back of big 3

Intro] Yeah... I heard your little shots at EMD... Cute. Now let’s talk about you. [Verse 1] Who the f*** named you Big 3? You ain’t even top thirty, You spit nursery—my bars cut clean like surgery. Talk slick ‘til you get clipped like Twitch streams, Now your fanbase bouncin' like cracked gym beams. You built like a bot with a pre-set flow, Only time you go hard’s when you laggin' upload. Talkin’ greasy to my bro from Indiana, You 'bout to get cooked well-done like cheap toast in Atlanta. You ain’t a threat, just a desperate reject, Playin’ rapper on Rap Fame beggin' for respect. You dissin’ EMD? That’s suicide notes, He the last dude to cross—boy, your mic just broke. I ain’t here for the games or emojis and filters, I bury wannabes and roast ghostwriters quicker. The mask is off—you just a clickbait clone, Now your whole weak catalog gettin’ overthrown. [Verse 2] You claim you're the "big 3"? You’re barely a low score, I’m the glitch in your system, virus in your warcore. You got a playlist of filler, a catalog of shame, Every verse sound the same—are you glitchin’ in the brain? Fake streams, fake fans, fake chains, fake name, Only real thing you got? That L in your lane. I'm the backlash to your trash tracks and cheap jabs, Now you bleedin' out in bars, welcome to rehab. Talk tough on a mic? That’s a cosplay threat, But I’ll snap on you faster than your broke tape deck. I dissect frauds like a blade through lies, You ain't a Big 3—you the reason Wi-Fi dies. Every post you drop’s just a cry for a hand, Talk clout, but couldn’t outwrite a middle school band. I ain't beefin’ for clout—I’m speakin' in facts, While EMD still breathin’ fire through tracks. [Bridge] You poke wolves, now you bleedin' alone, I’ll leave your buzz buried deep like a prepaid phone. You got no skill, no soul, no stripes to earn, Tryna spark a fire in a house that already burned. You wrote checks with your mouth, that your bars can’t pay, So I'm here collectin' interest in a lyrical way. This ain’t a battle—it’s a public correction, For a kid who mistook “hate” as affection. [Verse 3] Go ‘head and drop a reply—I’ll dissect it in seconds, Your bars bounce like checks and your flow needs lessons. I’ll hang your rep by a mic cord, public display, And EMD’ll light the match while I piss on the flames. You said somethin’? Nah—we don’t hear clowns squeak, Your whole squad’s one beat away from flatline week. You barked at a lion and got bit like prey, So next time you diss, pray your verse don’t play. I leave no smoke, no echoes, no trail, Just your name in the dirt, and a ghost on the scale. Big 3? Nah—just a toddler with keys, Typin' bars on a tablet with chicken wing grease. Your style’s all cap—your career’s all cringe, You just mad you not in the same league we in. Indiana stand tall—real spitters don’t fold, So next time you speak, try not to choke on your soul. [Outro] This the part where you log out. Tell EMD I handled that light work. Now sit down… And thank me for the clout.