Pack The Lines

Yo, Packgod, step up,

microphone check, Talkin’ like a legend but you ain’t earned respect.

Whole room goes quiet when you start that act,

I brought one track — now prepare for impact.

You got a million comebacks,

but they all sound the same,

Copy-paste insults with a different name.

You call that roasting?

Man, that’s recycled heat,

I’m bringing fresh bars while you repeat your receipts.

You rapid-fire jokes, but the aim’s kinda weak,

Ten insults in a second and not one’s unique.

You built your whole brand on talking real loud,

I’m dropping these bars while you’re lost in the crowd.

Packgod, Packgod, better pack those lines,

’Cause I’m cutting through the noise every single time.

You can roast all day,

you can talk that smack,

But when the beat drops — can you answer back?

Your keyboard got muscles,

but your pen needs a gym,

Every punchline walks in looking exactly like him.

You’re the king of the roast?

That crown’s looking rented,

I checked the fine print — turns out it’s dented.

You got jokes on demand,

but the quality’s low,

Like a Wi-Fi connection that forgot how to flow.

I’m not saying you’re bad — I’m saying take five,

’Cause the roast machine needs a software revive.

No hate, just bars — that’s the game we play,

You brought the Pack,

I brought the whole buffet.

So step to the mic if you think you’re that guy,

One round, two rounds — let the punchlines fly.