Crown.exe (Cybard Project Remix)

[Intro] [Vocal | Whispered, sinister, slick tone] Yeah... You built kingdoms on plastic, But I’m the architect of acid... ~..."Bow". --- [Verse 1] [Vocal | rapid flow, articulate, venomous] Fake prophets preach in Prada, bought their bars off Alibaba, Snakes in suits with Gucci boots, sipping lies like it's matcha. I spit sonatas of slaughter, syllables slice like katanas, You got fans, I got a following that follows through ~ no drama. Tectonic tongue, when I talk, the ground splits, Every verse is a sermon, you’re baptized in spit. Slick with the diction, friction burns your fiction, I’m the algorithm glitchin ~ spitting facts, not addiction. You flex with your streams, I stream straight from the source, You’re a product of marketing; I’m the pain in its course. Every metaphor’s a warhead, aimed at your chorus, You mimic what’s viral ~ I define what the force is. --- [Hook] [Vocal | swagger flow, bold, chanting with a dark choir behind] They bow when I speak ~ crown heavy, breath wicked, Tongue's a blade, and the flow’s cold liquid. Born from the fire where the real get tested, You play the game ~ I wreck it, reset it. Crown of thorns on a king unblessed, But I reign through the rot with a bulletproof chest. No mercy for the fake, I expose and arrest, While I sit on my throne with a mic and a hex. --- [Verse 2] [Vocal | machine-gun flow, sharper and meaner] Yeah, they post for clout with their pixel pride, But I see through the screen like a sniper's eye. Got scars on bars, not a glamor disguise, I’ve lived every lyric ~ you fantasize. Sick of the TikTok gimmicks, scripts with no spirit, You mimic the limit, I pivot and kill it. You’re a carbon copy of a clone that’s rented, While I carve my name in stone ~ cemented. Run the rhythm like a ritual, spitting that critical, biblical, criminal, lyrical visual, You’re typical, pitiful, digital minuscule, I'm mythical, pinnacle, visceral miracle. Tired of the fakes in Versace chains, When your words ain’t worth half the ink in your name. I’m the plague in the game, I infect then reclaim, King of the underbelly ~ dark’s my domain. --- [Bridge] [Vocal | half-sung swagger flow, taunting tone] You got bars in your bio, I got bars that break bios, You trend in the moment, I bend time in spirals. Your flow’s for hire, mine’s a choir of trials, I write in fire ~ you rhyme in denial. --- [Verse 3] [Vocal | flawlessly articulate chopper half-time machine-gun flow, 16th and 32nd syllables, breath every 2 bars, minimal vibrato, straight eighth hat grid, no swing] I fracture the faction with factual flame, My faculty’s fashioned to flatten your fame. You fumble in fragments, I function in frames, My fortress is formed in the furnace of names. I syllable-spin like a scripture encrypted, You mimic the myth but your rhythm is scripted. I’m gifted, afflicted with diction that's wicked, My vision’s a prism, precision’s addicted. I balance the blast with a biblical wrath, While you babble like cattle just follow the path. I’m the architect ~ crafted in shadows and math, Every stanza's a trap with a laugh in the wrath. I don’t dabble ~ I detonate, elevate, educate, Levitate thoughts that you couldn’t replicate. Medicate tracks with a venomous breath, I decimate trends with a sentence of death. I’m syllables synced in a system of cipher, You sizzle in cycles ~ I’m fire to lifers. A tyrant of timing, the titan of text, I rhyme with a science that silence regrets. Never second to settle, I sever the level, I meddle with metal and wrestle the devil. Rebel with a treble that trembles the earth, My verses are curses dispersed at birth. I orbit the ink where your pen couldn’t enter, Inventor of centers that bend every sensor. A mentor to phantoms, a phantom to kings, I write what the void and the parasite sings. Every letter’s a ledger, encrypted in soul, My breath is a weapon, my chest is a scroll. You flex for a second ~ I echo forever, Each rhyme is designed to survive any weather. --- [Final Hook] [Vocal | Wub-accented swagger flow impact, louder, more aggressive, choir swells] They bow when I speak ~ crown heavy, breath wicked, Tongue's a blade, and the flow’s cold liquid. Born from the fire where the real get tested, You play the game ~ I wreck it, reset it. Crown of thorns on a king unblessed, But I reign through the rot with a bulletproof chest. No mercy for the fake, I expose and arrest, While I sit on my throne with a mic and a hex. --- [Outro] [Vocal | Spoken, fading into echo] So next time you talk 'bout who runs this sound... Don’t whisper my name. Shout it through the underground.