Middle Child (Nitin Randhawa Remix)

[Intro: J. Cole] You good, T-Minus? (You are watching a master at work) (Nitin Randhawa) [Refrain] Niggas 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 shit The Bentley is dirty, my sneakers is dirty But that's how I like it, you all on my dick [Verse 1: J. Cole] 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 poppin' 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 prayin' I'd diss They act like two legends cannot coexist But I'd never beef with a nigga for nothin' If I smoke a rapper, it's gon' be legit It won't be for clout, it won't be for fame It won't be 'cause my shit ain't sellin' the same It won't be to sell you my latest lil' sneakers It won't be 'cause some nigga 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 thankin' you now Was watchin' you when you was pavin' the ground I copied your cadence, I mirrored your style I studied the greats, I'm the greatest right now Fuck if you feel me, you ain't got a choice Now I ain't do no promo, still made all that noise This year gon' be different, I set my intentions I promise to slap all that hate out your voice [Refrain] Niggas 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 shit The Bentley is dirty, my sneakers is dirty But that's how I like it, you all on my dick [Chorus: J. Cole] 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 fuck (Awww shit) Pistol in your hand don't make you real (Joyner) [Verse 2: Joyner Lucas & Chris Brown] While I'm drivin', I'm moonwalkin' in the sky with some shooters We jump inside of the Buick, you duck and hide from the Rugers (Brap, brap) A couple choppers, acoustic in the guitar with no music Guess I'm alive and I use it, get stuck inside of the cubics (Buck, buck) I never lie, but the truth is I'm fuckin' tired of these losers And all my life want the food when it's supper time and the juice (Brap, brap) But I'd rather die than to lose, it's a matter of time 'fore I lose it And strategize with the movement-t-t-t-t-t (Buck, buck) Walk in the trap like a boss, ooh Ho, you know I'm drippin' with the sauce, ooh Pretty, with a face full of scars All they did was build me up, tried to take me apart (Buck, buck, buck) They ain't ever wanna celebrate like you have a label Call the doctor, heard the chopper make 'em do the Macarena (Yeah, yeah, yeah) All you niggas sweet as candy, chocolate chip and Now and Later Jolly Rancher, stick of bubblegum, it's watermelon flavored (Woo, woo, woo!) Get the paper, I'ma (Celebrate) on the corner Heard you niggas got the juice, but I got Corona Got a little Spanish bitch, I call her maricona Joyner Lucas, bitch, I'm hotter than a fuckin' sauna (Woo, woo, woo!) Yeah, I make you niggas (Elevate) All you new niggas don't do it for me, look (Woah) Bitch I'm the professor, you a student to me, woah Designer shades on, like you cooler than me, wait (Ayy) All we do is win, you a loser to me Rappers wanna talk about battle me (Joyner) You can't give me neck with a mouth full of cavities Bunch of lil' niggas tried grabbin' me (Grabbin' me) Five foot five, boy, you niggas like half of me You don't wanna see the other side of me (Yeah) Hard to make 'em happy, all these bitches stay mad at me I just might take her out to Applebee's (Applebee's) Give her long dick and a strawberry [Chorus: J. Cole] 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 fuck Pistol in your hand don't make you real [Verse 3: Chris Brown & Joyner Lucas] Cheesecake Factory, bubblin', why you mumblin'? What you utter? Stop stutterin', what you spend? Let me double it Lime green 'Rari, two twins, call 'em double mints If all you pussy niggas my kids, I'm in trouble then Shut up 'fore I spank you for actin' up Now I'm wakin' up in cabanas 'cause she bad as fuck And all gorillas don't want bananas 'less your chain is tucked You wiggity-wack with the strap, you cross Chris, make you jump I criss-cross with the pump, ain't no bricks in the trunk Leave that shit for the chumps, I still get what I want Don't wanna believe in my mind, but you believe in my dump I'm takin' a knee for my side, could give a fuck 'bout the owners Nigga look at my eyes, you 'bout to give me my bonus And every motherfuckin' record, that's a hit, I record it (Celebrate) And e'ry motherfuckin' snitch up in this bitch, they report it (Celebrate) You paid your way for this fade and can't