Your inventory's controversial, the whole store's a terrible fiasco, the delivery's a ghost now, they only see the phantom of the cashier's tablo!

I got the rhythm locked. The beat is still chaotic, and the aisles are still cluttered. Let's keep this going.

You flipped the mix table, but the sound is still awful, a disaster for the master plan you demented.

Plastic bags full of spoiled beats, your legacy's already rotten, you should've just stayed on the floor like the broccoli they forgot when unloaded.

The cereal aisle just got twisted. Captain Crunch in the doughnut box—that's a certified visual.

I'm matching the rhythm. The scenario just keeps getting deeper:

The cereal's spilling from the container, that flavor is tainted, your whole existence is glazed and confused.

The doughnut's hollow, and the captain's missing his boat, he's stuck in your scenario, totally unloaded.

Wait till I got to the register with this high school honey right, she ringed me up alrite, up one side and down the other G, meat popcicle make my dick tingle tweet.
The register's clickin’, but the total’s a riddle,
Honey’s ringin’ me up, got my nerves in a wiggle.
She’s scannin’ my soul with that barcode gaze,
Droppin’ receipts like bombs in a lyrical haze. Your store’s a circus, shelves fallin’ apart,
Mismatched vibes, no soul, no heart.
The meat popsicle’s cold, but the heat’s in my flow,
I’m spittin’ these bars while your stock’s runnin’ low. Captain Crunch lost his ship, he’s adrift in the aisle,
Doughnut’s glazed, but your game’s outta style.
The beat’s still chaotic, your plan’s a disgrace,
I’m flippin’ this script, puttin’ you in your place. From the freezer to the counter, it’s a lyrical slaughter,
Your inventory’s drowned in this rhyme’s holy water.
The cashier’s tablo? Just a ghost in the mist,
I’m wrappin’ this rap with a mic-dropping twist.