Duke Nukem

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 balling now, two hours a hundred views
Bet your Snapchat did like lighters dropped off in the swimming 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 rapping '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 making me laugh
I'm the Cheatham coach of rap and I got 'em spreading infinite laughs
Today Church is popping, one diss song and he's dead
Last week you was emo, covering Hollywood Undead
DMing me to share your video that sucked complete ass
Bunch of dudes in a garage steady scratching their pussy cracks
Looking four foot nothing, my manhood is in your weight class
That's why you're all mine like you're mistaking me for a tall glass
Cold tap, but a couple Kool-Aid packs
And I got your overheating, keeping up, I'm Cadillacing it too fast
Got dust on the bottle, closet rocking 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 swinging at me I'ma tell somebody grab their eight year old
Metaphorically at Walmart on the floor crying for fucking toys
Kicking and screaming 'cause you ain't getting your way
'Cause you was hoping 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 talking shit you best be bringing a rifle
You're a warehouse opener, performing Fall Out Boy recitals
With skinny jeans, lip rings, black hair and a bunch of eyeliner
And I'm starting Co-Op, it's my only fucking 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 riding my tail, I'm about to buy you coat
You got no trolling motor, you just floating with no one
You're stranded, and hateful, when I'm having 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 feeling 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
Clicking close on every terminal, igniting fires of rage
And I rap so much I'm pooping 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, puffing your vape pen
With your gay friends, 'specting a spray painted Nissan skate van
Looking like you living 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 pressing 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 being pro at playing skin flute
All I got is hard bars, won't he go eat on my pencil tip
I'm making tidal waves and all you're making is a ripple drip
And everybody rapping a bunch of neanderthalic shit
I might as well throw away my watch and watch all the hypocrites
It's always lame trash, beat sucking donkey nuts
And comments how I'm posting, know you when you will not have a buzz
Saying 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 messing with Mr. Muddy Toes
You might get yanked in the Cumberland, smothered by undertows
Yeah, I got a bad habit, I ain't talking undergrow
I'm talking 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 confessing 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 jamming
And I'm still rolling 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
Bitching on Facebook about a rapper in the same city
Goddamn, clout-chasing getting hella hella petty
I feel like Richard Petty rap battling 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 putting 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 helping 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