My Boy (feat. J. Cole) [Freestyle]
Wale
Count me in, Cole
Right here?
Nah, not yet
Yeah, bounce, bounce
My boy, my boy
My boy, my boy, my boy
Yeah, right here?
Ay, look, uh, yeah, ok
Concrete since day one, ain't no time to make up
Ain’t no top on that hoop, like baby, word to a cup
Thank you for your services, invoicing all my haters
Be sure to leave your armor and your woman penetrated
I give her back, I hate her, poof, get out her hair
I say congratulations, your old lady renovated
You niggas lazy, my boy, why you hatin', my guy?
You bought her Commes des Garçons
She come and play with your heart
I'm far from a popular artist, one of the hardest, no lesser
And I saw your woman, I call her low like a Cardigan sweater
Call her whatever you want, I got my revenue up
In Beverly Hills, my ceilings like the Beverly brothers
Since day one, Folarin been the same one
I came up in them go-gos most of them was afraid of
Now kill mo’, say that, now kill mo', say that
But when your wheel is a fortune, you ne'er gotta say jack
Don't be talking too much, these niggas copy too much
These niggas cardio crazy, chasing clout must be tough
Fuck it, I wrote me, a dozen niggas got me fucked up
I raise my hands and raise your family's casualties up
I'm faded, I'm playing
These niggas don't be no gangster, they be paying it
Extortion ain’t dead, it just moved to the county
Shoot them out the S-class, I guess you won’t see the problem
I know every who and who and every who that I'm around
And what you call a piece of mind, I call a picture for a bounty
Hold up, yeah, I’m in my luggage, in my luggage, hold up, boy
I'm on the runway like I'm Duckie, hold up
Prolific, really be living my lyrics
So tell me, who did it this big and who ain't ’bout to slow up?
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
Who gon' bring my crown to me? (yeah) who gon' try to fuck with me? (ay)
Faded off the brown (brown), she can't get enough of me (ay)
I don't play around (round), got that type of luxury (yeah)
Bitch it's going down, it ain't no catching up to me
Yeah, stepped in the building with my vibe on a million
Slide on the beat like my God, I'm so brilliant
All other rappers, put your pride to the side
Try collide with the squad, turn your mob into corn on the cob
You's a fraud, you's a thorn in my side
I'm a knife in your back, I'm that turn of the knob
On the door, when the boy from the corner come rob you
And tie you up to something, now, stop with all that frontin'
That big money talk should be reserved for those that got it
But when you really got it, you ain't pressed to talk about it
That's why I hear that capping on your raps and highly doubt it
The game too crowded
I'm 'bout to get all the way the fuck up out it
No ifs, ands or buts about it
30 mill' on a deal depending on how the tour was routed
I seen your watch when you first dropped, that shit was clouded
Which means, you used to fugazi shit
Fake it 'till you make it-type, I shoot through you crazy with
Hollow tips, no holler backs, just hotter raps
I gotta black to make sure every dirty dollar stacked
Y'all aiming for the stars, bitch, I'm aiming at your Starter cap
Run, nigga, run like a fucking black quarterback (uh)
Stereotypical, but to hear me is pivotal
I will bury you niggas and come and air out your funeral
Have your homies on stretchers right next to Roman numerals
IVs, IVs it's the reason why nobody try me, try me
Have a nigga screaming, "Lord, why me? Why me?
Cole did me grimy, he took it too far, he treat them bullets like they Siamese"
Back to back, I clap like that's a wrap
But no video shoots, just hoodies and boots
Puttin' your troops in pine boxes
I blew a million on white tees and Calvin Klein boxers
This nigga silly
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
My boy, my boy, my boy, say what!
Who gon' bring the crown?
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
And who won' try to fuck with me?
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
Faded off the brown, she can't get enough of me
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
I don't play around,don't got that type of luxury
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
Bitches going down, a body catching up to me
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
Who gon' bring my crown to me?
And who won' try to fuck with me?
Faded off the brown, she can't get enough of me
I don't play around, ain't got that type of luxury
Bitches going down, it ain't catching up to me
Who gon' bring my crown?
And who won' try to fuck with me?
Faded off the brown, and she can't get enough of me
I don't play around, ain't got that type of luxury
Bitches going down, it ain't catching up to me
Who gon' bring my crown?
And who won' try to fuck with me?
Faded off the brown, and she can't get enough of me
I don't play around, ain't got that type of luxury
Bitches going down, it ain't catching up to me
compositores: Jermaine L. Cole, Olubowale Victor Akintimehin
Você é fã de Wale? Gosta da letra da música?
