No Crown

Intro

Ayy, yuh, yeah—skrrt, skrrt

(look) Makbel girl, Rhymes, listen up

Verse

I been watching from the cheap seats while you chase cheap likes, (watching)

Lipstick king, paper throne, counterfeit highlights, (ayy)

Makbel girl, your crown's a sticker, peel it when the wind blows, (peel it)

Rhymes got a dictionary but forgot how to bend flows, (uh-huh)

You recycle punchlines like someone's paying for rent, (ha)

I flip verses like rent checks, you fold under pretense, (fold)

You narrate a lifestyle you never lived, just a script with bad cues, (bad cues)

I spit invoices for the fake fame that you use, (use)

Every bar you throw is a loan with no interest, (nope)

I cash out on honesty, you sell fiction to your dentist, (smile)

Rhymes, you rhyme but there's no crime—it's just polite theft, (yuh)

Makbel girl, smile for the camera while your followers left, (left)

I see through the filters, the angles that you pick, (see)

Your highlight reel's a low-res trick, camera quick-flick, (click)

You call that heat? It's lukewarm, flat cup, tepid sip, (sip)

I tour cities in truth while you ghost-write your trip, (tour)

Your verses got subtitles for the delivery, (subtitles)

I'm the headline, you're a caption in a trending scrap file, (boom)

Claim you're born for this, but you're rented for a while, (rented)

Pre-chorus

Say my name like it's a threat, say your name like a case, (say it)

I don't need a courtroom to convict the fake face, (nah)

All your lines get quoted then deleted like a draft, (delete)

Watch me sign my name across the paper you can't craft, (watch)

Chorus

No crown, no crown, no crown, no crown—(no crown)

Fake throne, fake throne, fake throne, fake throne—(fake throne)

You clap for the noise, I'm building the sound, (build it)

No crown, no crown, no crown, no crown—(no crown)

Verse

Rhymes, you parade syllables, but the meaning's on mute, (mute)

You mixtape clichés like souvenirs from a suit, (suit)

Makbel girl, you auditioned for fame, forgot to rehearse truth, (truth)

Now you sell smiles by the hour, subscription to the youth, (subscribe)

You throw shade with a filter, call it mood—I'm allergic, (achoo)

My pen leaves fingerprints on bars, your ink's sterile and harmless, (sterile)

They listen for the sauce, but you got salad dressing, watery, (watery)

I cook meals with metaphors, you microwave the party, (ding)

Rhymes say he built bridges—where's the river? Where's the span? (where?)

You built a postcard castle, I built streets where the fans stand, (real)

Makbel girl, your followers anchor you to comments and lies, (anchor)

I name-check truth in bars, your name-checks buy alibis, (buy)

You trade in clout for comfort, while I sweat for respect, (sweat)

You ghostwrite your bravado, I autograph my neglect, (signed)

This ain't personal, it's professional exposure—clear, (clear)

I expose cheap smoke and mirrors, watch the mirrors