Buster

​(Verse) You’re a walking identity crisis, a shell of a man, Building a "legacy" out of some cheap, rented sand. You talk like a giant, but you move like a ghost, Always the loudest, but you offer the least. You’re a collection of traits you stole from your betters, A fraud in a suit, just a ghostwriter’s debtor. ​Look at your circle—they don't back you, they tolerate, Counting the seconds 'til you walk out the gate. You’re desperate for praise, you’re starving for "likes," But you choke on the truth when you’re handed the mic. You pretend you’re the hero, the soul of the room, But you’re just the white noise preceding the doom. ​Your word isn't bond, it’s a high-interest loan, You’re a king with no country, a dog with no bone. You’re transparent, plastic, a bargain-bin find, With a shallow-water soul and a narrow-gauge mind. I’m not here to beat you, I’m here to expose That there’s nothing inside those designer-brand clothes. ​(Outro) Look in the mirror. Do you even recognize what’s left? I didn’t think so.