Generator - Doomtree

Uh, generation generators

Uh, spark up the accelerator

Uh, gas pedal, gas pedal

Push it, push it

This is «never settle»

Clock 'em all day, chunk 'em all night

Looking for a fight

Lean to the right or leave on your left

Lean to the chest, drink to that bite

Fuck around and swing on a bigger man

Bing bing bing bing

Ding ding, the bell ring in my head

Shaved clean off the cleaver head

Now the dude tink tink

Click when he blink down the ramp of the minivan

Cuffs clink when they link round the wrist and I think

When I’m gonna sleep when I’m gonna eat again?

Give a what what you think

Give a none less what you gonna do about

In the Minne we penny pinching

Any inch and we take a mile, style with a double pitching, fix in a cinch

Have a Coke and a smirk, I’ll smack the taste out your shirt

Rushdie that or run a check

Catch a fade or catch respect

Move (move) around with a gat from a gun show

Middle of a murder ‘Merica, murder murder not scareda ya

Yeah I hearda ya, crew out like a hernia

We out

Stop

Had a rough one, the type make a man wanna jump from the top

And it sucks, make a tough wanna chuck hella rocks at the cops

But he stuck with his middle finger up looking dumb on the block

Out of luck with his generator dry tryna find a way to not die

Hot-wired, open in the out there, no shade

Going for the next wave, close shave

But he running out the clock though

Rock those in their silly ass faces

Yeah, any damn day

I’ma reach out, you can touch faith

They can douse mud, we can soak bleach

Teach, work, live, speak that Doomtree

Uh, generation generators

Uh, spark up the accelerator

Uh, gas pedal, gas pedal

Push it, push it

This is «never settle»

Uh, this is my theme song

Hard as the brick that I cut my teeth on

Soft as the science made you

Push it, push it, push it

Farther, louder, harder

Full figure — nah full fact

Bad with a ten-key, better with a black Bic

Ratchet clip for a garter belt

Going Sally Hansen, nails hard as hell

Is that moonshine in a champagne flute?

Old English in a new tattoo?

What we do to be last the man standing

Break an ankle to stick the landing

And I’ll be singing in the silo, let that echo clear my head

Learn to tolerate the iocane, got real good at playing dead

Call to arms young statuettes

Coquetting’s clever yet, but

Venus de Milo’s better with her bayonet