R.I.P. (Rekt In Pieces)

What if the tracks I drop are just for the cash
That I don’t feel what I do and left my pride behind
That I’m worth shit and don’t know anything about rap
That fame’s gone to my head and I’m drowning in vanity
And among all the lies, there’s just one truth
Those rappers are eaten up by envy like lime
They all act like they’re in a movie, trying to show off
Like it’s real, like it’s some fake documentary

And there are a lot of people doing it for the dough
Not to raise the bar and fight harder
I look into their eyes beneath their hoods
And they all spill that they really listen to me
But they won’t admit it even if they nod their heads
'Cause their king keeps telling every peasant
That it can’t be that an internet rapper
Has so much flow and breaks it better than them

But whoa... I’ll let the proof speak
If the audience is the judge, then let them give their verdict
I barely practice but when I grab the mic
My style’s a legend and yours is stuck in myth
Pito pito gorgorito
Who’s gonna be the next favorite I rip apart?
I’ve been doing this since I was a kid and
I apologize for the rage I stirred in those egos I poison

Let me explain: Dude, I’m not claiming to be King Under
But I make a million MCs bleed
I’m looking for fresh meat to satisfy my hunger
They wanna escape but it’s way too late
I find it normal that in front of this rap they don’t brag
They can’t catch up even with a thousand tandems
They’re criticizing while I’m Happy: Pharrell
Leave the rhymes unfinished: Cliffhanger

Welcome to the Jungle, I’ve messed up your Plan B
And even the Z if I feel like it, man
The scene looks a lot like the Hunger Games
You wanna mess with me, fakes? Let’s get ready to rumble!
You pretend to have fame and glory in an instant
They act big but shrink when I attack
This rap thing for me is like Street Fighter
'Cause when I grab a beat and a mic, I always smash them

So yeah, I came here to hang out
I’ve decided that in the ring, I’m a natural winner
I surprise all the MCs 'cause I grabbed the Bic pen
Just like Bruce Lee grabs nunchucks
Retards, what are you doing? You better speed up
I do speedruns and you guys do 126 Gameplays
If they label me as something I’m not, well hey
Don’t hate the keyblade, hate the game, mate

I understand that those rappers don’t get me at first
And think my music is toxic
They’ve been asleep for too long and it blinds them
The light in their room since I opened the curtains

I came to break the doctrine
That here the one who dominates is the one who imposes and forgets
What they advance and think that what’s foreign doesn’t rhyme
And instead of supporting their peers, they undermine
And in the end, they only look to increase their paycheck
With boring rap that puts you to sleep like morphine
These are lives based on screwing and demotivating
This is Master Chef, come to the kitchen

For the first course, a rapper with very little to offer you
And he’s been doing the same since this game started
For the second, a filthy lowlife with zero dignity
Who left his whole crew behind for money
And for dessert, the words you said
With which you accused and then swallowed
The scene is a disaster
Where more people are opening their mouths with a gospel choir

They care more about the poster than what I bet
And all the high level I bring
I surpass it in attitude, I’m Haute Couture
Against their repetitive prêt-à-porter
I noticed their level drops more than the tide
Their ugly shit, they brag about what they create
But it doesn’t matter how it is, they’re gonna try to make you see that shit they sell you is the pure panacea

So it doesn’t matter how hard you hit if you can’t take a hit
If you’ve tripped over the same fucking stone twenty times, maybe you’ve gotten used to falling
When you get rid of your cards, they give more
I devour them like a Seviper, yum yum
I have more precision than a Sniper, bang bang
I survive in this prison, Piper Chapman

They criticize me and really praise my prose
My pagan style begins where God ends
If the floor is envy, they sink in viscous lava
They only come to seek a fight like Koksal Baba
Whether it’s feeling or competition, I always nail it
I’m constantly working on a fat banger
I don’t pay attention to the defamation of a dumb fool
I’m scary like the appearance of the demogorgon

I break the scale, bro, you wanna compete?
There won’t be much drama, you don’t know anything about me
I know I gave fame to more than one hater when I shouldn’t have
I pull a scale on the scene with a Do Re Mi
Poor MC, only knows how to throw beef
And in my garden, I won’t admit wannabes
I kill them like Kenny, please; like Kennedy
The quality of their rap is in parentheses

REKT IN PIECES