Yeah 999 forever ima make sure I keep the legacy alive not like these clones new freestyle otw

Outcast freestyle - Juice WRLD

Juice WRLD Boondocks Official

juice wrld - fenty (unreleased)

Medicine{Juice Wrld}

GARAGE MUSIC GROUP 2025

(Intro)
I don’t beef, I execute.
I don’t stream, I flood the root.
Y’all love views — I love proof.
You rap for shows — I rap for truth.

[Verse 1]

You dance on tracks like clowns in heat,
Act real deep but your heart too sweet.
Post that fit, but it’s rented flex,
IG fame don’t cut real checks.

Got 3 rings, 2 whips, 1 mask,
But never wrote truth, just trends you blast.
You ain’t seen war, just reels and views,
Talk pain but your trauma come in shoes.

Your life’s a loop — copy, paste, and post,
Livin’ off hype like a party ghost.
Swipe that beat but the soul’s not there,
Rap with glitter — I rap with glare.

Clickbait bars, all style, no spine,
Brand deals bigger than your punchline.
You a puppet on a TikTok loop,
I’m a demon with a pen — now welcome to the booth.

☠️ [Verse 2 ]

Voice like syrup, soul on mute,
Can’t hear pain through that processed flute.
Notes so soft, I might just nap,
Y’all lullabies — I snap, then slap.

You pitch that tone like you bleed codeine,
But your tears fake wet like a movie scene.
Floatin’ on pads like a synth in sleep,
Talk about hell — you ain’t been six feet.

Auto-Tune gods, but you broke offstage,
Got no bars — just a vocal cage.
Verse look shiny, but it’s hollow wax,
Can’t spell struggle — just contracts.

Fake heartbreak, in Gucci tears,
Studio scripts for your rented fears.
Sing about guns but can’t hold one still,
I bleed on tracks — you overdub kills.

[Chorus x2]

This ain’t rap, y’all playin’ dress-up games,
Flexin’ fame but can’t spell pain.
Ghostwrite flows, autotuned shame,
All bark, no kill — just blame.

I don’t tweet threats — I write obits,
Mic’s my blade, and I slit myths.
You act kings, I act real grit,
Line ’em up — every clown gets clipped.

[Chorus x2]

This ain’t rap, y’all playin’ dress-up games,
Flexin’ fame but can’t spell pain.
Ghostwrite flows, autotuned shame,
All bark, no kill — just blame.

I don’t tweet threats — I write obits,
Mic’s my blade, and I slit myths.
You act kings, I act real grit,
Line ’em up — every clown gets clipped.

[Verse 3]

You pay for rhymes like hoes pay rent,
I craft my war — your line gets bent.
Credit your boy but the verse got leaks,
Say you “wrote this” — that ain’t your speech.

You rap in suits, I rap in scars,
You paint gold pain — I spit jail bars.
Say “from the mud” but your past too clean,
You cappin’ in Dior with your label’s team.

PR campaigns make you sound deep,
But your eyes too soft, your soul too cheap.
You hold that mic like it burn your hands,
I hold it like steel with a goddamn plan.

Say “real talk” but you sign that script,
Get coached on pain that you never lived.
I rap from graves, you rap for fame,
We ain’t the same — don’t play that name.

[Verse 4]

Never did time, but you scream “locked up”,
Posted that chain but you leased that truck.
Flashin’ a Glock like you know that steel,
Last time you bled was a dentist drill.

Say “gang gang” but you ain’t no threat,
Whole damn set never seen no sweat.
Claim your hood but your map says mall,
Say “trap king” but you missed that call.

Paint your tats but they peel like truth,
Your ink got lies — mine speak my youth.
Popstar prince in a trap disguise,
But we see the fear in your branded eyes.

No scars, no court, just filters and lights,
Real ones silent — you post your fights.
This is war in bars — not clout or trend,
I bury whole careers by verse — the end.

(Bridge)
Street ain’t threads, it’s blood and nights,
Pain ain’t posted — it steals your rights.
You claim the dark but shine too clean,
I drown my light — that’s real unseen.

(Outro)
I walk alone but I leave no doubt,
No tour, no post, just bodies out.
When I spit — they start to pray,
RAP REHAB… this Judgment Day.

Slick Rick Freestyle 9 9 9 [PROD NICK MIRA]

Juice The Kidd

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