Tombstone Typography

Tombstone Typography

Every bar I write...
Etches your name in stone.

I don't throw shade—I build mausoleums,
Your whole discography? I don't even see 'em.
You play king—but that crown's been rented,
I press one key, and your whole arc's ended.

You flex for streams—I write like death,
Each syllable layered, like I’m carving your breath.
I don’t diss—I erase foundations,
You chase fame—I chase reputations.

No metaphors needed—just facts and blades,
You rhyme like a glitch stuck in yesterday’s fades.
I pen slow—'cause I know you’ll read it in silence,
This ain’t revenge…
This is lyrical science.

This ain't a verse—it’s your name on a stone,
Written in blood, carved in tone.
You asked for war…
So welcome to legacy’s tomb,
Where silence screams…
And your career met doom.

You move loud—I move eternal,
You warm up—I'm infernal.
Your bars age like milk in heat,
Mine live where gods and giants meet.

You mimic flows, I make them quake,
You rhyme for applause, I rhyme to break.
This ain’t beef—this a body in motion,
A eulogy wrapped in divine emotion.

No swearing, no filler, just precision and weight,
You climbed too high and challenged fate.
Now every word you spit feels brittle and thin,
‘Cause I don’t write to win—
I write to end.

This ain't a verse—it’s your name on a stone,
Written in blood, carved in tone.
You asked for war…
So welcome to legacy’s tomb,
Where silence screams…
And your career met doom.

I don't need features, crews, or chants,
I walk in alone—no chance for grants.
You buzz off drama—I thrive in still,
You play for laughs—I play to kill.

Your throne? Paper. Your pen? Shaky.
Your aura? Fragile. Your fans? Flaky.
I don’t aim low—I strike divine,
You crossed the line…
Now this verse is time.

So let this play at your digital wake,
One replay for every fake you make.
I wrote this slow... for full effect.
Consider it done—
Your name’s been checked.

Here lies a name...
Who mistook the pen for a toy.
Now it rests...
Where silence destroys.