These are my bangers, this is my playlist These are my hits, but bitch I'm not famous This is what I'm talking bout, the mainstream hates this The freaks are all shameless leeches and I'm nameless Good god I love the Underground, bury me now Carry me out down that scary aisle and marry me, Sound So now we bounce out to the very town where terriers howl At a fair and full moon, they've had it being human for now I would dig my own grave if it kept me out the mainstream Cuz I know they would hate me, so why should I safe? See I'm not about that "awesome" debauchery, that's a lame scene Encouraging these late teens to put their faith in fake dreams And go with the flow, so I'd rather spit this sick shit As in I'm in this music institution as its patient I'm patient, say shit, these rappers lacking patience All hoping to blow, but I hope they know most of em ain't shit So I stay content with my position in this hospital While I watch all these cocky bullshit artists hit their obstacles Then fall a full flight of stairs down cuz of all their gaudy gold It's comical, cuz all this time I'm rocking in my Pop Cult It's hopeless, nobody shows love to vocals in dope cuts Unless it's a chrome-studded colloquial faux thug These folks wouldn't know ruckus if ruckus was known fun These fuckers just flow tons of this rubbish and blow blunts No, I don't wanna listen bout the bitches you did last night And liquor? Pshh, go figure, I figured you'd get your "cash right" I'm not interested in your triggers or your gat fights Your clapping's a sack of crap, is that your murder rap? Psych You're fibbing undercover like you're Gus and Shawn And I'm a sick motherfucker like I'm ill and fucking your moms I'd like the bricks, all your drugs, so I can have fun with the law You run shit hard on your block? Or are you nothing but fraud Fucking come on, if I was into shit they played on the radio Hey the labels would pay me the dough to say shit I ain't even know Lame freaks would play me at home with ladies while baking and stoned But I'd rather play me alone and say that I hate em, ya know All my underground artists, where your studios at I said all my underground artists where your studios at Are you bootleg and basement when doing your rap Don't be ashamed you ain't "made it," your music's intact And you don't answer to nobody, your flow is your own hobby You're focused and dope but mostly alone at your own party It's hardly a party when the majority owns Barbie But knowing that your soul hasn't been sold to copy boasts art See this is real shit, and a lot of hits are sellout You sell embellished albums to your crowds? Get the hell out Cuz I'm ready to yell now and belt this out as swelled sound You'll hear it well and loud even though I dwell in the Underground
Written by: Sauce Is Matisse
Lyrics © DistroKid
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"Still Nameless Lyrics." Lyrics.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 4 Dec. 2020. <https://www.lyrics.com/lyric-lf/1666334/Sauce+Is+Matisse>.