I hate skux mate out now

“Skux Got No Bars” Yeah, Skux rolled up thinkin’ he’s a rap star, But mate, your best verse wouldn’t make it past the pub car. Talkin’ big game, but the flow’s bloody tragic, Every time you grab the mic, the whole room loses the magic. Oi Skux, put the microphone down, You’re the only rapper gettin’ booed in your own town. Your punchlines are softer than a servo pie, And your rhymes fall apart quicker than a snag on the BBQ side. You reckon you’re deadly? Nah, you’re barely alive, Your bars got less bite than a flat sausage roll at five. I’ve heard better flows from a bloke at the bus stop, You drop one verse and even the Bluetooth stops. Skux in the booth like, “Yeah, I’m the king,” Mate, the only thing you’re ruling is the bin. Your cadence is cooked, your timing’s a mess, Even your own lyrics leave you on read — no success. So grab your thongs, mate, and head back outside, Leave the rap game alone, take your ego for a ride. No hate, just facts, everyone knows the truth: Skux is shit at rapping — and I’ve got the proof. Skux Got No Bars — Part 2 Here we go again, Skux back on the mic, Thought after part one you’d actually get it right. But nah, you came back with another shit track, Same dead flow, same lines, same bloody cap. You said, “Part one was lucky, bro, I’ll show ’em,” Then dropped part two and somehow made it even slower. I sat there thinking, “Surely this bloke’s joking,” Then you dropped the beat and the whole room started smoking. Not from the fire — nah, from embarrassment, Your rap career needs immediate management. Someone get this bloke an adult, quick, Before he writes another verse that sounds like absolute shit. You reckon you’re skux, you reckon you’re slick, But your whole rap game’s held together with a Bunnings zip tie and a stick. You’ve got the attitude of a bloke with a platinum plaque, But the musical talent of a possum getting chased down a track. You start with, “Yeah, listen up, this one’s hard,” Mate, every time you say that, I mentally leave the yard. You’ve got fifteen seconds of intro before you even spit, By the time the verse comes in, nobody gives a shit. Your mates in the background yelling, “Go Skux, go!” They’re only doing that ’cause they wanna watch the show. You think they’re impressed, think you’re making a scene, They’re sending laughing emojis before you’ve finished Skux Got No Bars — Part 2 Here we go again, Skux back on the mic, Thought after part one you’d actually get it right. But nah, you came back with another shit track, Same dead flow, same lines, same bloody cap. You said, “Part one was lucky, bro, I’ll show ’em,” Then dropped part two and somehow made it even slower. I sat there thinking, “Surely this bloke’s joking,” Then you dropped the beat and the whole room started smoking. Not from the fire — nah, from embarrassment, Your rap career needs immediate management. Someone get this bloke an adult, quick, Before he writes another verse that sounds like absolute shit. You reckon you’re skux, you reckon you’re slick, But your whole rap game’s held together with a Bunnings zip tie and a stick. You’ve got the attitude of a bloke with a platinum plaque, But the musical talent of a possum getting chased down a track. You start with, “Yeah, listen up, this one’s hard,” Mate, every time you say that, I mentally leave the yard. You’ve got fifteen seconds of intro before you even spit, By the time the verse comes in, nobody gives a shit. Your mates in the background yelling, “Go Skux, go!” They’re only doing that ’cause they wanna watch the show. You think they’re impressed, think you’re making a scene, They’re sending laughing emojis before you’ve finished