White Cracka Chronicles

[Intro] [Verse 1] Yo, I’m that pasty king, suburban throne, Got a lawn so green, it’s borderline neon. “Cracka” in my bio, yeah, I own the joke, Dad jokes on deck, but I’m spittin’ this smoke. Got a sunscreen collection—SPF 100, Grill master flex, but my burgers stay bent. Call me mayo-rapper, bland but I’m chill, Dance like a Wiimote, but hey, zero guilt! [Chorus] White cracka vibes, no salt in my veins, Laugh at my kicks, Velcro-strapped for the game. Cheesy like cheddar, but I’m ownin’ the grain, Vanilla Ice? Nah—I’m the whole ice cream plain! [Verse 2] Got a LinkedIn rap ’bout my 401k, Holiday sweaters—they’re my feature-day fit. Karen in my DMs? I just hit “Decline,” Crocs in “sport mode” while I sip kombucha wine. Eminem’s cousin—twice removed, maybe thrice, But I’ll drop a verse ’bout my parallel life: Wi-Fi passwords, Netflix, and taxes, White privilege bingo—I’m cashin’ the brackets. [Bridge] (Wheeze laugh ad-libs over a kazoo solo) I’m the punchline, the meme, the cringe in your feed, But I’m vibin’ so hard, ain’t no room for defeat. Yell “Karen’s my auntie!”—still smilin’ wide, Got a yacht rock playlist and nothin’ to hide! [Chorus] White cracka vibes, no salt in my veins, Laugh at my kicks, Velcro-strapped for the game. Cheesy like cheddar, but I’m ownin’ the grain, Vanilla Ice? Nah—I’m the whole ice cream plain! [Outro]