j cole – grew up fast lyrics
[verse 1]
n-gg- i grew up fast, then blew up fast,
money falling out my pockets, i got too much cash,
can’t fit nothing in her pockets, she got too much -ss
like, god d-mn, well if you must ask,
we from the school of hard knocks, but your crew cut cl-ss,
half white but don’t think i gotta ku klux past
when i’m up in the v, police be f-cking with me,
no sir, no license, all i got here is this f-cking degree,
move along c-ck-sucker, ain’t got nothing to see,
‘less you talking blockbuster, you n-gg-s in not russell
you more diggy, me, i’m more biggie
no diss to the young boy, i’m just rapping, get bored quickly
just to make up for that line, invite him on tour with me
show him the game, let him finagle these wh-r-s with me
run through their doors with me, hit the ritz carlton for the night
leave ‘em there two dyk-s, probably change a n-gg-s life, right?
wattup vanessa? i loved you that one semester
thanks to my profession i ball’d like uncle festor
thinkin’ about the board i used to have above the dresser
half the sh-t i wrote down. i did it, it’s old now
got, new goals, plus my money on manute bol
funny how my old highs is suddenly my new lows
tired of every chick saying she models before she swallows
so i only f-ck with hat tricks, b-tches with a few goals
[verse 2]
look, look
not even slightly interested in what ya opinion is
i gotta greater purpose than a hater purpose
imma stack paper, hustle just to relax later
serve n-gg-s and bring changes that’s a waiter purpose
look how i made them nervous
n-gg-s is shakin’ i know they fakin’
ok, you a killer, right,
and ms. cleo’s jamaican, and bob marley is haitian
and me and beyonce datin’ and jesus christ be hatin
but got mad love from satan, for f-cking sanaa lathan
while meagan good is waitin’
i’m the dead beat father of your little brother
in other words, god d-mnit, i’m a bad mother f-cker
it’s cole, it’s only right i brought back the soul
yall got way too electro, d-mn near techno
half-way h-m-, way too metro
hennessy xo, cole flows best yo
style like tribe called quest meets death row
learn something boy, grow your -ss up
cheap n-gg-, if you was liquor, i’d probably throw your -ss up
matter fact, if you was gr-ss, i’d probably mow your -ss up
last call for you old n-gg-s gon’ pour your last cup
it’s cole!
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