Tom MacDonald Is a Nazi Lyrics – Mac Lethal

Read the full Tom MacDonald Is a Nazi lyrics by Mac Lethal along with the music video, song credits, release information and other details about the song.

[Part I]

[Intro]
Let’s be clear about one thing
You started it, you sneak-dissing pu*sy
Hahahahaha, oh my god
I thought it was funny too
We already squashed this, dude, what’re you doing?

[Verse]
Here’s a backstory
A couple years ago, Tom MacDonald got his feelings hurt
And made a track towards me
Tried to diss me in a rapping war
Tried to bait me into going back and forth
But I really didn’t have the passion for it
So I made one song, and I had to ignore
I don’t wanna sound rude, I just think he’s mad corny
I didn’t wanna give it energy
A transphobic, homophobic culture vulture
Rapping ’bout white supremacy
Isn’t worthy of facing me lyrically
But I’m getting tired of watching this dude embarrass hip-hop’s history
And the other day, he dropped a new song
And for some reason, he was dissing me
Fine, fight, contract, sign
Normally, I wouldn’t pay this any mind
But you made a nine-minute song about your personal life
Why the fu*k you mention mine?
I’ve been minding my business, I’m buying some property
Why are you dissing me? Why you take shots at me?
Man, are you buying prescriptions again?
Is it lines that you’re sniffing? It’s gotta be
Fu*k it, ding-ding, let’s begin, you got weak skin
We followed each other on IG, we DM’d
We even agreed that we would be friends
Thomas, we already squashed it

Last time, I took the high road
This time, I’m getting toxic
First off, your music sucks
You’re goofy as fu*k, your beats are trash
I bet a million dollars cash that I could easily beat your ass
Your girlfriend is a skeezer with diseases, she got fleas and crabs
She used to go to Russell Simmon’s house and eat his ass
Nova Rockafeller (Hahahahahaha), known for rocking fellers
She was a groupie over at Death Jam and a ho at Rockefeller
You nerdy cuck, I wouldn’t touch that dirty for thirty bucks
You’re not even in the top ten rappers, your girl is fu*ked
Oh my god, she’s vaginally infected, I’ll get back to her in a second
First, I’m smashing you on this record
I’ll punch you so hard you’ll see three of me
You’ll say, “Hi, Dave, hi, Dave, hi, Dave”
Half your fu*king fanbase wishes they could buy slaves
“I donate my money to veterans”
Okay? What you want? A peppermint?
Don’t complain about it, just do it
Quit patting yourself on the back for the camera lens
You’re just Doja Cat for nazis, a feminine racist on every beat
They call you an anti-woke rapper ’cause your music puts everybody to sleep
Fu*k everything that your lame ass do
If Dave Matthews had a braid and a face tattoo
And made a song called “If I Was a Gay Black Jew”
We would all be like, “Hey, that’s you”
Acting like you represent the blue-collar working man, rocking army boots
When you live in Woodland Hills and wear five thousand dollar Versace suits
You’ll never fu*k with Mac
Look at this blond b!tch surrounded by shirtless African-American actors
What? You ’bout to get gang-banged in a episode of Blacked? (Hahahahahaha)
Your fans cheer when planes fly over Gaza, dropping b0mbs
“I’m a fifty-two-year-old soccer mom
I hate rap, but you’re awesome, Tom”
You a fake fraud, poser, liar, charlatan, and grifter at heart
You have no fu*king dignity, you’ll do anything just to get on the charts
B!tch, I’m a star, kicking these bars
Burning this body, I’ll rip it apart
Tom, did you call yourself the white version of Kendrick Lamar?
Talking like you kick down doors for the Indie movement
B!tch, you stole that same blueprint from Rhymesayers and Strange Music
I paved your road, real Indie since ’01
Now I’m Marvin Gaye’s father, I’m killing my own son

[Part II]

[Intro]
There’s a story ’bout a boy named Tom
He had a rich dad and a racist mom

[Interlude]
Nova (Daddy)
Here, Nova (Daddy)
Come here, girl, sit
Aww, good girl, here’s a treat (Daddy)

