C’mon, man, roll outta bed, please. C’mon, diss me
Say my name in a song
Oh, God. Give me a minute
Damn, son, you ballin’ now, two hours – a hundred views
Bet your Snapchat did like lighters dropped off in the swimmin’ pool
Your best delivery on a song had to be written’ about me
You copped the first line from the hottest rap song of last week
Man, this fool and my holmes are rappin’ ’bout a Rhianna text
You musta fell and snapped your neck added trauma on top of your head
I promise I’m not even mad, it’s funny, you’re makin’ me laugh
I’m the Cheatham coach of rap and I got ’em spreadin’ infinite laughs
Today Church is poppin’, one diss song and he’s dead
Last week you was emo, coverin’ Hollywood Undead
DMin’ me to share your video that sucked complete ass
Bunch of dudes in a garage steady scratchin’ their pussy cracks
Lookin’ four foot nothin’, my manhood is in your weight class
That’s why you’re all mine like you’re mistakin’ me for a tall glass
Cold tap, but a couple Kool-Aid packs
And I got your overheatin’, keepin’ up, I’m Cadillacin’ it too fast
Got dust on the bottle, closet rockin’ hella class
Celebrate accomplishments with bottles, too many for a glass
So many successful albums, “Supernatural” got me trashed
But the only time you see a chart is when I screenshot ’em
But you must be the drunk one ’cause you swung at me and missed
Your diss track was goofy haymakers that never did connect
If you come swingin’ at me I’ma tell somebody grab their eight year old
Metaphorically at Walmart on the floor cryin’ for fuckin’ toys
Kickin’ and screamin’ ’cause you ain’t gettin’ your way
‘Cause you was hopin’ I would post this on social media yesterday
Like, hell yeah, man, Church is totally gonna diss back
Got bars like a prison, bet his shit would be a sick track
Let’s get followers from it, apologize and sit back
And try to rep Cheatham even though he said it’s all trash
I put rappers in ditches, bitch, get picked up by dudes in shackles
‘Cause you got tossed on Highway 12 and you will not get recycled
And if your fruity ass talkin’ shit you best be bringin’ a rifle
You’re a warehouse opener, performin’ Fall Out Boy recitals
With skinny jeans, lip rings, black hair and a bunch of eyeliner
And I’m startin’ Co-Op, it’s my only fuckin’ dishonor, so
So fill me in, ladies, what’s the name of your band?
Are you a solo act or did you guys just use one hand
To write a track about me, secondly to circle-jerk
Is this a diss track or a gay guy’s love note?
You ridin’ my tail, I’m about to buy you coat
You got no trollin’ motor, you just floating with no one
You’re stranded, and hateful, when I’m havin’ a volleyball
Don’t get deep off in this Castaway ’cause you half-assed that song
Hide your faces on my nuts, since you’re lonely and on my balls
So when you’re feelin’ unimportant scream my name, are you lost?
Wilson!
But I still float, bitch, and I’m Private Ryan and I don’t need to be saved
Clickin’ close on every terminal, ignitin’ fires of rage
And I rap so much I’m poopin’ elves to go help I’m Santa Claus
That’s wrap with a W, I’m tryna guide you so you don’t get lost
I’m an alien, my DNA is found up under permafrost
Gonna need a hot shovel to bury me at every cost
All I got with some miss track with some pussies in Clarksville
That think they got dope bars ’cause they know the word Narcan
You musta come up with that peter, puffin’ your vape pen
With your gay friends, ‘spectin’ a spray painted Nissan skate van
Lookin’ like you livin’ out Tony Hawk’s American wasteland
God fell asleep on that controller when he created you, eh, Stan?
Y’all the type of motherfuckers who can’t even bust a kick flip
But hit the mega-ramp and only eat mega complete shit
You don’t want me pressin’ buttons, I’m not a gamer
But you sound aggravated like you lost a game of Halo
And that’s all that you do, so tear apart that headset
‘Cause you don’t wanna hear me spit shit lyrics way better than you can
Bitch, I’m the one who run it, it’s a job to clean my work boots
The only way you’re known is bein’ pro at playin’ skin flute
All I got is hard bars, won’t he go eat on my pencil tip
I’m makin’ tidal waves and all you’re makin’ is a ripple drip
And everybody rappin’ a bunch of neanderthalic shit
I might as well throw away my watch and watch all the hypocrites
It’s always lame trash, beat suckin’ donkey nuts
And comments how I’m postin’, know you when you will not have a buzz
Sayin’ that we done a show, you diss me for simple fun
Is this due to Rap Devil, or soft-spoken poetic nun
You’d better bring the heat when your messin’ with Mr. Muddy Toes
You might get yanked in the Cumberland, smothered by undertows
Yeah, I got a bad habit, I ain’t talkin’ undergrow
I’m talkin’ murder with pens I got at Staples a month ago
While I was there I decided to pick you up envelopes
So after you’re done confessin’ love, lick it slow and seal it closed
Maybe you’ll papercut your tongue and fix that mediocre flow
I tried to Google you but all that came up was that you a ho
By the way my girl’s name ain’t Briahna it’s Brianna
You wouldn’t know that ’cause you play with condoms and bananas
And you say I haven’t made it but my radio is jammin’
And I’m still rollin’ stoned, limousine tint up on my windows
All bullshit aside, let’s get down to the nitty gritty
You’re mad ’cause I’m cold like the abbreviation of Ashland City
Bitchin’ on Facebook about a rapper in the same city
Goddamn, clout-chasin’ gettin’ hella hella petty
I feel like Richard Petty rap battlin’ Hello Kitty
You wanna say I suck, you want a dude to lick your man titty
So, next time you’re in the booth pretend your mic is my John Hancock
Since I know you like puttin’ your lips on stuff that’s got my name on it
I’m not demonic, I just be on it
Shout out to Tom Hanks and thanks for helpin’ me run it, Forrest
No problem, Upchurch. You want some of these chocolates?
I’m aight, Forrest. I can run it myself
Church, Church, Church, Church