Compartilhe com seus amigos.
Right here?
Nah, not yet
Yeah, bounce, bounce
My boy, my boy
My boy, my boy, my boy
Yeah, right here?
Ay, look, uh, yeah, ok
Concrete since day one, ain't no time to make up
Ain’t no top on that hoop, like baby, word to a cup
Thank you for your services, invoicing all my haters
Be sure to leave your armor and your woman penetrated
I give her back, I hate her, poof, get out her hair
I say congratulations, your old lady renovated
You niggas lazy, my boy, why you hatin', my guy?
You bought her Commes des Garçons
She come and play with your heart
I'm far from a popular artist, one of the hardest, no lesser
And I saw your woman, I call her low like a Cardigan sweater
Call her whatever you want, I got my revenue up
In Beverly Hills, my ceilings like the Beverly brothers
Since day one, Folarin been the same one
I came up in them go-gos most of them was afraid of
Now kill mo’, say that, now kill mo', say that
But when your wheel is a fortune, you ne'er gotta say jack
Don't be talking too much, these niggas copy too much
These niggas cardio crazy, chasing clout must be tough
Fuck it, I wrote me, a dozen niggas got me fucked up
I raise my hands and raise your family's casualties up
I'm faded, I'm playing
These niggas don't be no gangster, they be paying it
Extortion ain’t dead, it just moved to the county
Shoot them out the S-class, I guess you won’t see the problem
I know every who and who and every who that I'm around
And what you call a piece of mind, I call a picture for a bounty
Hold up, yeah, I’m in my luggage, in my luggage, hold up, boy
I'm on the runway like I'm Duckie, hold up
Prolific, really be living my lyrics
So tell me, who did it this big and who ain't ’bout to slow up?
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
Who gon' bring my crown to me? (yeah) who gon' try to fuck with me? (ay)
Faded off the brown (brown), she can't get enough of me (ay)
I don't play around (round), got that type of luxury (yeah)
Bitch it's going down, it ain't no catching up to me
Yeah, stepped in the building with my vibe on a million
Slide on the beat like my God, I'm so brilliant
All other rappers, put your pride to the side
Try collide with the squad, turn your mob into corn on the cob
You's a fraud, you's a thorn in my side
I'm a knife in your back, I'm that turn of the knob
On the door, when the boy from the corner come rob you
And tie you up to something, now, stop with all that frontin'
That big money talk should be reserved for those that got it
But when you really got it, you ain't pressed to talk about it
That's why I hear that capping on your raps and highly doubt it
The game too crowded
I'm 'bout to get all the way the fuck up out it
No ifs, ands or buts about it
30 mill' on a deal depending on how the tour was routed
I seen your watch when you first dropped, that shit was clouded
Which means, you used to fugazi shit
Fake it 'till you make it-type, I shoot through you crazy with
Hollow tips, no holler backs, just hotter raps
I gotta black to make sure every dirty dollar stacked
Y'all aiming for the stars, bitch, I'm aiming at your Starter cap
Run, nigga, run like a fucking black quarterback (uh)
Stereotypical, but to hear me is pivotal
I will bury you niggas and come and air out your funeral
Have your homies on stretchers right next to Roman numerals
IVs, IVs it's the reason why nobody try me, try me
Have a nigga screaming, "Lord, why me? Why me?
Cole did me grimy, he took it too far, he treat them bullets like they Siamese"
Back to back, I clap like that's a wrap
But no video shoots, just hoodies and boots
Puttin' your troops in pine boxes
I blew a million on white tees and Calvin Klein boxers
This nigga silly
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
My boy, my boy, my boy, say what!
Who gon' bring the crown?
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
And who won' try to fuck with me?
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
Faded off the brown, she can't get enough of me
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
I don't play around,don't got that type of luxury
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
Bitches going down, a body catching up to me
My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy, my boy
Who gon' bring my crown to me?
And who won' try to fuck with me?
Faded off the brown, she can't get enough of me
I don't play around, ain't got that type of luxury
Bitches going down, it ain't catching up to me
Who gon' bring my crown?
And who won' try to fuck with me?
Faded off the brown, and she can't get enough of me
I don't play around, ain't got that type of luxury
Bitches going down, it ain't catching up to me
Who gon' bring my crown?
And who won' try to fuck with me?
Faded off the brown, and she can't get enough of me
I don't play around, ain't got that type of luxury
Bitches going down, it ain't catching up to me
compositores: Jermaine L. Cole, Olubowale Victor Akintimehin
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Compartilhe com seus amigos.
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