[Intro – Spoken, Furious] You don’t “do that beef shit”? Then why the hell you standing near the grill? You want peace in a warzone? You picked the wrong pit. This ain’t group therapy. This a Rocket broadcast. King Koff talking now. --- [Verse 1 – King Koff] Keep that out your speakers? Nah, I crawl through the bass. Put poison in the mix till it leak through your face. Soft-ass rappers want smoke then complain when it burn, Talkin’ “music lifts us up” while your whole spine turn. You don’t want war? Then why you loading the clip? Why you name-dropping gods then hide under the script? That “I don’t diss” act is just fear with a coat, Passive-aggressive little shots from a paper-thin throat. You said “truth in the booth,” but I smell retreat. Sayin’ “I don’t beef” while you sneak through the beat. I ain’t here for peace talks, I don’t hug through the static. This is Team Rocket. We make conflict cinematic. --- [Chorus – Venomous Hook] You don’t do beef? Then shut the fuck up. This the jungle, not daycare, better toughen up. Say it with your chest or don’t say shit, That whisper-sneak act don’t make you legit. You don’t do beef? Then shut the fuck up. You want peace? Go join a Kumbaya club. I spit poison, bars hit sludge, While you begging the booth for a motherfuckin’ hug. --- [Verse 2 – King Koff] You “ain’t dodging smoke”? Then stand where it lands. I don’t throw shade, I black out the plans. You a ghost on the track with a pulse made of past, All “vibe, rise, heal” but the courage don’t last. Say it with your chest? Cool, keep it there. I’m aiming every syllable right under the air. You hide in soft lines like the truth got teeth, Then act shocked when the room don’t believe. Every bar sound padded, every punch got foam, Like Whismur tried yelling through a microphone. Your “music for the soul” would be sweet on its own, But don’t bark at the wolves then cry at the tone. You came to the mic talking peace and release, Then spent half the verse trying to poke at beasts. That ain’t wisdom. That’s fear with rhythm. That ain’t healing. That’s a weak man’s prison. --- [Chorus – Repeat] You don’t do beef? Then shut the fuck up. This the jungle, not daycare, better toughen up. Say it with your chest or don’t say shit, That whisper-sneak act don’t make you legit. You don’t do beef? Then shut the fuck up. You want peace? Go join a Kumbaya club. I spit poison, bars hit sludge, While you begging the booth for a motherfuckin’ hug. --- [Bridge – Low Growl] You vent on beats. I weaponize decay. You mumble pain. I make it obey. You speak “truth”? I spit rot. We ain’t the same. You just talk a lot. --- [Final Verse – King Koff] You talk like you tired, like the game wore you down, Then why step in the ring with your chin hanging out? This ain’t therapy. It’s war in the booth. And I got more bite than a Seviper tooth. Keep that “why can’t music be music?” line, That fake-deep mask don’t match your spine. You wanted the edge without paying the cost, Wanted safe little shots while you played like a boss. King Koff don’t hide. I swing with grime. I don’t need ten subs. I say names in the line. You soft boys fold when the pressure gets raised, I was built in the smoke. You were built for a phase. So don’t talk brave then beg for respect, Don’t throw little stones then protect your neck. You don’t do beef? Cool. That’s cute. But you came to the table already looking like food. --- [Outro – Spoken, Venom Calm] Nah… You don’t do beef? Wrong. You are the beef. Raw. Bleeding. Unseasoned. You came soft. I came surgical. King Koff out. R stands for Ruthless. R’s up.
