L.A. Leakers Freestyle #108 Lyrics – J. Cole
Part I – ’93 ‘Til Infinity by Souls of Mischief
Yeah
Rest assured the best is here in the flesh and that’s for sure
The rest should wear ’em a vest, I’m set for war, ***, press record
I send niggas to address the Lord
Same flow that put your neck to sword
The same flow that just undress your ***
Takeover, ***, check the score
This is chess, better check your board
Who gave the world more fire but got less reward?
No stress, my only guess is that less is more
More or less, hundred G’s in my dresser drawer
I’m blessed, hope IRS don’t arrest me for it, I’m new to it
My new crib got the Time Square view to it
While two *** lay in my bed, I’m used to it
That’s your bestfriend givin’ me head, now you do it
See mami, it’s not so weird
After I hit, I cut you off like Picasso ear
Van Gogh or whoever
God damn Cole, you’re too clever
Like a *** James Brown sample, you’re two ever
Times two, that’s forever, more treble
Meanin’ more *** end *** on your level
Put the fear of God in niggas, I’m pure Devil
Walkin’ contradiction, my description
Off-The-Top magician, compositions non-fiction
Shitted in the competitions
Pot to *** in, gone, uh, so long, uh
Saturdays, a *** used to mow lawns, uh
Nowadays a *** be eatin’ prawns
*** my *** by the window, wave to the peeping Toms
Yes, I’m Carolina’s finest
Southern *** with New York stamps, honest
Out in Queens with the fiends, I’m your highness
Cole World, don’t mistake it for a sinus, infection
At this point I’m just flexin’, Bas is next in line
And the test is time
Play the game right, ***, he gon’ rest his mom
In the sands of Sudan where she rest her mind
And find peace ’cause her son’ll be fine
He got the city on his back, and I got him on mine
You think I’m lyin’? ***
Step one, got the ‘Ville on map
*** I predicted in my raps, I done did all that
Next please, eat rappers, mm, check please
Here’s a tip while niggas grip my testies
You wan’ shoot? Then shoot, don’t play with me
Hardest *** out the South since slavery, ***
Hardest *** out the South since slavery, ***
Part II – Still Tippin’ by Mike Jones
Uh
Woke up this morning, ain’t wanna hear ***
I get fresher ***, I keep it humble
My closet like Dover Street
Used to be bummin’, some days I’m still bummin’
The difference is now it’s by choice
Got just a peep out the window, these lil’ niggas different
They don’t play Nintendo, they play with extendos
I hope you can limbo, that chopper gon’ spin you around like a judge on The Voice
I’m from a city where most niggas never get lucky enough
To see somethin’ outside county limits
I ran up the digits, I don’t handle mo’***’ business
Complain about nothin’
Ain’t got no time or no patience for list they be makin’
Or who they debatin’ is better
Let’s face it, he one of the greatest
No Bill Cosby ***, but if niggas is sleepin’, then *** ’em
Most niggas don’t understand me
I don’t do the GRAMMYs, I be in my jammies on sofa
Most niggas don’t understand me
Ferrari or Camry, I bet I look good in them both
Most niggas don’t even get this score
How you on top, but you don’t got no ***? I know
Most niggas don’t even get this
So, given the chance, they trade family for riches, I know
Look at my ceilin’, it’s illest, I’m sick
And these *** niggas feelin’ the sickness
It ain’t enough vitamin C in they system to get rid of me
I’ma *** it relentless
On top, but I sound like I’m still in the trenches
I come from that ‘Ville, I turn villains to victims
Recently “RIP” fill up your mentions
I mention for niggas that’s feelin’ ambitious
“How come a *** still ain’t hit his prime?” Ahh, you ***
Off-Season comin’ May 14th
*** all y’all niggas, it’s over for you
I swear to God
