Returns

[Verse 1]
(Yeah)
The nonsense strikes back
The nonsense returns
Gotta do this back
To get the return
You want me to reply and say your name?
Sorry “uncle”
Apparently I don’t rap
What’s this rap game?
Little mumble rapper gotta get out of my way
This is my day to come and play
I’m famous, you sure?
Oh, they think I’m very weak now
‘Til I open up on the lyrics like on my Memories song
I don’t care what you heard, real ‘gressy, carry the bong
While I’m killin’ my stu, killin’ your original thought
Sit back and observe, yah, I like to actually work
My music is so much better than yours
Whilst I’m slammin’ open your doors
And I spit my bars on the tours as I’m talented
According to my analysis
You only have 4 followers on Spotify
I’m sorry but your music is never warranted
I’m playing on this rap game with havin’ no label
You’re saying I don’t rhyme shit
But most of these lines in this song actually rhyme
Now Imma look down on you like you’re my bitch
Now I guess Imma have to give you a stitch to see how stable I am
Oh how funny the tables have turned
Gotta slam you into the operating table
Cut open your brain, give you surgery
Maybe your music won’t be so unstable
Sorry to say, but I’ve just enabled your brain
If I had the option, I’d push you in front of a train
I don’t need to buy chains to prove I’ve made it
I’ll say I’ve made it when I have
Greek BTEC Lil Wayne
That’s what you are
Your lyrics are generally quoting DEAD
Too bad to see that your brain cells are dead
You’re just like a boy version of a plain Jane
Pass me up the propane
Imma bout to fuck up this guys track, agh!
36 seconds in and you’ve already fucked it up
“Your mommy didn’t fed you enough”
First of all, lemme tell you this
‘Mommy’ is spelt with a u
And it also is feed, not fed
Following the theme of DEAD
‘Fish and chips’
Mhm, that’s another British stereotype
But in reality, I’m sitting here eating a burger with potato wedges
Might as well just call myself a black american
The funny thing is, I don’t hear half of your ‘lyrics’
Gonna push you and your shit career to the ledges
You complain about lyrical rappers are meant to have meaning
What was Memories about?
Having razor edges pushed up against my wrist
That was the semantic field of that song
I’m a pessimist, you’re a narcissist
I’m about to put my fist right in your face until you’re dismissed by me
Look at the floor, there’s a bloodstain
I think you have the Narcissistic Personality Disorder
An excessive need for admiration
A personal disdain
Lack of empathy of other people
That’s you!
Yeah I have 2 blades up in my room
I know many people just like me
Lemme assume and make up a few rumours for your poor soul
You probably go to the kiddie pool and have a swimming costume on
You probably also wear little girls’ perfume
Following the semantic field of a person who loves a kiddies womb

[Interlude]
Lemme get my facts right though
Taking my time with this track as I know how to write
Looks like the little kid wins again
Start getting taught in an English class
Talking about grammar, you know nothing
I’m crushing and shoving your song in your ass

[Verse 2]
Lemme go through your lyrics right though
Taking my time with this track as I know how to read
Ooh my friend Al Cabar got dissed badly by a little kid called The Rubin
Imma just make my own diss track on him
I’m just a little Greek pedo
Even though my music is grim
I see little kids, let’s go for a swim
Rubin is gonna eat me up like a tornado
Wasting all of my ammo as my music is tragic
I ain’t gonna get any dough now
But I gotta make a diss track on this little kid (Why?)
Because I’m as locked up and sad as Tajik (Pedo!)

[Verse 3]
Yeah lemme start talking in my normal voice
We only have twenty seconds left
Honestly, I think that is plenty of time to go quick
Is it?
Maybe I did tell you to go kill yourself
But maybe if you wasn’t such a racist prick
I wouldn’t have done it, you dick
Does it look like I care about your life having no meaning?
You’re a little shitty mumble rapper
Go back to doing your unpaid dry cleaning
Lemme pull up a screening for your brain now
Be a ghost, look at your corpse on the floor