[Verse 1: Syndrome (Freshy Kanal)]
Who do 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 paper cut on all that fucking edge, bro!
You're not dangerous, you're makin' pals repay favors and take all the risks, 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 rappin' triplets, but dissin' you fills me with pity
'Cause I can tell it must eat you alive knowin' Homelandеr and your dear missus got busy!

[Verse 2: Billy Butcher (Freeced)]
Oi! Cunt! That means you, Jimmy Neutron!
Thе douche who needs his goons to help him get his super-suit on
Move off or do one! I can tell you screw machines
Too odd how you're powerless and still have yet to lose your V
My men dispense of Supes, tou suck 'em 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]
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 my age stop me from takin' an old dude too hirsute for a tank top! (Woo!)
You take out Supes like a- wait, stop (Ha-ha!), 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, huh, but at least you got a story to tell, huh
How you came back home and Daddy still had blood stains from your poor little brother's corpse on his belt, huh
But I don't understand all the drama, your son's hangin' with his old man and his mama
He sees in you what you see in the hands of your papa, wow, now you got a whole family of trauma!
[Verse 4: Billy Butcher]
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 than you can be rude in the back of an Uber
Man's stupid, ain't gonna do shit, man been a square like Rubik's
They won't lend you an ear when you're putting on airs with the hair of a 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 ableist
Another crazy kid who's been wastin' 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 Parr. (Dickhead!)