Fist on the mic

[Verse 1] I walk in—there’s a shadow on your face Your posturing drowns in empty talk You’re loud online, but quiet in the flesh You carry no weight in this neighborhood I cut with my verse like a rusty knife Your style is cheap, like a cold, wet rain You want a war, but your fist is shaking I slam your pathetic flag onto the table Every step I take is a signal to the pack You run into the fire, already burning up I’ve seen your kind: lots of dust in their eyes But after the hit—nothing but fear You tried to act like a big shot here But in reality? Zero smoke, zero trace I bring the heat; you spout your nonsense You’ve got no pass to enter my turf [Pre-Chorus] Hear how close it is? Your hour has come Words in the trash Your throne has fallen [Chorus] Fist on the mic, fist on the mic The living don't stay silent here Fist on the mic, fist on the mic Your posturing broke against my hard rhythm Fist on the mic, fist on the mic I burn your kind like an old leaf Fist on the mic, fist on the mic You’re just weak noise; I’m the real deal [Verse 2] You cobble together legends, but the seams show Your cardboard king—I’m burning that board You wanted respect? Earn it first Or else all your talk is just dust and knives I’m about the action—no posturing, no wasted words Your crew scattered like a pack of thieves You want to sound menacing, but your voice is shot I’m putting your flimsy limits in their place Your gaze is hollow, your style isn't yours You’re basking in the glow of other people's crowns I hit the line hard—it’s solid as concrete Your battle was lost before the names were even called Don't come for me if you're weak inside I see right through the mask to the nothingness within The streets remember who’s on fire here And who just carried the soot on their back [Bridge] Hush now, quiet Here comes the count One hit—and Your image dies [Chorus] Fist on the mic, fist on the mic The ones who are alive don't stay silent Fist on the mic, fist on the mic Your posturing shattered against my hard-hitting rhythm Fist on the mic, fist on the mic I burn your kind up like an old sheet of paper Fist on the mic, fist on the mic You’re just weak noise—I’m here for real life