Rented Lambo

Verse

You rented a Lambo, paparazzi for the ’Gram, fake flash — (skrt, skrt)

Paper plates on your neck, you folding under one bad paragraph.

23 with brain rot, man, your mind's on layaway — (uh-huh)

Actin' grown but you got the impulse control of a daycare.

You dissed Cruz, called him weak, said he can't rap — lame flex,

But your verses hit softer than cotton — call ’em pillow-text.

Said steak ain't tough, bruh? Steak got more bite than your bars,

I seen T-bones stare down cowards, leave rappers with scars.

You trash talk the knife, but you fold at the fork — embarrassing,

All your hard talk pixels and rent-a-ride average, it's tarnishing.

You parade speed in a rented Lambo, vroom for two weeks — (vroom)

Return it with crumbs of clout, ego dented, finance leak.

Brain rot wrote the lines, nostalgia for attention spans,

You begging for soundbites, I'm ambushin' your plans. (ha!)

Chorus

Lambo rented, pride rented — you borrowed the whole act (borrowed)

Brain rot crowned you king — but the court laughed (uh-huh)

You say steak ain't scary — steak'd stare back, (stare back)

You're soft, you're front, you're rented clout — we cut you from the pack. (cut, cut)

Lambo rented, pride rented — you borrowed the whole act (borrowed)

Brain rot crowned you king — but the court laughed (court laughed)

You say steak ain't scary — steak'd stare back, (stare back)

You're soft, you're front, you're rented clout — we cut you from the pack. (cut, cut)

Verse

You the headline with no story — just noise and neon teeth,

Talk tough about Cruz, but you can't even carve out a beat.

Multis like meat cleavers — I slice, dice, leave nothin' whole,

You order bravado medium-rare but your soul's undercooked, cold.

Rent-a-Lambo, rent-a-clout, rent-a-verse, rent-a-name,

You pay for flash, I bring the furnace — I cook whole empires aflame.

You claim steak ain't scary — that's cute, you scared of your own taste,

I season facts with sauce, leave your weak-ass pride displaced.

Say you made that diss cause of brain rot — admit it, you deranged,

23 but your ambition shrunk, pocket-change, rearranged.

Cruz might trip on bars, but you fall off the map, no chase,

I'm GPS to the finish, you just stalled out for clout and face.

Final cut: you well-done with shame, overexposed, no tact,

I close the drawer, plate drops — this roast's a full-course, that's that. (ha — yeah)