Verse 1 - Syndrome | Freshy Kanal

Who de we have here?
Brooding old man in a trench coat
Lookin' like he came to study
For a Rorschach test! No...

I read your comics
To be honest Fidel Castro
I almost got a papercut
On all that fucking edge, bro

You're not dangerous
You make your pals repay favors
And take all the risk then don't
Let them go

I guess you must crack a few eggs
And break off a new friendship
To end up with Frenchie Toast

Oh, you sly dog
You got me rapping triplets
But dissing you fills me with pity

Cuz I can tеll it must eat you
Alive knowing Homelandеr
And your dear misses got busy
Verse 2 - Billy Butcher | Freeced

Oi! Cunt!
That means you, Jimmy Neutron
The douche who needs his goons
To help him get his super-suit on

Move off, or do one!
I can tell you screw with machines
Too odd how you're powerless
And still have yet to lose your V

My men dispense of supes
You suck them off to sell ya' toys
If we were a group of pussies
We'd be the incredi-boys

You lost to a baby, mate
I wouldn't have that
Personally, I'd cock and aim him
At your face like; " Gat, gat"

Verse 3 - Syndrome | Freshy Kanal

Let me take a butcher's at that accent
Who're they kidding
You're only here cause Amazon
Couldn't get Hugh Jackman with two-day shipping
I take out supes like an egg drop
Carried out big league plans
While my face popped pimples

Never let age stop me
From tanking an old dude
Too hirsute for a tank top

You take out supes like a- Wait, stop
As much as you hate Vought
You ain't got people who know

How to take shots
Following a man who's
An absent dad as a day job

And I know you were born in hell
But at least you got a story to tell
How you came back home and

Daddy still (?)
Blood stains from your poor little
Brother's corpse on his belt

But I don't understand all the drama
Your son's hanging with his old man and his mama
He sees in you what you saw in the hands of your papa
Wow, now you got a whole family of trauma!
Verse 4 - Billy Butcher | Freeced

Age bars off an actual boomer
Tech skills couldn't put bags in a hoover
My drunk father would guess this cunt's password
Faster then you could be rude in the back of an Uber

Man's stupid, ain't gonna do shit
Man's been a square like a rubix's
They won't lend you an ear when you're putting on airs
With the hair of an used up Q-Tip

If you're ethical, then I beg to know
Who the hell in Metroville paid for it
The way you settle scores is a metaphor
For what the fucking state of the nation is

It's incredibly stupid, you quell the supes
And claim their powers are ableists
Another crazy kid who's been
Wasting days with a parasocial relationship

I'm appalled that this poor twat
Can't perform as a support act
Even after his false dad
Used this wharf rat as a doormat

If you don't wanna suffer burnout
Don't be such a fucking star
Keep on whinging all you want
You'll never measure up to par