Lyrics

Yo, I’m at the apex, the throne’s my playpen,
Built this with skill—while the fake ones cave in.
Now I’m pacing, racing thoughts in the basement,
They screaming “legend!” but I’m lost in amazement.
They say I’m the GOAT, but I feel like a ghost,
Living in a league where I’m leading the most.
Peep the flows I wrote, deep in the catacombs,
Bury competition, left ’em pale like alabaster stones.
No contenders, just pretenders, they bending for trends,
But I bend syllables till they snap and blend again.
Call it boredom or call it brilliance in disguise,
I see the rap game dying through these brilliant eyes.
Where’s the fire, the rivals that ignite my fuel?
All I see’s recycled fools and some hype from tools.
It’s like I’m Tyson in the ring with a shadow to spar,
Swinging haymakers at air, just to shatter the bar.
I’m the king of the hill, no one left to climb,
Every syllable kills, it’s a death in rhyme.
I’m bored, but I’m hungry, can’t stop my grind,
‘Cause even at the top, I’m still redefining the prime.
Now I’m carving hieroglyphics with the sharpest of pens,
While these artists hardly lift it, I’m a Martian to them.
Every target that I hit is like a star in ascent,
While they argue on the ’Gram, I’m a god they resent.
I spit phenomenal, atomic with audibles,
Chronicles unstoppable, prodigal with these obstacles.
They obsolete, I’m obsolete-proof,
They ride the beats, but I beat beats loose.
Man, I’m pacing in my cage, caged lion with rage,
Staged fights with my psyche, I’m confined by the page.
They call it art, but it’s a gladiator sport for me,
So why these clowns in the arena only bore me, G?
Let’s be real, I’m a spectacle, your idol’s idol,
Vital for survival, but my rivals? Trifle.
I’m spinning in this cycle like a vinyl revival,
Still hungry, jaws snapping on this primal arrival.
I’m the king of the hill, no one left to climb,
Every syllable kills, it’s a death in rhyme.
I’m bored, but I’m hungry, can’t stop my grind,
‘Cause even at the top, I’m still redefining the prime.
What’s a gladiator to do when the coliseum’s empty?
Swing at ghosts, break bread, but the loaves feel flimsy.
I’m starved for a challenge, feed me a beast,
‘Cause this hunger won’t die, even if I feast.
Is it the fame or the flame that flickered out first?
Did the game change, or is it my thirst that’s cursed?
I rehearse every verse till it hurts and it’s flawless,
But I’m trapped in a forest of mirrors—what’s honest?
I’m the king of the hill, no one left to climb,
Every syllable kills, it’s a death in rhyme.
I’m bored, but I’m hungry, can’t stop my grind,
‘Cause even at the top, I’m still redefining the prime.
Yo, I built this castle, brick by brick,
Now it’s a fortress and the door won’t click.
They knocking, but I’m too far gone to hear,
Still the illest alive, make it crystal clear.