Who better Than/m3

[Verse 1 – Moment] Who better? Nobody breathin’, I body the beat when I talk like a demon Chalkline schemin’, all black fit like I rob in the evening Slide through clean, no mask, no cap Double back just to drop one fact: You ain’t me, you ain't close, you ain't even halfway, Runnin' on smoke in a rat race — I’m a last laugh, fast cash, bad face Crash pads where the stash stay, Wordplay razor, I lace up blades I eat off pain, I don’t chase no praise Syllables split like atom bombs I ain't gotta shout when the crowd gone calm I been on ten since 10:01 Twelve got a file, but I still ain’t done Big brain, sick aim, name one better Clip came quick like a TikTok setter No love, no fear, I’m past that phase Put a word in a verse, now I stack that rage Who better? Bars got bounce like I talk on springs Lines hit hard like I boxed with rings Ten toes down when the pen go loud Moment in time and the time don’t blink [Verse 2 – Rapture] Kick in the door like—HEY! Didn’t even knock, I just came to play Wildboy brain with a chain on spray Talk like this 'cause I live that way (skrrt) I’m dumb with it Still outrap your whole bloodline, come get it (yuh) Say the name wrong, get tongue-split it you the bitch in the code—nah, I’m done with it (HA!) Rapture in your speakers like bad news breathin' Whole crowd jump when the bass start bleedin’ Smack ten rappers in a single file Line ‘em up nice—then I eat that pile (uh) I’m the fuck-you-stepdad, pull-up God Still got a charge on a stolen pod Still got beef with a local priest Still got fans that I probably scarred Run it, I’m a freight train barely on track Tats say “DO NOT RESUSCITATE” on my back Lips like knives and the bars go crack Beat so raw you can hear the smack (smack!) Who better? Nobody— I spit out bricks and piss out shotties (BLAM) Sick like this since fifth-grade hobby Now it’s cash and chaos, clean but sloppy [Verse 3 Momen] Breathe when I rap? Nah, I choke these beats Carve my name in the spine of the streets Move like math with a blade in my teeth If the bar don’t cut, then I ain’t gon’ speak I been that — code in a human shell Flow too tight, make pressure swell No loose ends, just threads of hell When I drop that line, they don't live to tell Hold up—came in raw with a grin so wide That it split my face and it scraped both sides Laughin’ at your chain while I snort this ride Call it turbo high, let the planet slide (whoo) You spit truths? I spit prophecies Drip blood on the mic like it's offering Take shots while I’m grinning awkwardly And your whole crew look like apologies (HA!) Calculated with a pulse like steel Heartbeat off, still feelin' real Whispers in my head like “make that peel” So I dead these beats with a surgeon’s zeal Built for the moment, I sharpen the frame Too fast, too sharp, can’t market the flame You rap for praise, I rap for the pain Who better? Nah, don’t start that game [Verse 4 – Rapture] Manic with a plan and a half-cocked tongue Eat your idols for lunch and spit out crumbs Got a blade in the boot and a grin that hums Try to match my step, better bring your lungs I’m chaos stitched in a verse you missed I’m the punchline found in a suicide twist No rules, no lane, just broke-ass wrists From penning these tracks like apocalypse script I don’t write bars, I blackout and bleed ‘em Mic on fire and the booth need freedom Sniff three lines, then I baptize demons Put 'em on a leash, then I godlike beam ‘em (YUH) Came from the basement, broke that ceiling Came with a crowbar, grin, no feelings Drip like venom in a kid’s cartoon But I snap like a priest in a honeymoon room Big mouth, no filter, hate with rhythm Snap like tendons, break what's given Put me on a track, I deface tradition Set fire to the stage and escape conviction You a candle, I'm a napalm truck Your verse weak like a toddler’s punch I spit darts in a church on Sunday lunch Then piss in the holy cup just for fun (HA!) Your clique? Decor Your girl? Detour Your flex? Discount at a thrift store I’m death in a hoodie, drug-laced rapport Still say grace with a bloodstained fork I don’t need fans, I need bodybags Don’t need love, just shrooms and gags Don’t want peace, just teeth and tags I’m the kinda dude make cops call back Say I’m wrong? Well duh, I’m sick Rapture ain’t right, he just talk like this Born from chaos, raised on kicks Who better? Nobody — that’s it.