CHALLENGER'S RAP

• Yo, HotSanta, think you’re fire?
• But your flames just flicker, can’t get any higher.
• You flex like you’re hot stuff, but it’s all a facade,
• Your ego's inflated like your mom’s credit card.
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• You call yourself “hot,” but let’s keep it real,
• More like lukewarm leftovers from last week’s meal.
• Step back from the mirror; it’s time for some truth,
• Your shine’s just cheap glitter—sorry kid, no proof.
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• You strut like a peacock with feathers all fake,
• But deep down inside, man, it’s clear you’re a flake.
• So go ahead and flex while you still got the chance,
• But remember this moment when you can’t find your pants.