Yeah… It’s Norwood season. Everybody grab your lighters — this wood ’bout to burn. Norwood walked in thinkin’ he’s lookin’ real good, But everybody knows he’s just discount driftwood. Tried to flex once, but his “wood” said nope, Even his own shadow left him hangin’ like a joke. Norwood, Norwood, man what a sight, Looks like he fought a tree stump and lost the fight. He’s got that wood-grain brain, all knots, no shine— A walking IKEA shelf, missing screws in his brain. ⸻ (Chorus) Ohhh Norwood, Norwood, getting roasted again, Even termites see you and say “nah, we’re good, friend.” You’re the type of wood that bends when it rains, The type of wood they use for cheap picture frames. Norwood, Norwood, ain’t lookin’ too good— Bro’s whole life story is “moist plywood.” ⸻ (Verse 2) Norwood said he’s tough — man, bless his heart, That’s like callin’ rotten firewood a high-end art. He walked into the room, and the room walked out, Even Siri told him, “bro, I’m filled with wood.” Norwood, Norwood, Mr. Wooden Mistake, Splinters fall off him every step he takes. His confidence? Yeah, it’s termite-chewed, Even his mirror said, “I can’t do this, dude.” ⸻ Norwood talkin’ tough, man gimme a break, He fragile like a 2x4 that couldn’t handle the weight. Every move he make got the whole squad laughin’, Lookin’ like driftwood washed up, barely standin’. (Chorus) Ohhh Norwood, Norwood, forever misunderstood, Tryna stand tall but he’s not that type of wood. More fragile than balsa, more sad than a stump, Even lumberjacks see him and refuse to stump. Norwood, Norwood, he’d run if he could, But he creaks like a chair made of cheap-ass wood. ⸻ (Bridge) Someone yelled “TIMBER!” and Norwood looked around, Realized they meant him as he hit the ground. He said “I’m not wood!” — man, stop the lie, You’re literally one breeze from a snap-in-half goodbye. He talk big talk, but it’s soft like pine, Splinters in his ego every time he tries to shine. ⸻ NORWOOD, NORWOOD — gettin’ flamed on sight, Man’s whole personality is termite-bite. NORWOOD, NORWOOD — bro never understood, How he built like a log but none of it’s good. Wood this, wood that — he wish he could, But he just break down like Dollar Store morning wood. (Final Chorus) Ohhh Norwood, Norwood, roasted like he should, A whole lumberyard, but none of it good. If life is a fire, he’s the smoke that won’t rise, Just soggy-ass wood that refuses to dry. Norwood, Norwood, the roast is understood… Bro’s whole existence is pre-owned firewood.
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