Style jackers 🤡 Country Lunatic #original #oneofakind #whiteboy

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Country Lunatic™
Lunatic Nation™
F.O.W.B Independent Records™

#lunaticnation #lunaticnation4life #countryrap
LYRICS

Yeah
Thought I wasn't watchin’, huh?
Thought you'd slide by with them borrowed ass bars?
Fake-ass clones, copy-paste gangsters
Bite me again, you’ll choke on these fuckin' fangs
Lunatic Nation, load the clip, it’s huntin’ season…

You copy my lines, but your pen ain't cursed,
I wrote mine in blood—yours written in merch.
My scars ain't fashion, each one's a confession,
You stealin' my flow? Better pray for protection.

Can't jack my style when you ain’t bled the cost,
Walked barefoot through hell, got my soul embossed.
Detox nightmares, fiend dreams scream real,
You just a cosplayer actin' hard on a reel.

You ain’t laid on floors where the roaches crawlin’,
Ain't missed court dates ‘cause the demons callin’.
My pain’s tattooed deeper than prison ink,
You just AI-generated with a counterfeit link.

Style jackers, snakes hissin’ my name,
Steal my pain, I’ll bury your fame.
Tryna clone the Lunatic, you better run,
Fuck around and find out—I ain't the one.

You bit my bars, now you owe the reaper debt,
Your heart pumps fake—mine pumps regret.
Snatchin’ souls out your chest just for fun,
Say it again, motherfucker—I ain't the one.

Pen cocked back, bars blow brains out your booth,
You bought followers, bitch, I bought my truth.
Meth smoke prayers, overdoses in my family tree,
You Google “white trash rap,” all you find is me.

Fake felonies flowin’ from your mouth,
I'm the reason “white devil” got clout in the south.
Trailer park raised, eatin' nothin’ but sin,
You screen record pain, I been livin’ it in.

No AI scripts—I'm the drug deal tales,
Late-night raids, trap house betrayals.
Your notebook sterile, my notebook bleeds,
Y'all chase my shadow, I’m plantin’ murder seeds.

You wanna be Country Lunatic, bitch?
Then overdose twice, bury friends you miss,
Spend nights shiverin’ cold in a shed,
Wonderin' if tonight you gon’ wind up dead.

No plagiarism can copy real-life scars,
Try steppin' in these shoes—you'll overdose on these bars

Certified white devil, fuck a metaphor,
Prison tats tell stories your fake ink ignore.
Steal another line, leave your blood on wax,
Drop bodies in verses like overdosed tracks.

I watched homies ghost, faced my brother's death,
You’re copyin' trauma that steals my breath.
Bitch-made imposters, AI-processed pain,
I press Glock triggers, you press for fame.

Take my rhyme again, lose teeth, lose sleep,
My demons don’t play, my vendettas run deep.
Fake profiles screamin’ pain you ain’t felt,
Cross me twice, it's your coffin bein’ nailed.

Style jackers, snakes hissin’ my name,
Steal my pain, I’ll bury your fame.
Tryna clone the Lunatic, you better run,
Fuck around and find out—I ain't the one.

You bit my bars, now you owe the reaper debt,
Your heart pumps fake—mine pumps regret.
Snatchin’ souls out your chest just for fun,
Say it again, motherfucker—I ain't the one.

Every stolen bar, a bullet in your pen,
Every fake-ass verse, another shallow grave again.
Think twice before jackin’ a sinner’s tale,
My style ain't for rent—your ass is up for sale.

Next bitch copy, it's war declared,
You’re playin’ dress-up—my pain’s warfare.
Lunatic Nation got smoke and flame,
Jack my style, end up erased from the game. Except for trigger the only one that reached out, so we cool now.... the rest of you bitches I'm fixing to wipe out lights out goodbye now the original fuckin lunatic out.