VERSE 1 Yeah— Zona scroll loud, I watermark the silence, Everybody yelling “king,” I check the science. Bars breathe easy, no rush in the phrasing, If it sound simple, that’s patience masquerading. I father flows how the cadence get manners, They borrow my walk, skip posture and balance. Say “son” ‘cause the lineage show in the sound, Every trend take notes when I’m strolling the town. I don’t chase moments, I season the catalog, Slow cook sentences, let ‘em simmer to analog. Same word come back, mean something adjacent, They hear one layer, I wrote it for patience. Pen stay humble, notebook arrogant, I imply crowns, don’t posture for narrative. If the room get quiet when I clear my throat, That’s respect finding space for a better quote. VERSE 2 SL Bandit talking slick, but the ink run thin, Big captions, small margins, let’s zoom that in. I don’t spar online, I benchmark pens, Put craft on the scale, see who bends when it bends. 96oose with opinions, hope the pen keep up, ‘Cause words need weight when you press your luck. I write lines that age like wood in a cellar, They write posts that peak, then forget the weather No beef—just proof in the paperwork stack, Difference between presence and posting it back. If Zona feel tense when I step in the frame, That’s hierarchy settling, not fear of a name. I don’t cancel rivals, I raise the bar, Those who can clear it reveal who they are. VERSE 3 Flow sound casual, mind doing cardio, Every bar double-backs like “wait, that was audio?” Stress shift syllables, same sound pivot, One ear hear surface, the other hear civics. They want the flash, I want the afterglow, What last after charts stop asking for more. I read fine print, they skim headlines, One build a decade, one rent they shine. If I repeat a word, that’s the trick in the thread, Same phonetic jacket, different weather ahead. They rush the punch, miss the elbow that land, I let the replay teach ‘em what they didn’t catch. Quiet confidence—no sirens attached, The pen does the flexing, I stroll through the math. VERSE 4 Everybody “sonning” now, funny how that work, When the source show up, all the copies feel hurt. I don’t yell lineage, I document roots, Trace flows to the seed, show receipts in the loops. Zona need craft, not clones on a grid, Everybody fast-talking, nobody saying what it is. I cook with restraint, leave space in the pan, Flavor travel farther when you understand. I don’t need hooks, the verse is the grip, Talk-rap pocket, let the drums babysit. If the beat breathe, that’s permission to think, I sip water on tempo, they sprint to the brink. Call it grown-man rap, call it patience with aim, I don’t swing for the crowd—I rearrange the game. VERSE 5 Top shelf talk, labels optional, Skill transferable, fame refundable. When the dust settle, who catalog stand? Who got bars that hold when the trends disband? I’m best on Zona ‘cause the proof be calm, No fireworks needed, just ink with a palm.

Full course meal