Elimination Chamber (No Idols 2023)

Текст песни Domo Genesis feat The Alchemist, Earl Sweatshirt, Vince Staples, Action Bronson - Elimination Chamber (No Idols 2023)

Yo, um, yo
Oh-so cocky, you can't stop me in this old Versace
Nigga watch me in the streets like it's roller hockey
Your bitch is floppy, givin' sloppy while she call me, "Papi"
Takin' the doggies right to the face like she Kobiyashi

You niggas' flow is washy, I'm gettin' mines dry cleaned
Tight seam, it might seem I'm sellin' bitches pipe dreams
Hi, fiends, I'm back with a bag of them packed white things
My Nikes clean, I see these niggas hatin' through my ice blings

I'm a bad motherfucker, I ain't use a rubber
Super lover, so soon, you'll say hello to your newest brother
The truest colors what I bleed, but you ain't seen enough of
Nigga leaking, you gon' have to go see the deacon, you stupid sucker

Young Dom, say you old niggas should wrap it up
You whack, focus back on the craft, you hardly rap enough
The fattest blunt, and death to that pop-hop, I ain't ask for much
And stop askin' for them collabs 'cause all you bastards suck

This that thirty-deep-in-Saugus shit
Fire-starter squadron, dodgin' coppers since—
Ask her why she dropping, cuz, it's probably 'cause he prodigious
Pay the rent easy, leave the bank cheesy

And bass leave your face greasy, artisan, paint easy
Thick bristle type nigga on a bitch steez
Stanzas diesel like Vic Tanny on a fritz
Whoops, system overload, itchin' for a foe to poach

Spittin' like the engine on a motherfuckin' motorboat
Gold glisten under overcoat
Missin' all affection for these niggas
Redirectin' all these niggas

Very literal, type to sip the Mickeys out of cereal
Drunk and driving, twisty, how he inked up in the swimming pool?
Hundred stand against me, I'm a menace, void a villain, sue me
Driving into fences 'cause I hit the whip a little woozy
Bitch, I'm busy cruising, 'scuse me

Can't even walk up in the church without these niggas tryna testify
I live to die, better that than to live a lie
I rap better than most these rap veterans
Hard-headed and hopeless, hope that God let us in

Mama didn't wanna give birth to a nigga
Should've murdered a nigga, I'm a cancer to the youth
Automatics out the roof, .380 with the weave in it
On sight, scary as prom nights with Carrie

Or car rides with Berry— that's Halle, not Brent
Shooting like Brent and his brother, doin' what daddy had did
Niggas want Grammys and shit, that's funny to me
'Cause since the first take, it's been about money to me

I'm just tryin' to get what Diddy got, doin' what got Biggie shot
They told me that I wasn't shit, but left me in a litter box
Give it up and get a job

Ugh, get a job, bitch
I'm like the boss from the end of the Nintendo game
My brain is on another level, I can feel the devil's pain
Only address me by my reverend name— the good doctor
The good author, good brain in a good Porsche

Dancing drunk in dress pants like I'm a hunk
Backflip in a jacuzzi, forty floors inside the Trump
Front-flip into this high-yellow Chinese bitch's rump
Then she make me chicken broccoli for lunch

I roll a joint like a Mutumbo arm, I'm high cousin
Every time I roll the dice, it's five hundred
When I order wine, it's nine hundred, French chefs kneel before me
End of story, take a shorty to the sortee

That's the bathroom, you already know what happens there
I pull my swimming trunks down
She suck me through the boxer while I'm wearin' flip-flops
Shit's real, grip the wheel, lift steel

That's it
Yeah, woo
Fuck yeah, hello
Fanfare, bravo, encore