Listen to The Morning by Raekwon, Pusha T, Common, 2 Chainz, CyHi, Kid Cudi & D'banj

The Morning

Raekwon, Pusha T, Common, 2 Chainz, CyHi, Kid Cudi & D'banj

Hip-Hop/Rap

259,841

Apple Music Note

OVERVIEW

LYRICS

Music Video

Kanye West The Morning (Pusha t, Kid cudi,Common,D banj, Raekwon, 2 chainz).mov

Watch Kanye West The Morning (Pusha t, Kid cudi,Common,D banj, Raekwon, 2 chainz).mov on YouTube

Featured In

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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS

Raekwon

Vocals

Pusha T

Vocals

Common

Vocals

2 Chainz

Vocals

CyHi

Vocals

Kid Cudi

Vocals

D'banj

Vocals

Che Pope

Programming

Andrea Martin

Vocals

Che Vicious

Programming

Plain Pat

Programming

COMPOSITION & LYRICS

Andrea Martin

Composer

Kanye West

Composer

Jeff Bhasker

Composer

Travis Scott

Composer

Cydel Young

Composer

Corey Woods

Composer

Terrence Thornton

Terrence Thornton

Composer

Lonnie Lynn

Composer

Tauheed Epps

Composer

Alan Jay Lerner

Alan Jay Lerner

Composer

Frederick Loewe

Frederick Loewe

Composer

Ramon Ibanga Jr

Ramon Ibanga Jr

Composer

PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING

Noah Goldstein

Recording Engineer

Julian Nixon

Producer

Kanye West

Producer

Illmind

Producer

Jeff Bhasker

Producer

Travis Scott

Producer

Richard Parry

Assistant Recording Engineer

Christian Mochizuki

Christian Mochizuki

Assistant Mixing Engineer

Eric Kelekolio

Assistant Mixing Engineer

Gaylord Holomalia

Gaylord Holomalia

Assistant Mixing Engineer

Rob Kinelski

Recording Engineer

Lyrics

Stuttering

Give 'em the rest and make 'em love again

In my best, I be the runner dem

And I have the man dem stuttering-ing

I'm getting this **** in the morning

He gon' think he been chiefing, just too long when

He see me in the evening

Wanna catch all these feelings

Well, let me be the first to get mine, oh

Yeah, aye, yo, aye, yo

Barbeque and blow in the back of the crib

Sitting and counting, smoking a spliff, this shit's a gift

All my ****' watches is rough

Grabbin' our crotches, yellin', "What up?"

The jeans cost five hundred, Fuck

Stop it, keep baking, see the smell, it's a statement

One freeze of this shit, you won't feel your legs, kid

I'm a gangster, corporate hustler, my voice is illustrious

Hounded by vicious dons, ****, we armed, trust me, bruh

They yellin', "Chef killer, play with the cooks"

I say, "Yay", with two chains on, we common, let's push

Burn another bush then burn another, we brothers

Love us or not, the Mark Zuckerbergs of the block

Hug a knot, staying rich, we was built for the guap

Park the green six deuce on the deuce, just props

Rock a kilt, mean Glock, I'm all machinery, ock

Cling to me, now see how the scenery rock, yo?

I'm getting this **** in the morning

He gon' think he been chiefing, just too long when

He see me in the evening

Wanna catch all these feelings

Well, let me be the first to get mine, oh

I was born by a lake, chicken shack, and a church

That mean the flow got wings and it come from the dirt

Godly, I know she wanna test the 'Rari

Eye on a dollar like Illuminati

Life is foggy, trying to see through the mist of it

Could have been living it, you was Mrs. Mischievous

This is just a letter to better your development (Oh)

Situation delicate

Some claim God body, blame Illuminati

All 'cause his pockets now knotty as his hair, yeah

All Sonny, no Cher, only solitaires

You clusterfucks could cluster up

On tippy-toe and still not muster up

So it's (Ashes to ashes, dust to dust)

In God we trust, the game is all us

Till the sky calls or its flames on us, Push

I'm getting this **** in the morning

He gon' think he been chiefing, just too long when

He see me in the evening (Yeah)

Wanna catch all these feelings (Yeah)

Well, let me be the first to get mine, oh (2 Chainz)

I'm chilling in my camo, I'm flipping through the channel (Channel)

On my G.O.O.D. Music shit, my logo's a Lambo (Damn)

Four doors of ammo

Ammunition, I'm pitching

To make your body switch another position

Yeah

I hope the people is listening

I could never sell my soul, I gave it back to God at my christening

It's tickling when I hear what haters be whispering

What makes you think the Illuminati would ever let some **** in?

Huh, fake friends and siblings

Like to wish you well but ain't never flicked a nickel in

Haters wanna pull they pistol when they see me in this race car

But you can't spell war without a A-R

15, I was pushing carts at K-Mart

By 21, they said I'd be inside a graveyard

Can't wait to get that black American Express

So I can show them, white folks, how to really pull the race card

Woah

Yeah, you feeling on top now?

Getting that money, ****?

You, you sold your soul

Hey, hey

Yeah, you feeling on top now?

Hey, hey

Getting that money, ****?

You sold your soul

Woah

Yeah, you feeling on top now?

Getting that money, ****?

Hey, hey

Nah, man, mad people was fronting

Hey, hey

Aw, man, made something from nothing

I treat the label like money from my shows

G.O.O.D. would have been G.O.D., except I added more O's

If I knew she was cheating and still bought her more clothes

It's 'cause I was too busy with my Baltimore, you know

Some people call that the art of war, you know

I guess it depends what you falling for, the clothes?

Cars, money, girls, and the clothes

All money, you sold your soul

Nah, man, mad people was fronting

God damn, we made something from nothing

Written by: Alan Jay Lerner, Andrea Martin, Che Smith, Corey Woods, Cydel Young, Frederick Loewe, Jeff Bhasker, Kanye West, Lonnie Lynn, MESCUDI SCOTT RAMON SEGURO, Ramon Ibanga Jr, Tauheed Epps, Terrence Thornton, Travis Scott

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