even afford it 75 mil', look at me now (Celebrate) And all these bad bitches can't keep their feet down (Elevate) You don't really wanna see Brown Need to stop all that shit talkin', put the seat down Joyner, I don't really feel these niggas Hol' up, I ain't gotta pay to kill these niggas Time is money, need to fuck around and bill these niggas Vet, so I'm finna good will these niggas (Celebrate) (Buck, buck, buck) I'ma kill these niggas, I should grill these niggas Take flex, Fresh Prince, Uncle Phil these niggas (Brap, brap, brap) Oh shit, I'm the shit, you could smell me, nigga Break ribs, yeah, you don't want no real beef, nigga I say As-salāmu ʿalaykum when I tear apart some bacon Hoe, you actin' like a pig, you fuckin' filthy, nigga (Woo, woo, woo!) Now the police tryna lock me in the prison, said, "I'm guilty" I said, "Da da da da da, come and kill me, nigga" (Buck) [Chorus: J. Cole] 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 fuck Pistol in your hand don't make you real [Verse 4: Nipsey Hussle] Look We just sitting here tryna win Pull up to the spot, it’s a flock of Benz So much smoke need oxygen Re-up money, that’s not to spend All gold bottles at Toxic and Standing on the couch, me and my accomplices Pop a bottle, spot the bitch; get the bitch, got the bitch Streets wanna know 'when you droppin' Nip?' Police wanna know how you got your Six? Niggas on the side hate to watch the shit See you on top, so they throw rocks and shit Never really was with the talking shit Me, I just went and got a pot to piss Upgrade diamonds on my watch and shit Pictures on the wall at the offices AC colder than my Compton bitch Talking that “You don’t even need a condom” shit Look, I’m really on some baller shit On some rich nigga, I ain't gotta call you shit On some, fuck with me if you loyal shit Everybody in my circle get spoiled shit Really started in the soil shit Crowns on the wrist, that’s royal shit [Chorus: J. Cole] 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 fuck Pistol in your hand don't make you real [Verse 5: J. Cole] 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 fakin', just honest I wish that he had more guidance, for real Too many niggas in cycle of jail Spending they birthdays inside of a cell We coming from a long bloodline 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 I'ma make sure that the real gon' prevail, nigga [Chorus: J. Cole] 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 (Turn me up) If it ain't 'bout the squad, don't give a fuck Pistol in your hand don't make you real (Sin City, Sin City Sin City, Sin City) [Verse 6: Kendrick Lamar] Big money, big booty bitches Tell the truth, nigga, I'm lost without it 7 figures for a headline You want some stage time? We can talk about it Niggas actin' like they be rappin' Like nice on the mic, truly doubt it Go against the kid, y'all don't wanna live That decision is hella childish Rose gold for my old hoes They ain't satisfied then I sit 'em down 10th grade, I gave her all shade But now she got some ass, I wan' hit it now I don't lease, I just all out feast I put a blue Caprice on Gary Coleman Bomb head and some cheese eggs That's a new raise and a signing bonus [Verse 7: Jay Rock] Fall in this bitch Like some good pussy—can't stand myself So good, she so hood She a cheesehead, patty melt GED with some EBTs, and some DVDs That shit was happening She reel me in with some chicken wings And some collard greens, that shit was brackin' Just cracked me a new bitch Bust a new nut on her nigga's jersey My bitch get off at 9 o'clock So I had to shake her 'round 7:30 105, I'm stomping fast With these big guns, I'm hella dirty Get caught with this shit I ain't comin' home 'til like 2030 [Chorus: Kendrick Lamar] I got big money, big booty bitches Man, that shit gon' be death of me (death of me) Big problems, I must admit it Man, that shit gon' be death of me (death of me) Big dreams, no superstition Man, that shit gon' be death of me (death of me) I pray to a C-Note, my mama gave up hope I can't stand myself I just bought a new coat, I might go broke I can't stand myself I just might ban myself I just might... God! [Outro: Kendrick Lamar and J. Cole] Can't stand myself (You are watching a master) I can't stand myself (Nitin Randhawa) I might just ban myself I just might ban myself Money in your palm don't make you real