, “This ain’t wise.” Magnetic metal spider, giant X on your face, Like the universe marked where to delete and replace. Fold your legs, start floating, get off of the ground— A dinner-plate drone too damn heavy to pound. Psychic Type, arrogant mind-reading frauds, Floating spoons, bending space, playing make-believe gods. You predict every motion, invade every dream— Still panic when an insect crawls into the scene. Because instinct beats logic, and chaos beats plans; You can’t read the intention of a million Bug clans. Big brain, weak nerve—when the mandibles bite, All that mental perfection disappears out of sight. Psychic fears Dark, Ghost, and the crawling unknown— Three things in the night that thought cannot control. So remember, brainiacs, when you brag that you’re wise: The smartest prey still gets eaten alive! Prediction failed. Calculation failed. Concentration failed. Cause of failure: Bug in the system! Pelipper, sky messenger, sack with a beak, You scoop half the ocean whenever you eat. Thirty fish in your mouth, still begging for more— Flying garbage disposal with the wings of a door. Water Type, everywhere, flooding half of the Dex, Same blue body, same Surf, what originality’s next? You boast about depth, adaptability, flow— Then one spark hits the pond and the whole squad goes. Back home in Hoenn, no endless rain trick, But I carried Thunderbolt—ain’t karma a bitch? One Tail Glow later, that pouch starts to sizzle; Fried bird on the shore with a Shock Wave drizzle. Electricity loves you, Grass drinks you dry, Even sunlight can weaken the waves that you ride. You claim Water brings life? Bugs pollinate it— Without us, your green little food chain won’t make it. Dark fears the swarm. Thought fears the bite. Water reflects us. We multiply light. You can poison the soil, turn the daylight to rust— When the titans go extinct, the world goes to Bug. No throne, no empire, no need for applause— Survival itself is the Bug Type’s cause. BUG TYPE! Tear a hole through the Dark! BUG TYPE! Put a crack in the smart! Psychic minds feel the mandibles connect— Natural selection coming straight for your neck! BUG TYPE! From the soil to the sky! Break us, burn us—we adapt, multiply! Three fallen monsters underneath one light— Volbeat just proved Bug is the best damn type! Darkness belongs to insects. Psychics fear what they can’t understand. Water carries the current. And Volbeat? Volbeat flips the switch. ... Lights out!
