Fallout - Haiku

One hand on the mic and the other clutching my ball sack

‘Bout to give you that raw rap. I’m coming for what’s up under your ball cap

St. Louis telling me I should fall back. F*** all that

Too late for the small chat. I TYPED THIS S*** IN ALL CAPS

Sit back in awe, and watch how I handle frauds

Mother f***ers rubbed me the wrong way like a bad massage

Right hand to God, it hurts even worse when it’s fam involved

Ironically, the smile on your face was just camouflage

But look, your plan was flawed, stepping incorrect against this vet

I didn’t expect this level of disrespect. Talk about instant regret

I’ve been a threat way before the internet

When Instagram, Facebook and Twitter weren’t even invented yet

Them foolish rumors got you losers looking too confused

All these squares got the game twisted like a Rubik’s Cube

Lucky I’m in a music mood, or this s*** could get stupid rude

Matter of fact sit back and allow me to fuel the feud

It’s the Fallout. Now it’s time to show me what y’all ‘bout

Let’s make it official, get rid of all doubt

Tell them it’s the Fallout. Got me searching inside the vault now

Told you, you were going down the wrong route

Too late it’s the Fallout. ‘Cuz the s*** that came out of y’all mouth

Dug yourself a hole too deep to crawl out

Listen, it’s the Fallout. Since you were begging to get called out

Ain’t holding back nothing. I’m going all out

This song is for anybody fighting a guilty conscience

You know I’m with the conflict. Thinking you can beat me is simply nonsense

I’m God-sent, so miss me with all of the silly gossip

Save your bulls*** responses. I’ve got too many options

Go toe to toe lyrically or blow for blow physically

Name opponents specifically. Even expose your history

Or provoke them subliminally. Leave it open for mystery

Have them probing their memory why they chose to be enemies

Or roast them relentlessly. Nope, no hope for sympathy

Go for broke. Every injury soaked in sodium instantly

Whoa. Hold up. These jokers invoked the flow of the century

Every stroke of the pen will be like composing a symphony

To call this beef would be misinforming. It’s just a warning

If I really dig in my inventory, it’s end of story

They’ll finish mourning. I’m sure they’ll shift the attention shortly

If you’re lucky, you’ll be mentioned in my hymns of glory