Lotta bULLSHIT RF Demo by Kig V2 Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Some old, dead legend I’ve never heard, and sposed to respect
Said, “Mo money, mo problems,” and that was fucking that
You see
We all have that one token song about fucking
Drugging
Fluffing discographies with stuff we know they’re munching
We all have that one unspecific track about love
But what really interests me is ad nauseam from up above
We all
Have reasons, to enter this Coliseum
But they climb up the vine, and forget all that they believed in, like
“Waaah...ulterior motives
Everyone exterior fake, these snakes just want promotions
It’s not like I had helping hands, enhancing my name up
It’s not like I was pitiful, pissing pittances for paper
My rose-choked blindfold won’t let me see the hard times
And imaginary palisades keep me from relocating, hard-line
Shit
It’s not like I can just donate the excess
And anonymously release new art, if it’s really still my passion…”
[Chorus]
Lotta bullshit…
Unh, yuh, unh, lotta bullshit…
[Verse 2]
I think you forget what single-digit views feel like
I think you forget Kris Kringle never do’ed ya’all right
I think you take for granted your leveled flappers and connections
Your combatants and experts, your counsels and artisans
Even my man Muhibbi talks of feeling worldly strife...
Well I feel that shit, and make little over fifty bucks most nights
Maybe authority’s responsibility wasn’t your cup of imported tea
But you have the option to opt out, so your audacity sickens me, like
You’re whining about success
My mind’s fucking blown!
You can retire after a Recession, I bet that’s tiring as horse
I bet there’s no damn way you can’t just turn off your damn phone
Take the whole family for steak, twice a day, and know the swipe will go through
I know dude
Must really suck for seeing your sweeties and sidekicks for what they is
That greed, toxic dependency, and insincerity was in’em, the only difference
Is now you’re rich
Ugh-ha, what a bitch
Your contract to a label has an end, dude, as opposed to bein' a calf in the same old pen, about to be glue
[Outro]
Na’a’mean?
Lotta bullshit
Yah
Up, here, in America:
Where we hate the rich’s tight fists and snobbish snubs
Until we get our pinch of that flimsy crust, yuh, ee-yuh
Some old, dead legend I’ve never heard, and sposed to respect
Said, “Mo money, mo problems,” and that was fucking that
You see
We all have that one token song about fucking
Drugging
Fluffing discographies with stuff we know they’re munching
We all have that one unspecific track about love
But what really interests me is ad nauseam from up above
We all
Have reasons, to enter this Coliseum
But they climb up the vine, and forget all that they believed in, like
“Waaah...ulterior motives
Everyone exterior fake, these snakes just want promotions
It’s not like I had helping hands, enhancing my name up
It’s not like I was pitiful, pissing pittances for paper
My rose-choked blindfold won’t let me see the hard times
And imaginary palisades keep me from relocating, hard-line
Shit
It’s not like I can just donate the excess
And anonymously release new art, if it’s really still my passion…”
[Chorus]
Lotta bullshit…
Unh, yuh, unh, lotta bullshit…
[Verse 2]
I think you forget what single-digit views feel like
I think you forget Kris Kringle never do’ed ya’all right
I think you take for granted your leveled flappers and connections
Your combatants and experts, your counsels and artisans
Even my man Muhibbi talks of feeling worldly strife...
Well I feel that shit, and make little over fifty bucks most nights
Maybe authority’s responsibility wasn’t your cup of imported tea
But you have the option to opt out, so your audacity sickens me, like
You’re whining about success
My mind’s fucking blown!
You can retire after a Recession, I bet that’s tiring as horse
I bet there’s no damn way you can’t just turn off your damn phone
Take the whole family for steak, twice a day, and know the swipe will go through
I know dude
Must really suck for seeing your sweeties and sidekicks for what they is
That greed, toxic dependency, and insincerity was in’em, the only difference
Is now you’re rich
Ugh-ha, what a bitch
Your contract to a label has an end, dude, as opposed to bein' a calf in the same old pen, about to be glue
[Outro]
Na’a’mean?
Lotta bullshit
Yah
Up, here, in America:
Where we hate the rich’s tight fists and snobbish snubs
Until we get our pinch of that flimsy crust, yuh, ee-yuh