[Verse]
Here’s the truth that you can’t run from
Nocando told me, “When you’re fighting monsters, don’t let it make you become one”
Your ego’s too big, it’s gotta be deflated
Trying to say political rap is a genre you created?
You gotta be fu*king kidding me
You ever heard of Ice-T, Ice Cube, Immortal Technique, X-Clan, or Public Enemy?
Of course you haven’t, you know nothing about the culture
Second amendment right, guns coming up out the holster
Put the pistol in your mouth
“Name one song off Illmatic before I pull the trigger” (“I can’t!”)
You wanna be American so bad that you won’t even rep’ your own flag
And now you’re getting toe-tagged
On every single song, you use that same dead flow
Your girl’s like Emilly Willis, a braindead ho
I shoulda known that you’re a damn snake
The type of person that’ll look right in a man’s face and offer him a handshake
Call a truce to clear peace on the landscape
Then diss his family life just to entertain your fanbase
On God mode trying to rap like Jesus
But in real-life, you act like Judas with pu*sycat-like movements
I feel like Caesar getting stabbed by Brutus
But I got whiplash, so drums make me smack my students
YouTube diss tracks, they really ain’t my vibe
When I battle a rapper, s*it, I’d rather do it live
I’ll bet fifty thousand bucks to the charity of your choice
That you won’t look me in the eyes and put clarity in your voice
And say the things about me that you said in all your diss tracks
When I’m a foot away from you, and you might just get b!tch slapped
S*it, we could battle on King of the Dot
Your girl knows all those dudes, she’s seen all their cocks
We could battle up in Canada, right in your hometown
I’ll let you pick the city and venue it goes down
And I promise I’ll get a bigger applause than you
Because in hip-hop, there ain’t a bigger fraud than you
I went on tour with D12, those dudes are my new friends
They showed me some video you made for Eminem
They told me they were in the studio with Slim when he watched it
He cringed, and he cut it off thirty seconds in
Eminem doesn’t like you, he does not respect you
You made a love song about him, begging him to peg you
Have you noticed that publicly he’s never even mentioned it?
I’m sorry buddy, I know that’s not how you envisioned it
You thought he’d call you like, “Hey Tom, it’s Slim Shady
You’re so controversial, how are you this crazy?
You wanna make a song about how transgender men are pretend ladies
And all the lib’ ladies having mixed babies?
And how the Mexican border is being invaded
By woke Palestinians causing inflation?
We’ll call it “White Boyz, Pt. 12,” it’ll be awful”
And the Grammy goes to Eminem and Tom MacDonald
I’m sorry that you didn’t get to do a song with your hero
At least you got to do a song with Ben Shapiro
The dude that censored Candace Owens’ views quick
And he tried to see rap music isn’t real music
And he tried to say that pussies aren’t supposed to get wet
“That song was so controversial and over the edge” (I’m kidding)
Nobody cares about your facts or your feelings
You make music for people who stormed the Capitol building
You make rap tunes for white-trash inbred people
That snort crank in dirty-ass gas station bathrooms
People who shoot AR-15s in classrooms
That never heard of Nas, Del, Wu, or Black Moon
You make music for people that hate Black dudes
People that huff gas fumes, got barbed wire tattoos
People that say the N-word while playing Call of Duty
People that buy a case of Bud Light just to shoot it
Incels that are terrified of s*x
And people who pay money to be verified on X
People that say, “Now, normally, I don’t like rap
But this Tom MacDonald dude is great ’cause he ain’t black”
I rewrote this diss three times, kept throwing out the verses
Punchlines weren’t cutting it, needed substance and some purpose
I realized I needed to try to cut beyond the surface
And instead of murdering you, maybe I could be of service
You constantly just brag about the ways you feel yourself
It’s obvious you’re losing your battle with mental health
Tried to fill the emptiness in your soul by getting wealth
But the money, fame, Louis, and Gucci, it didn’t help
You need to go to Balenciaga and get a belt
Put it ’round your neck, kick out the stool, then kill yourself
You need to put a gun to your head, then drill yourself
‘Cause to yourself, you’ve never revealed yourself
I swear to god, I know record label execs
That managed you, represented you, brought you a couple checks
They told me all sorts of s*it about you
How you like to—

[Outro]
Maybe your best course
Would be to tread lightly