Текст песни Back When 2.0 - Genre

I don't drink no more bro (Aye)
It's Young Genre
Aye, turn me up
(Yea yea yea yea yea)
I remember back when I was still the Running Man
Back then, it was fuck bitches, stack 100 grand
To this day, I'm on the same shit and they don't understand
Rather put it on the card 'fore I put it on the gram aye
'Member ns tried to tell me what I can't say
Now they shook when they find out who I am aye
If it ain't Genre, give a fuck 'bout what they saying aye
'Cause I do what I want, you do what you can aye
I ain't playing don't you be around me playing aye
And fuck you cappin' ass ns on the gram aye
Hop up on the stage ns learn the hard way
Why you rapping sweet? This ain't no motherfuckin' broadway

I'm a beast, I'm on autopilot always
I body beats and these bitches on my off days
Check the stars on the pants, them designer
My bitch bad, ns look like, Where you find her? aye
I done had a dozen of 'em, never mind her yea
I'ma hit it from the back and make her spine hurt aye
Boy I'm back up on your head, I make your mind hurt
Ns tryna pop, they don't know 'bout how the grind work
Aye show no love to other side
Bitch we good, we don't know about them other guys
'Member high school eyes always bloody red
Now, I'd rather smoke a rapper leave 'em dead instead

I remember back when I was still the Running Man
Back then, it was fuck bitches, stack 100 grand
To this day, I'm on the same shit and they don't understand
Rather put it on the card 'fore I put it on the gram aye
'Member ns tried to tell me what I can't say
Now they shook when they find out who I am aye
If it ain't Genre, give a fuck 'bout what they saying aye
'Cause I do what I want, you do what you can aye
I ain't playing don't you be around me playing aye
And fuck you cappin' ass ns on the gram aye
Hop up on the stage ns learn the hard way
Why you rapping sweet? This ain't no motherfuckin' broadway

Yeah, where the motherfuckin Rozay
Yeah, I need a brand new pair of Dolces
And for that na wanna throw shade
I hit his girl, then I seen them at Chipotle I swear (Whoo, whoo)
Aye, so you dumb too
Only thing that really matters what I thumb through
Brodi got a son, guess I got a son too
Fuck with them and you get hit up with the one two I swear (Yeah)
But it's still no love to the other side
Bitch we good, we don't know about them other guys
'Member high school, eyes always bloody red
Now, I'd rather smoke a rapper, leave 'em dead instead

Baby I'ma different man when I'm in the booth
Tried to tell 'em I don't think they really get it, ooh
Y'all worried 'bout a bird, while we chasin' bags
Send them shots, I'll be damned we don't send 'em back
So you dumb too