Текст песни
Вы все делаете говно… я вам покажу, как надо
You type in the chat like a Grammy-certified vet, but your bars are just hollow and thin
“Y’all need to learn the craft” — but you’re dragging behind, can’t even lock in the rhythm you’re in
“Your tracks are trash, you’re all blind” — spraying hot takes like a gun with no sight
Hit “Generate” — Suno spits out a mess like an AI hungover mid-flight
You preach sidechain, compression, mastering, punch-line design
But your vocal’s a wreck like a tape deck that’s chewing the ribbon to twine
“You don’t know music!” — Yeah, you’re right, we’re clueless, man
How you lecture the room when you can’t even hit the grid on a demo jam?
“I know how it’s done!” — Cool, so show me your chart
Three hundred “masterpieces” saved that nobody’s heard, not a single spark
You teach how to write, but your output’s just straight-up decay
Praying the neural net drops “Rap God” — but it just coughs out gray
Suno “expert”, the teacher of all
Your “masterpieces” are just landfill, that’s all
Screaming “you’re idiots”, while you jam your prompt with lies
Waiting for the algorithm to open your eyes
Suno “expert”, the king of hollow noise
Your vocals sound robotic, stripped of all voice
We listen in silence, we’re laughing inside
‘Cause your “hit” is a shell with nowhere to hide
You spit jargon: structure, bridge, pre-chorus, drop, sidechain the kick, comp the vocal track
But your melody’s shattered like someone dropped keys and just screamed it right back
“You don’t grasp the arrangement!” — Yeah, you’re right, we’re blind
How you teach the whole forum when you can’t even stay in the grid you designed
You demand clarity, balance, stereo width, a pristine mix
But your master’s a swamp, like you poured concrete over the bricks
“I know how it’s done!” — Alright, so show me the proof
A hundred “Suno_Final” files sitting dead in the roof
You teach how to write, but you’re copying prompts from a guide
Praying the net drops “Slim Shady” — but it just vomits the tide
You yell “you’re all idiots”, but you’re tripping off-beat
Your “masterclass” is just word salad, bitter and cheap
You wanna be a producer, but you’re just tapping a screen
Thinking a bot can replace what your ears should have seen
Suno “expert”, the teacher of all
Your “masterpieces” are just landfill, that’s all
Screaming “you’re idiots”, while you jam your prompt with lies
Waiting for the algorithm to open your eyes
Suno “expert”, the king of hollow noise
Your vocals sound robotic, stripped of all voice
We listen in silence, we’re laughing inside
‘Cause your “hit” is a shell with nowhere to hide
You wanna teach? Start with your own
Learn how to catch the pocket before you preach from your throne
You’re not a producer, you’re not an artist, just a ghost in the thread
Claiming you know it all, while your own tracks are dead
Suno’s a canvas, not a cheat code to win
You won’t catch a legacy copying prompts from within
We write, we stumble, we bleed, we refine
You’re stuck in your loop, screaming “you’re trash” every time
Suno “expert”, the teacher of all
Your “masterpieces” are just landfill, that’s all
Screaming “you’re idiots”, while you jam your prompt with lies
Waiting for the algorithm to open your eyes
Suno “expert”, the king of hollow noise
Your vocals sound robotic, stripped of all voice
We listen in silence, we’re laughing inside
‘Cause your “hit” is a shell with nowhere to hide
“You’re all idiots…” — Maybe we are
But we actually write, instead of just yelling from afar
Thanks for the “lesson”. We’ll file it away
