Prod. Twins
Lyrics:
Do you hear that, that's the alarm
It's a zombie nation
Last in first out type of situation
And I'm winning 2025 so far
You can check the station
It's Cliff, I don't take vacations
I always come away with another creation
And they're still trying to tell me I'm not a creative
Like I should've wished em a dearly belated
Be a gentleman lady
And change my face based on the different situations
On different occasions
And then say 'that's the way I was made'
I guess I'm not a good slave in good payment
With the good ranks
I would say thank you but I don't owe you shit
You motherfucking clone, you can suck my dick
That's about the extent of your existence
Remember when you wished me down with the pigeons
I didn't forget
Now I'm up with the peregrines and I can see all of your shit
And how it spread it all around for all of your kids
And those will be the ones that end up on scholarship
These roner boners are always putting down the homeless
Trying to dig up ways to put down the grown ups
These bots are looking for a lock to pick
Trying to scam another grandma or an honest man
This is how they come up and they say it wasn't chance
And it's funny how they all have their signature dance
That they stole from a fan
Now what's the F word again, is it fascist, fucking, fag
Government glued slags
Big fans of air tags, and hair wigs
And stealing everything from Native Americans
And me but 'nuh uh cuz you said'
And some threat of death
And a reference to meth
Allusions to butt sex
Anarchy is starting to sound like a wet dream
And which side will you take, the F team
'The alternative streamer
The ones without any life experience
But remember, 'nuh uh because you said'
This is real life, and what is he doing
What is going through his head'
What happened is I got ripped off
On paper in front of the whole fucking nation
And you slandered and libeled my name
Around the entire world
Using my first and last name
And then you added me to your curriculum
And didn't give me any single payment
It's either slavery or fascism, take your pick
And the hip hop industry is not slick
Remember
They're a bunch of rapists, remember
They're not good at rapping
And they don't have style
They just take it
Industry plant, but 'oh I don't eat bacon'
And that's culture, and we're supposed to be amazed by it
They have like one flow for a whole album
Or a whole career, for real
I guess I better become a hunter and start hunting deer
Maybe that way I'll be real
Or get a new hobby and add it to my reel
Be like a pro wrestler, and 'yea brother'
And just get the feels
You're advice is invalid
You're singing like a ballad
A whole snowflake salad
Stuck in the era of 'yea dude, radical'
I'm rarer than a platipus
Miss me with your platitudes
Let me guess, you don't like my attidtude
And you'd rather stick up for someone that puts you
In an average mood
And you don't like my references to animals
And I'm secretly a fan of boos
And I don't like the Packers too
Man, all these bots are starting to flock
I think it's about time we took stock
We gotta recognize the next act in this plot
Before all yall turn into these meaningless thots
