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middle child (nitin randhawa remix) - nitin randhawa lyrics

[intro: j. cole]
you good, t*minus?
(you are watching a master at work)
(nitin randhawa)

[refrain]
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 d*ck

[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 n*ggas is broke?
what good is first class if my n*ggas can’t sit?
that’s my next mission, that’s why i can’t quit
just like lebron, get my n*ggas 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 n*gga 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 sh*t ain’t sellin’ the same
it won’t be to sell you my latest lil’ sneakers
it won’t be ’cause some n*gga slid in my lane
everything grows, it’s destined to change
i love you lil’ n*ggas, i’m glad that you came
i hope that you scr*pe 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
f*ck 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]
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 d*ck

[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 f*ck (awww sh*t)
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 f*ckin’ 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 n*ggas 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 n*ggas got the juice, but i got corona
got a little spanish b*tch, i call her maricona
joyner lucas, b*tch, i’m hotter than a f*ckin’ sauna (woo, woo, woo!)
yeah, i make you n*ggas (elevate)
all you new n*ggas don’t do it for me, look (woah)
b*tch 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’ n*ggas tried grabbin’ me (grabbin’ me)
five foot five, boy, you n*ggas like half of me
you don’t wanna see the other side of me (yeah)
hard to make ’em happy, all these b*tches stay mad at me
i just might take her out to applebee’s (applebee’s)
give her long d*ck 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 f*ck
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 p*ssy n*ggas 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 f*ck
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 sh*t 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 f*ck ’bout the owners
n*gga look at my eyes, you ’bout to give me my bonus
and every motherf*ckin’ record, that’s a hit, i record it (celebrate)
and e’ry motherf*ckin’ snitch up in this b*tch, 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 b*tches can’t keep their feet down (elevate)
you don’t really wanna see brown
need to stop all that sh*t talkin’, put the seat down
joyner, i don’t really feel these n*ggas
hol’ up, i ain’t gotta pay to k!ll these n*ggas
time is money, need to f*ck around and bill these n*ggas
vet, so i’m finna good will these n*ggas (celebrate) (buck, buck, buck)
i’ma k!ll these n*ggas, i should grill these n*ggas
take flex, fresh prince, uncle phil these n*ggas (brap, brap, brap)
oh sh*t, i’m the sh*t, you could smell me, n*gga
break ribs, yeah, you don’t want no real beef, n*gga
i say as*salāmu ʿalayk*m when i tear apart some bacon
hoe, you actin’ like a pig, you f*ckin’ filthy, n*gga (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 k!ll me, n*gga” (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 f*ck
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 b*tch; get the b*tch, got the b*tch
streets wanna know ‘when you droppin’ nip?’
police wanna know how you got your six?
n*ggas on the side hate to watch the sh*t
see you on top, so they throw rocks and sh*t
never really was with the talking sh*t
me, i just went and got a pot to p*ss
upgrade diamonds on my watch and sh*t
pictures on the wall at the offices
ac colder than my compton b*tch
talking that “you don’t even need a condom” sh*t
look, i’m really on some baller sh*t
on some rich n*gga, i ain’t gotta call you sh*t
on some, f*ck with me if you loyal sh*t
everybody in my circle get spoiled sh*t
really started in the soil sh*t
crowns on the wrist, that’s royal sh*t

[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 n*gga kodak
reminded me of young n*ggas from ‘ville
straight out the projects, no fakin’, just honest
i wish that he had more guidance, for real
too many n*ggas 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 k!lling our brothers, they poisoned the well
distorted self*image, we set up to fail
i’ma make sure that the real gon’ prevail, n*gga

[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 f*ck
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 b*tches
tell the truth, n*gga, i’m lost without it
7 figures for a headline
you want some stage time? we can talk about it
n*ggas 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 h*lla 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 b*tch
like some good p*ssy—can’t stand myself
so good, she so hood
she a cheesehead, patty melt
ged with some ebts, and some dvds
that sh*t was happening
she reel me in with some chicken wings
and some collard greens, that sh*t was brackin’
just cracked me a new b*tch
bust a new nut on her n*gga’s jersey
my b*tch 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 h*lla dirty
get caught with this sh*t
i ain’t comin’ home ’til like 2030

[chorus: kendrick lamar]
i got big money, big booty b*tches
man, that sh*t gon’ be death of me (death of me)
big problems, i must admit it
man, that sh*t gon’ be death of me (death of me)
big dreams, no superstition
man, that sh*t 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

- nitin randhawa lyrics

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