J. Cole - Sky Boy lyrics
J. Cole [Jermaine Lamarr Cole] Frankfurt, Germany/Fayetteville, North Carolina, U.S. 🇩🇪 🇺🇸
[J. Cole - Sky Boy lyrics]
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 nigga dream big
A swimming pool, big screen, mint-green Benz
Me and Christina Milian with sixteen kids
Yeah, I joke but a nigga mean biz'
Lemme tell you how it is, nigga
I got this feeling man
A nigga finna hit the ceiling fan
Fayettevillain killing, fishing for
That scrilla, reelin' in
I'm leaning that mean I'm chilling
I'm feeling like Gilligan
Nigga what is this a barbecue?
So why the fuck you grilling then
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 killed
Niggas caps gettin' peeled
For that cash niggas
Will run up on yo' ass in
That mask flash and the steel
Niggas laugh when they steal
I just brag cause I'm real
Motherfucker I'm the shit
I pass gas when I feel shit is trash bag
It's all about the last laugh
Mad I got yo' girl turned
Over like a bad pass she know I rap
So I ain't even have to bag that
Cash that? Probably not how I design rhymes
The dick got 'em singin'
I could get yo' dime signed
A Don Juan type armed with a strong pipe
I even put it on dykes
I'm smashing like it's Prom Night, bitch
You niggas 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 fucker
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 nigga you ain't got a cape
I understand you think you gangsta
Nigga you ain't shot a thing
Them niggas bring it to
You point-blank range, ain't gotta aim
Yeah, you see some players shooting
But this shit is not a game
Badda boom, badda bang
Lot of goons, lot of lames
Old groupie-ass niggas like the clan
Tryna hang, yeah
By the way, since ninety-seven I been nice
I'm finna get it crackin' like
Fat niggas on thin ice, wooh
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 nigga dream big
A swimming pool, big screen, mint-green Benz
Me and Christina Milian with sixteen kids
Yeah, I joke but a nigga mean biz'
Lemme tell you how it is, nigga
I got this feeling man
A nigga finna hit the ceiling fan
Fayettevillain killing, fishing for
That scrilla, reelin' in
I'm leaning that mean I'm chilling
I'm feeling like Gilligan
Nigga what is this a barbecue?
So why the fuck you grilling then
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 killed
Niggas caps gettin' peeled
For that cash niggas
Will run up on yo' ass in
That mask flash and the steel
Niggas laugh when they steal
I just brag cause I'm real
Motherfucker I'm the shit
I pass gas when I feel shit is trash bag
It's all about the last laugh
Mad I got yo' girl turned
Over like a bad pass she know I rap
So I ain't even have to bag that
Cash that? Probably not how I design rhymes
The dick got 'em singin'
I could get yo' dime signed
A Don Juan type armed with a strong pipe
I even put it on dykes
I'm smashing like it's Prom Night, bitch
You niggas 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 fucker
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 nigga you ain't got a cape
I understand you think you gangsta
Nigga you ain't shot a thing
Them niggas bring it to
You point-blank range, ain't gotta aim
Yeah, you see some players shooting
But this shit is not a game
Badda boom, badda bang
Lot of goons, lot of lames
Old groupie-ass niggas like the clan
Tryna hang, yeah
By the way, since ninety-seven I been nice
I'm finna get it crackin' like
Fat niggas on thin ice, wooh