Aks chopped no comin back

Letras

Oh, you make music? Boy, please, that’s cap,
You steal beats like your WiFi just tapped,
Hub tab open like it's stuck on repeat,
Wrist game stronger than your dead lil' heat!

Yo, AK, man, quit that dream,
You ain't built for rap, just built for memes,
You ain't in the game, you just watchin' the screen,
Five-foot frame but your ego supreme!

Man, you softer than your lotion bottle,
Only action you get is your hand on the throttle,
Say the N-word ‘cause you wanna be black,
But your ass so white, even Klansmen relaxed!

You clip-farm, but you only clip yourself,
Tryna drop a beat? Man, go and get some help!
Download tracks ‘cause you ain’t got the skill,
Tryna act hard, but you ain’t that real!


Your bars are trash, no heat, no flame,
49% of your rap’s just the same.
You a meme, a clown, a joke with no grace,
You actin' tough but you can’t show your face.

Talkin’ all that shit, but you ain’t built for this,
You ain’t a real savage, just a wannabe, miss.
Stealin’ beats ‘cause you can't make your own,
49% of your rhymes just sound like a clone.

You idolize Von, but you ain’t even close,
You steal his beats, but can’t feel the dose,
Talkin' tough but your castle’s where you hide,
Gated community? Fake, can't run from your pride.

You think you’re armed and dangerous, but that’s all cap,
Your guns are just props and your bars are whack.
You ain't real, you a fraud in disguise,
49% of you’s just a clown full of lies.

Dumb as a rock, can't think for a sec,
 Your whole life’s a joke, man, what’s next?
 Squeakin' like a rat, you ain't no man,
 Your “log” a joke, bruh, it’s like 2 inches, damn.
Two inches? You ain’t got shit, that shit’s pitiful,
 Thinkin' you a king, but you're just so minuscule.
 49% of your “manhood” ain't even legit,
 Your log’s so small, bro, it ain't even fit.


Don’t sic me, or I’ll bury you deeper,
49% of your bars are for the sleepers.
You ain’t even worth the time, it’s a waste,
49% of your soul’s just out of place.
You actin' like you're tough, but you ain't got the heart,
49% of you just fell apart.
could drop one bar, have yo’ career deceased, Labels treat you like a typo—hit delete. You ain't poppin’, you just poppin’ up in debt, Tryna beef with a god? Bitch, place your bets. You get no plays, no love, no streams, Only checks you ever seen got declined at the machine.
Yo’ mama shoulda swallowed, that’s a wasted existence. Tryna flex on who? Bitch, you flexin’ in debt, Yo’ fit fake as hell, that ain't no bustdown baguette. I see through the cap, all lies, no action, Your career like your dad—straight up absent. You prayin’ for a hit, boy, I wish you would, But your ass got dropped like your label should."

[Outro]
 Aiden Karnam, you’re dead in the game,
 Delete your SoundCloud, it’s all the same,
 You a clown, a joke, no one press replay,
 Short lil’ bitch with big-ass mistakes.
You live in a castle, but still can’t hide,
 Your whole persona’s fake, nowhere to abide.