Lyrics: Terry Wallace Sanchez/Jermaine Cole
Music: Terry Wallace Sanchez/Jermaine Cole
Producer: Pi'erre Bourne
Yo P'ierre, you wanna come out here?
Uh
Blow for blow, Cole flow just prestigious
Sweats and tees, no unnecessary accessories
The G.O.A.T. just from features
Proceed with throat-cut procedures
He look rich, but he broke, just egregious
Don't trust rappers, hoe, trust Jesus
Whole team approach Costa Rican
Coast on boats, gettin' throat from top models
They pop shit, my clique pop bottles
I sip orange juice in the VIP watchin' the clock tick
Perform a couple of hits and then I dip
Six figures richer than when I entered
Cole world, Mr. I-Got-A-Temper
I stay hot, doin' numbers like K-Pop
BTS in the flesh while they flop
And I laugh all the way to the Deutsche bank
Stay the **** out my lane, avoid the pain
I'm really him, Bruce Jenner, boy just ain't
I'm boisterous, loud boos for crews from mad voices
It's like your team's makin' the choice to take L after L, I got to laugh
Y'all look like James Todd Smith autograph
Maybe that's why your bitch dropped the math
Go against the squad and get chopped in half
Now, who hot? Who not?
Tell me who fly, who sell out the tours?
Who rap with trap niggas that wet up your doors
Who go harder than them, and never let off before
Who got your whore pokin' her head out the door
Gettin' paid every week like he did all his chores
Life's a bitch, I'm rich 'til I divorce
If the shit go left, I'm pullin' bread out the floor
Okay, chain nastier than cow manure
Bustdown my shooter, saw more wires than a bomb defuser
Take a jet to the jungle, was healin' my soul
I done seen my niggas froze, filled up with [?]
I still did numbers in this game
Only thing change just the tail numbers on the plane
Retired drug dealer, bust chain, watch plain
I don't do drugs, but baby, I don't judge, do your thing
I'm a king, you won't see me drop no tears
Back to back white coupes, bitches lookin' like veneers
Came in this game thinkin' niggas was my peers
Shit damn near broke my heart, I didn't know they was that weird
Niggas give you their word, they be breakin' that so easily
Can't do that in streets, 'cause eventually you seein' me
That's why I be in the crib gamin', DND
'Cause you can't play with me, and I done let you see the beast in me
Cole say in Fayetteville they go "Ayy-ayy-ayy"
Fact he **** me with me like that, it make up for them rainy days
Can't be on the court, NBA, coach take my game away
Catch you on that freeway, we reenact the Training Day
You hear me? Who ain't rockin' with me?
Tell 'em to start from zero, then make it out of the D
Remember bein' young, seein' pops rockin' up keys
Or bodies on streets, now I'm tryna put bodies in seats
You hear me, hold up, who ain't rockin' with me?
Tell 'em to play with they life, fumble they college degree
Tell 'em to face all that time and still be solid as me
Do years in prison and drop a hit the day I release
You hear me?, Yo, unc, I got ahead of them niggas
I should've listened, I turned back and tried to rescue them niggas
See, you start hatin' 'cause I got ahead of you nigga
I ain't trippin', that shit ain't gon' stop this cheddar, my nigga
You hear me
Now, who hot? Who not?
Tell me who fly, who sell out the tours?
Who rap with trap niggas that wet up your doors
Who go harder than them, and never let off before
Who got your whore pokin' her head out the door
Gettin' paid every week like he did all his chores
Life's a bitch, I'm rich 'til I divorce
If the shit go left, I'm pullin' bread out the floor
Now, who hot? Who not?
Tell me who fly, who sell out the tours?
Who rap with trap niggas that wet up your doors
Who go harder than them, and never let off before
Who got your whore pokin' her head out the door
Gettin' paid every week like he did all his chores
Life's a bitch, I'm rich 'til I divorce
If the shit go left, I'm pullin' bread out the floor
Mastering Engineer: Mike Tucci
Vocals: Tee Grizzley/J. Cole
Mixing Engineer: Patrizio "Teezio" Pigliapoco