Middle Child
J. Cole
(You good T-Minus?)
Niggas been counting me out
I’m counting my bullets, I’m loading my clips
I’m writing down names, I’m making a list
I’m checking it twice, and I’m getting them hit
The real ones been dying, the fake ones is lit
The game is off balance, I’m back on my shit
The Bentley is dirty, my sneakers is dirty
But that’s how I like it
You all on my dick
I’m all in my bag
This hard as it get, I do not snort powder
I might take a sip
I might hit the blunt, but I’m liable to trip
I ain’t popping no pill but you do as you wish
I roll with some fiends, I love em to death
I got a few mil but not all of them rich
What good is the bread if my niggas is broke
What good is first class if my niggas can’t sit
That’s my next mission, that’s why I can’t quit
Just like Lebron, get my niggas more chips
Just put the Rollie right back on my wrist
This watch came from Drizzy, he gave me a gift
Back when the rap game was praying I’d diss
They act like two legends cannot coexist
But I’d never beef with a nigga for nothing
If I smoke a rapper it’s gone be legit
It won’t be for clout
It won’t be for fame
It won’t be cause my shit ain’t selling the same
It won’t be to sell you my latest lil sneakers
It won’t be cause some niggas slid in my lane
Everything grows, it’s destined to change
I love you lil niggas, I’m glad that you came
I hope that you scrape every dollar you can
I hope you know money won’t erase the pain
To the OGs, I’m thanking you now
Was watching you when you was paving the ground
I copied yo cadence, I mirrored yo style
I studied the greats, I’m the greatest right now
Fuck if you feel me, you ain’t gotta choice
I ain’t do no promo, still made all that noise
This year gone be different, I set my intentions
I promise to slap all that hate out your voice
Niggas been counting me out
I’m counting my bullets, I’m loading my clips
I’m writing down names, I’m making a list
I’m checking it twice, and I’m getting them hit
The real ones been dying, the fake ones is lit
The game is off balance, I’m back on my shit
The Bentley is dirty, my sneakers is dirty
But that’s how I like it
You all on my dick
I just poured something in my cup
I been wanting something I can feel
Promise I am never letting up
Money in your palm don’t make you real
Foot is on they neck, I got them stuck
Imma give them something they can feel
If it ain’t bout the squad, don’t give a fuck
Pistol in yo hand don’t make you real
I’m dead in the middle of two generations
I’m little bro and big bro all at once
Just left the lab with young 21 Savage
I’m bout to go and meet Jigga for lunch
Had a long talk with the young nigga Kodak
Reminded me of young niggas from Ville
Straight out the projects, no faking just honest
I wish that he had more guidance forreal
Too many niggas in cycle of jail
Spending they birthdays inside of a cell
We coming from a long blood line of trauma
We raised by our mamas, Lord we gotta heal
We hurting our sisters, the babies as well
We killing our brothers, they poisoned the well
Distorted self image, we set up to fail
Imma make sure that the real gon’ prevail, nigga
I just poured something in my cup
I been wanting something I can feel
Promise I am never letting up
Money in your palm don’t make you real
Foot is on they neck, I got them stuck
Imma give them something they can feel
If it ain’t bout the squad, don’t give a fuck
Pistol in yo hand don’t make you real
Money in your palm don’t make you real
Pistol in yo hand don’t make you real
Money in your palm don’t make you real
compositores: Allan Felder, Jermaine Cole, Norman Harris, Tyler Matthew Carl Williams
Você é fã de J. Cole? Gosta da letra da música?
Compartilhe com seus amigos.
Niggas been counting me out
I’m counting my bullets, I’m loading my clips
I’m writing down names, I’m making a list
I’m checking it twice, and I’m getting them hit
The real ones been dying, the fake ones is lit
The game is off balance, I’m back on my shit
The Bentley is dirty, my sneakers is dirty
But that’s how I like it
You all on my dick
I’m all in my bag
This hard as it get, I do not snort powder
I might take a sip
I might hit the blunt, but I’m liable to trip
I ain’t popping no pill but you do as you wish
I roll with some fiends, I love em to death
I got a few mil but not all of them rich
What good is the bread if my niggas is broke
What good is first class if my niggas can’t sit
That’s my next mission, that’s why I can’t quit
Just like Lebron, get my niggas more chips
Just put the Rollie right back on my wrist
This watch came from Drizzy, he gave me a gift
Back when the rap game was praying I’d diss
They act like two legends cannot coexist
But I’d never beef with a nigga for nothing
If I smoke a rapper it’s gone be legit
It won’t be for clout
It won’t be for fame
It won’t be cause my shit ain’t selling the same
It won’t be to sell you my latest lil sneakers
It won’t be cause some niggas slid in my lane
Everything grows, it’s destined to change
I love you lil niggas, I’m glad that you came
I hope that you scrape every dollar you can
I hope you know money won’t erase the pain
To the OGs, I’m thanking you now
Was watching you when you was paving the ground
I copied yo cadence, I mirrored yo style
I studied the greats, I’m the greatest right now
Fuck if you feel me, you ain’t gotta choice
I ain’t do no promo, still made all that noise
This year gone be different, I set my intentions
I promise to slap all that hate out your voice
Niggas been counting me out
I’m counting my bullets, I’m loading my clips
I’m writing down names, I’m making a list
I’m checking it twice, and I’m getting them hit
The real ones been dying, the fake ones is lit
The game is off balance, I’m back on my shit
The Bentley is dirty, my sneakers is dirty
But that’s how I like it
You all on my dick
I just poured something in my cup
I been wanting something I can feel
Promise I am never letting up
Money in your palm don’t make you real
Foot is on they neck, I got them stuck
Imma give them something they can feel
If it ain’t bout the squad, don’t give a fuck
Pistol in yo hand don’t make you real
I’m dead in the middle of two generations
I’m little bro and big bro all at once
Just left the lab with young 21 Savage
I’m bout to go and meet Jigga for lunch
Had a long talk with the young nigga Kodak
Reminded me of young niggas from Ville
Straight out the projects, no faking just honest
I wish that he had more guidance forreal
Too many niggas in cycle of jail
Spending they birthdays inside of a cell
We coming from a long blood line of trauma
We raised by our mamas, Lord we gotta heal
We hurting our sisters, the babies as well
We killing our brothers, they poisoned the well
Distorted self image, we set up to fail
Imma make sure that the real gon’ prevail, nigga
I just poured something in my cup
I been wanting something I can feel
Promise I am never letting up
Money in your palm don’t make you real
Foot is on they neck, I got them stuck
Imma give them something they can feel
If it ain’t bout the squad, don’t give a fuck
Pistol in yo hand don’t make you real
Money in your palm don’t make you real
Pistol in yo hand don’t make you real
Money in your palm don’t make you real
compositores: Allan Felder, Jermaine Cole, Norman Harris, Tyler Matthew Carl Williams
Você é fã de J. Cole? Gosta da letra da música?
Compartilhe com seus amigos.
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