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j. cole - sky boy lyrics

[verse 1]
i got dreams of gleaming wings and beamers
cream so obscene
ain’t gotta clean my sneakers no mo’
a closet full of polo
a pocket full of mo’ dough
i’m knocking in the fo’ door
never stopping for the popo
i can’t forget to send my momma to the acapulco
you laugh what, can’t a n-gga dream big
a swimming pool, big screen, mint-green benz
me and christina milian with sixteen kids
yeah, i joke but a n-gga mean biz’
lemme tell you how it is, n-gga
i got this feeling man, a n-gga finna hit the ceiling fan
fayettevillain k!lling, fishing for that scrilla, reelin’ in
i’m leaning
that mean i’m chilling
i’m feeling like gilligan
n-gga what is this a barbecue?
so why the f-ck you grilling then

[verse 2]
if i’m back in the ‘ville, haters smack in they grills
ladies like ’em; got that ’80s michael jackson appeal
homie curiosity, all these cats getting k!lled
n-ggas caps gettin’ peeled, for that cash n-ggas
will run up on yo’ -ss in that mask flash and the steel
n-ggas laugh when they steal
i just brag cause i’m real
motherf-cker i’m the sh-t
i p-ss gas when i feel
sh-t is trash bag, it’s all about the last laugh
mad i got yo’ girl turned over like a bad p-ss
she know i rap, so i ain’t even have to bag that
cash that? probably not how i design rhymes
the d-ck got ’em singin’
i could get yo’ dime signed
a don juan type armed with a strong pipe
i even put it on dyk-s
i’m smashing like it’s prom night, b-tch

[verse 3]
you n-ggas must’ve got your marijuana laced
i know some magicians make you disappear without a trace
out-of-state speedin’ through new york with carolina plates
i’m the god mother f-cker, and how dare y’all try to hate
you’ll never shine like me, you could wear your hottest bapes
i’ma show y’all how to cake
i can tell your prada’s fake
i understand you think fly
but n-gga you ain’t got a cape
i understand you think you gangsta
n-gga you ain’t shot a thing
them n-ggas bring it to you point-blank range, ain’t gotta aim
yeah, you see some players shooting, but this sh-t is not a game
badda boom, badda bang
lot of goons, lot of lames
old groupie–ss n-ggas like the clan
tryna hang, yeah
by the way, since ninety-seven i been nice
i’m finna get it crackin’ like fat n-ggas on thin ice, wooh

- j cole lyrics

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