J. Cole

"Middle Child (DREAMmix)"

n*ggas they counted me out
They should’ve know I’m never down for the count
Watch how I come back like I’m Mr. Chow
Smell like a cloud, my backwood is stout
Ya’ll worried bout clout, you pout when you put
You all in bag, it’s more like a pouch
Running up numbers, you running your mouth
You running the town but can’t run a mile
Like Vee Marie I’m calling you out
Half of ya’ll trash, Oscar the grouch
The pen is my friend, the pen is my pal
When it comes to favorites, I know it’s a drought
Give credit when due, like with my PayPal
Some of you lil n*ggas I’m helping out
I need my commish like Roger Goddell
Trixs is for kids ask General Mills
Feel overwhelmed over & out
Only the weed can help me calm down
Help get over this hump, over this mound
This for the fences, like I can joust
Flow so cold, I should cover my mouth
sh*tting on ya’ll, should check out my bowels
State of Emergency, go in the house
Someone Call EMS, I’m blacking out

n*ggas been countin' me out
I'm countin' my bullets, I'm loadin' my clips
I'm writin' down names, I'm makin' a list
I'm checkin' it twice and I'm gettin' 'em hit
The real ones been dyin', the fake ones is lit
The game is off balance, I'm back on my sh*t
The Bentley is dirty, my sneakers is dirty
But that's how I like it, you all on my di*k

I just poured somethin' in my cup
I've been wantin' somethin' I can feel
Promise I am never lettin' up
Money in your palm don't make you real
Foot is on they neck, I got 'em stuck
I'ma give 'em somethin' they can feel
If it ain't 'bout the squad, don't give a f*ck
Pistol in your hand don't make you real

Money in your palm don't make you real
Pistol in your hand don't make you real
Money in your palm don't make you dream

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