Lyrics Matthew vs. Kaelen - Kaelen Ruder

Everyday you try to be like ye
But you work for minimum wage, at the school's cafe
You got a bedtime
And no rhymes
And probably like guys
And you couldn't make a good song after 17 tries

An unsuccessful one of Heidi's suitors
And You're even too stupid, to be, a PE tutor
Speaking of girls where you couldn't succeed
Remember Bayleigh, or Campbell, Yall went to DC
Should change your first name to lone
And last name to lee
Invest in some cologne
And maybe you'd pull some girls like me

Im joking but I know you don't have fun
You think you're good at rapping but know that I'm second to none
Move on from ye, and try to be more like matt
But it might be tough cuz i know that you dont got it like that
You though the mullet look good, nah, you must be trippin
It was hecka outdated like how you nae nae and whippin
Your bars are boring, and no one is listenin
How you mess up box brownies man, get outta the kitchen

Everyday you try to be like ye
But you work for minimum wage, at the school's cafe
You got a bedtime
And no rhymes
And probably like guys
And you couldn't make a good song after 17 tries

You're from New York not even from the city
And everything that you do is an invitation for pity
As a guy you're not handsome as a girl you wouldn't be pretty
These disses cut deep and I know your bars ain't hanging wit me

Say my bars can't hang, but currently they chillin
You stuck behind my bars like your an evil villain
You freak when you see me, got your hands to the ceiling
Now your looking like me, I'll be Ghostface killin

Say I can't follow but that's cuz I'm a leader
Don't interact with fakes cuz im like I'm a chip reader
I got a million on the dash and a two piece light show
You can't borrow my bars cuz you got a low FICO

White out your lines, yea off white I might go
You fell off long ago, you trippin like a psycho
You on thin ice, close to flat line like a tight rope
You skating in circles round and round like you in weight throw

Your life is a joke like I'm watchin soap opera
Reality hits when I hit like Pacino and Cocoppola
Ghetto to the core, do the ghetto chores,
My Glock for the sweep, it's gonna dust yours

You wanna ball Imma make you crawl for it
Number one is spitting at ya, you got the null bit
Bottle a hair grease getting rolled like Rick
Better be quick, or I'll hit you with the candlestick