Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Bottom Feeders, artist - Fashawn.
Date of issue: 03.05.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Bottom Feeders |
The bottom feeder, God believers |
Can’t foresee winning, but quitting isn’t an option either |
We spit the mantra that Nas delivered the ROC on «Ether» |
I will not lose (listen) |
Sick grin while I sip gin from a goblet, see your |
Holy Grail runneth over with what I’ve been bleeding |
Poison melody, aim and poise steadily |
Pedigree of the Kennedys, bad luck and destiny |
See the peasantry seek hope in serenity |
Find heaven in chemistry, unplanned pregnancy |
Minds caught in zealotry, unlimited weaponry |
Lower than leprosy, starstruck by celebrity |
No longevity, no story or legacy |
Erase the future with death the only penalty |
No identity, trapped in the hegemony |
Turn neighbors to enemies, repeat the elegy |
And we got nothing |
Waiting on our meal ticket like, fuck it |
Till the day we die, our shoulders holding up that sky |
And we don’t budge and we don’t flinch |
And we don’t shrug, not a single inch |
Till the day we die |
Our shoulders holding up that sky |
They acting like they got the world on their shoulders |
Looking at us like we’re earners or soldiers |
Fill up their banks or go fill up their tanks |
Greed, money, and death they instill in their ranks |
But soon enough their little burden is over |
People are learning slow, their co-word isn’t covert |
Not hard to decipher, not murdering Dozers |
People are waking up to the birds and the Folgers |
Highly classified and preserved in a folder |
Only to be exposed when the world’s turning over (yeah) |
Seems like the world’s doing homework |
The rich have spent a hundred years digging their own dirt |
And we’re almost to six feet, critical mass |
Pitiful, let’s pickle the pigs feet |
Feet to the fire so the fire can burn |
The water’s dirty, we fight fire with fire returned (c'mon) |
And we got nothing |
Waiting on our meal ticket like, fuck it |
Till the day we die, our shoulders holding up that sky |
And we don’t budge and we don’t flinch |
And we don’t shrug, not a single inch |
Till the day we die |
Our shoulders holding up that sky |
Are you seriously surprised by the poverty? |
By default, survivors we gotta be |
Fuck classism, we defy the propriety |
Use hierarchy to divide the society |
Like instead of property we get pollyseeds |
School of hard-knocks, while they get Ivy League |
We get commissary, they get college fees |
So logically I went on a robbing spree |
Obviously, I was jacking for freedom |
Acting a heathen, trapped in a mentality |
That was backwards, the reason |
Instead of leaving the neighborhood |
We thought we owned, but was only leasing |
I would grow to believe in |
Not waiting on a mule or no acres |
No patience for liberations, reparations, a better nation |
Truthfully it’s a struggle, but I admit I’m |
Accustomed to my condition, suffering from tradition |
Still |
And we got nothing |
Waiting on our meal ticket like, fuck it |
Till the day we die, our shoulders holding up that sky |
And we don’t budge and we don’t flinch |
And we don’t shrug, not a single inch |
Till the day we die |
Our shoulders holding up that sky |