[Intro:]
This is a public service announcement
Brought to you by the good people over at Dreamville Records.
And so my fellow Americans,
Ask not what your country can do for you,
Ask what you can do for your country.
Excuse me.
[Verse 1:]
Load the clip in the chopper, flip the script and get Oscars,
All my niggas is mobsters, all my bitches is doctors.
Cole World, this just the tip of the iceberg,
So talk shit and taste the tip of the Mossberg.
Don't trip, nigga, they just words,
Though my words tend to sound like proverbs.
Niggas don't see the preachers ‘til we dead in the hearse,
Granny broke ‘cause she always givin' bread to the church,
Now pastor Mason Betha in a Lambo,
And little niggas holdin' Desert Eagles like they Rambo,
Bumpin' my shit. Always wondered, why they fuck with my shit?
I hope it's ‘bout the knowledge, not about who's suckin' my dick.
But, oh well, I'm gon' sell like I had no bail,
For my chain and my piece I should've won Nobel.
Ill. Boy, you cold nigga. – Yeah, I know, nigga.
Only young nigga do it better than the old niggas.
[Chorus:]
Took chances, slow dance with the devil, bitch,
Overcomin' the circumstances, we hella rich,
Since you all in my business, this what I tell a bitch,
“If you ain't fuckin' me, don't fuck with me, this life on the edge.”
Green dollars splurged all on embellishments,
My fellowship paid, don't need to cop my fellas shit,
Scoopin' hoes in the party, some Cinderella shit,
Smash for the hell of it, livin' life on the edge.
Miss America, petty thoughts,
Miss America, petty thoughts,
Miss America, petty thoughts,
Just to floss pay any and every cost.
Heavy heart as I sit in this Range countin' thousands out:
Am I about dollars or about change?
Am I about knowledge or about brains?
Freedom or big chains? They don't feel my pain
[Verse 2:]
Blood on my sneakers, no remorse for the grievers,
He played the corner like Revis, he should've had better defense.
That's how I'm feelin', blood spillin', I love killin',
Niggas'll swear that they it, this is as rare as it gets.
Rap game changed, this is embarrassing shit,
Bunch of bitches posin' on some old Miss America shit.
I was a wilder nigga back on my Therapist shit, movin' careless as shit
In a city where niggas really don't care who they hit.
Who the fuck was I?
Just a young little nigga tryin' to see the other side
Of the railroad tracks, where them scarecrows at,
No brains on a nigga but they'll air your back.
Fuck the man, Uncle Sam, I won't sell your crack!
I won't fight your wars, I won't wear your hat!
Imma pass your classes, Imma learn your craft!
Imma fuck your daughters, Imma burn your flag!
[Chorus]
[Outro:]
They don't feel my pain.
They'll never feel my pain.
And they'll never play this shit on the radio.