til ima king(feat. E.M.D)

[Intro — whispered, venomous] Everybody quiet. This ain’t a rap — this is a public execution. Name: thebig3. Status: canceled. End of broadcast. [Verse 1] You pop your mouth, I pop your page, watch the numbers bleed, You’re toilet-paper rap — flimsy, weak, disposable feed. Fake flex, fake plays, fake life — counterfeit kid, You rap like broken toys — somebody forgot to wind. Your voice a broken ringtone nobody answers, Your bars expired — clearance, damage, cancerous manners. You’re a cautionary tale for every wannabe clown, The internet laughed, then the world pinned you down. You think you built hype? You leased a cardboard throne, I’m the audit that exposes every file and loan. You’re background noise — trash can lid clanging, I bring the silence that leaves your head banging. [Hook — cold, repetitive] You’re dead to the scene — die slow, die quiet, Thebig3? More like thebig-free ad for diet. No comebacks, no sequel, no credits, no name, I feed your fake fame to flames and call it a day. [Verse 2 — direct killshot] Microphone’s a mirror — every lie reflected, Your lines are shoplifted, your soul’s been rejected. You spit napkin rhymes, fast-food syllable trash, I serve Michelin bars, then watch your empire crash. Your crew’s a forum bot farm, your fans are rented clout, You got a paper crown that I stomp the shine out. You rap like you rehearsed in a parking-lot echo, I rap like verdicts — final, cold, and retro. Your catalog’s a void — empty, stale, forget, I’m the last notification you’ll ever get. You beg for relevance — I bury the plea, Put your name on the list: do not revive, do not CC. [Hook — harsher] You’re canceled and gutted, no refund, no trial, Name used in my mouth? That’s a funeral file. You were never heavy — you floated like lint, I slid a match to your spark — extinguished in print. [Verse 3 — demolition] Face in the footage, laugh in the frame, All your captioned lies — meaningless, lame. You traded real for clout, ethics for clickbait, Now every mention of you smells like regret. Your future’s paper-thin, folded in shame, Every platform that hosted you scrubbed out your name. You got bars? No — you got excuses and fakes, I turn your highlight reel into bloopers and breaks. Call it a roast, call it a verdict, call it what’s real: Your art’s bankrupt, your dock’s walked, your record’s sealed. No monument, no playlist, no headline to keep, You’re a ghost in the comments section — cheap. [Outro — flat, fatalistic] No sympathy, no mercy, no compliments saved, You died when you chose lies over craft and behaved. This is the obituary — typed, pinned, signed, thebig3? History’s trash. Don’t press rewind.