[Verse 1: A1TH]

I'm a YouTube rapper, RhymeZone every day (Uh-huh)

Jean Baptiste, Pierre Antoine de Monet, ho (Yup)

Talking shit to me, you get clocked in your jawbone (Yeah, what?)

I don't got a strap, I got a B and then a call home (Ayo)

Uh, I beat the 5'1" allegations

Take your music passion, consider reallocation (Please, do it)

Your shit is garbage, boy, if you didn't receive the message (Do it)

Piecing you up and I hit the griddy, then I leave the session ([?])

You throwing hits out likе the Ravens, they ain't caught, boy (Huh?)

Uh, I hеar your shit, I turn it off, boy (Yeah, uh)

The McGriddles' overrated, they ain't hot, boy (Huh?)

You're always talking 'bout me, like, please get off of my c***, boy (Please)

Hollow tips are gonna send you in reverberation (Yeah)

Met up with your female, we engaged in fornication (Uh-huh)

Walkin' over you, your face is basically stored in the pavement

Saying that you're up next, um, ho, I'm still busy waiting

Uh!

[Verse 2: Keno Kaizo]

Only dapping up my homies, either way, you'll still be getting clapped

I feel my rapping worthy by the way I'm smokin' on yo ash

Gots caps stuck on my head, but I stay spitting the truth

I feel like the king, they call me Luther, I pull up and start a movement

Boy, I'm going stupid, in my rapping bag, but some days, I'm producing

Brodie stay inside, I'm in the heat, I need some extra cooling

And my ass just fly to school, they'll never catch your boy commuting

Skillful, how I spin the block like I was hooping (Yo, I ball)

Eyes thin, but the money thick (For real)

Catch these bars cold, way I'm on the mic and dummy sick

Brodie set you up for failure like a lucky pick, yeah

Crazy what y'all do for unfunny clicks (Please get off the internet)

I'm living loco, y'all living local (Huh?)

I'm 'bout to turn up ad-lib vocals, so y'all hear me normal (What?)

Boy, I feel like king, watch me roam, man, like Constantinople (Yeah, yeah)

How the fuck do I keep getting all these opals? (What the fuck?)

[Verse 3: nishith]

Bitch, I'm back up on this rapping shit, like moms on Christmas Day

Your yesmen lie to you like moms and Santa, talent's fake

Killin' beats like Leonard Hill, might dump their bodies in the lake

Every time I get up on a beat, I kill it, that shit's cake

Rollin' random, going up, that shit's my paradise (Pair of dice)

Global warming on the mic, but my wrist is iced (Wrist is iced)

Millennials tryna be us, they think they funny, right?

Talkin' shit, but he'll millennial pause when I'm in his sight

(Is this on?\?)

You cooking with RhymeZone, bitch, I know you don't know the word pallidly

Not on Waverly Place, but when I cook, I do this shit magically

They hatin' 'til they hear the heat, I know they cannot fathom me (No, they can't)

They hatin' on the come up, they can count to three and suck on deez

You need to get a job, your local McDonald's is hiring

Get off the mic and flip some burgers, shit is tiring (You need a job)

This ain't it, this is trash, what you want?

They need to take your mic and keep that shit for ransom (Please don't give that shit back)

Yeah