"Bots"

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