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letra de emperor - holy see

we got some sh-t to address

you tryna be tall but can’t stand from your kneel
you tryna bring tears but don’t know how to feel
when you turn off the lights do you still see my face?
when you checking my page do you wait and brace?
when you k!lling your own name do you keep your pace?
the way you sh-tting on the art, you leave no sp-ce
you treating this game like a fair arms race
but you starting with a stick, and i’m starting with mace
and you fitting in your pocket your whole fanbase
and you taking me to court but you copying the case
these lines that i’m reading, find a bot with talent
next timе you feel angry, b-tch i would stay silent
the most work you did was the copy and thе paste
and you thought a little bit, but your thought was a waste
so you looked at what was trending, and you saw it was a war
and you took it right here, to your own front door
“oh, kenny took a sh-t? let me take one too
i’ll put his d-ck in my mouth when the other one’s through”

you just a little boy who’s tryna go big
tryna be k-dot has you sweating like a pig
there’s two steps, b-tch, one take off the wig
and turn off gpt, no-one f-cks with that rig
are you thinking of me now, with my ring and my eyes?
or are you thinking of yourself, with your sh-t f-cking lies?
or are you thinking of your mama, and the way that she cries?
or the prophecy i wrote, and called he dies?
f-cking city kid thinks the park was the ghetto
rapping here as if your speech don’t echo
copying a butch but your voice falsetto
lying like a b-tch that i was a (what?)
the realist thing about you is the first word of your name
i was clearing out the b-tches ‘fore your daddy’d even came
was pushing way the cameras ‘fore you spelt the word fame
was polishing the g-phone ‘fore you smelt your first flame

you rap like the dealer is thwarting
my jaw cut the sh-t that you snorting
day one you the one i supporting
don’t go ‘round that story contorting
i saved you from c-nts that extorting
f-ck the bullsh-t that you be purporting
this whole deal i suggest you aborting
‘fore violence to your house importing
you lied when the journalists asked
whose music it was you first gassed
you lied when the fans begged and pleaded
to get sh-t on me that ain’t been conceited
you lied when you said you wrote sh-t
the ai invented your bit
you lied when you said you could win
i’ll play you like that first violin
when i met you you were a lost star
your whole career i foster
when you meet me get on the roster
when you finding beats how much it cost ya?
f-ck fallen angels you never flew
my only mistake was believing you
every night i regret the stain that you are
a sh-t ass rapper thinking he’s k lamar
the realist thing about you is the first word of your name
i was clearing out the b-tches ‘fore your daddy’d even came
was pushing way the cameras ‘fore you spelt the word fame
was polishing the g-phone ‘fore you smelt your first flame

you opened your pen pad, thought for a bit
how to k!ll this man and still not admit
you started a fire and decided to spit
blame me for the rest, when it’s you that lit
let’s speak on some truth if you wanna go there
so used to the lies, you prolly ask “where?”
take out the carpet, say a whole prayer
and don’t plead like a f-ckwit that you’re unaware
i won’t touch your fam’ly though you threatened mine
won’t speak on your mother, i do have a spine
won’t speak on your brother, his past is all fine
but your father, big realist, that man is a swine
the housing he owns pays like a b-tch
rooms that he rents no better than ditch
the lights in his places don’t have a switch
and while it all happens the man is enriched
the people he exploits are low of the low
the poor, the lonely, the scum of skid row
the place that he house them’s almost death row
but you know it best: f-ck all for that dough
i heard it from you b-tch, the way that you brag
“this poor single mother in mud i just dragged”
she had not a dollar, had holes in her bag
left her in the cold, and went for the f-g
the realist thing about you is the first word of your name
i was clearing out the b-tches ‘fore your daddy’d even came
was pushing way the cameras ‘fore you spelt the word fame
was polishing the g-phone ‘fore you smelt your first flame
at least you still pay tax (you don’t?)
at least you only say facts (you don’t?)
at least you don’t entertain rats (hold up)
at least you ain’t targeting f-gs (what?)
your mother did not raise a wh0re, ho
your fans ain’t wanting a bore, ho
the loser ain’t gotta be sore, ho
i suggest on that you swore, ho
avert your girl from this gore, ho
what you pay her? make it more, ho
new jobs i suggest you explore, ho
one nil, you keeping score, ho?
b-tch i might just k!ll this game
b-tch i might just end your fame
b-tch i might just turn you tame
b-tch i might just clear your name
point is b-tch i run this arena
point is b-tch your sh-t i’m creator
point is b-tch you were never a competitor
point is b-tch they call me emperor

(hold on)
(thought i was done, f-ckass?)
you’re scum of the earth, i don’t take that back
you harming the culture, lyrics all tack
you crawling on by, you way out of wack
you know you fell off, so me you attack
the son of a c-nt, a good friend of satan
thinking of fraud has you m-st-rbatin’
line up those racks, a pound they be weighin’
look at yourself, that posture not straightened
they stayin’ away like you got the plague
when you hit 10 listeners i’ll buy you a cake
i’ll light those candles and they’ll spell out fake
those numbers of yours, so f-cking baked
you w-nk to the tears of your audience member’s
i’ll give you advice, calm down your tempers
before you make music, see off your tremors
you ain’t making fire, you barely make embers
you making me fill in the time between classics
three in the vault, make ‘em automatic
for you the music’s fully pragmatic
a hit’s make or break, for me it’s just practice
get back to your youtube, find a new beat
“i k!lled holysee with some stolen heat”
you probably won’t even accept your defeat
i promise it’s there, and f-ck it tastes sweet
you thought you did sh-t, your ankles you’ve rolled
the way that you’ve lost’s a sight to behold
beyoncé’s on call, put on her hold
i’m too busy pushing you out the fold

- holy see

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