Roblox Roastdown

Ayo, who's let these Roblox kids out the house?

Six grown usernames, zero fucking clout.

Caylus, Steak, Kreek, Kakav,

PackGod and Foltyn,

Mister batman is here.

Let the roasting begin.

Caylus, sit down, you ain't built for the heat,

Your whole career's just Roblox on repeat.

Go tell your mum that your Wi-Fi's gone dead,

Maybe she'll finally get some peace in her head.

You act like a boss,

but you're playing pretend,

Your biggest achievement is clicking "play" again.

Your dad must be wondering what happened to his son,

Spent all that money just to raise a Roblox bum.

Foltyn, you made a diss on a fourteen-year-old,

Thought you were cooking but your lyrics were cold.

That track was so shit,

even the beat said goodbye,

You dropped that rubbish and the speakers asked why.

You came for a kid,

thought you'd look like a king,

But your diss had less fire than a broken matchstick.

You spent all that time just to sound like a clown,

Bro got outplayed by someone younger in town. (ha!)

Steak, what the fuck,

go and touch some grass,

Your whole personality is Roblox trash.

You think you're a legend,

you're barely a snack,

Your career's on life support,

no bringing it back.

Your mum says dinner,

you say "one more game",

Your dad's at the door screaming out your name.

You built your whole life on a blocky-ass game,

Even your Roblox

avatar's embarrassed by your

fame.

KreekCraft, breaking news, here's today's headline,

Your content's getting old like a bottle of wine.

You report every update like it's world war three,

Bro, it's just Roblox,

go outside and breathe.

You act like the king of the Roblox nation,

But your whole career needs a renovation.

Your dad checks your screen like,

"What the hell is this?" Another damn video that nobody missed.

Kakav420, you need a reality check,

Your whole channel's got more L's than a car wreck.

You talk like a demon,

but your bars are asleep,

Your punchlines are weak and your insults are cheap.

Go tell your parents you've been wasting your time,

Playing blocky-ass games while I'm writing these rhymes.

You wanted the smoke,

now you're choking on air,

Your biggest fan is probably your own gaming chair.

PACKGOD! Slow down, let me finish a sentence,

You roast so damn much but you're lacking repentance.

You talk at a hundred,

but your bars need a brain,

Your microphone's begging to escape from the pain.

You roast everybody like you're top of the food chain,

But your whole diss routine sounds exactly the same.

You think you're the devil,

the king of attack,

But Kelly Clappers just sent your ass straight back.

FUCK ROBLOX, FUCK THE FLEX,

SIX BIG NAMES BUT THEY'RE ALL UP NEXT.

CAYLUS, STEAK, KREEKCRAFT TOO,

KAKAV AND PACKGOD, WE'RE COMING FOR YOU.

FOLTYN DROPPED A DISS AND IT SOUNDED LIKE SHIT,

FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD HAD YOU THROWING A FIT.

SIX ONLINE LEGENDS, SIX REAL-LIFE L'S,

KELLY CLAPPERS RANG THE BELL!

Six usernames, six controllers,

Six people needing some fucking hobbies.

Foltyn, delete that diss track.

PackGod, take a breath.

Kreek,

stop reporting Roblox updates.

And the rest of you...

GET OFF THE FUCKING GAME.