Featured In
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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
J. Cole
Vocals
Nuno Malo
Strings
Sonia Rosa
Sampled Artist
Yuji Ohno
Sampled Artist
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Johnny Burke
Songwriter
Jimmy Van Heusen
Songwriter
Jermaine Cole
Songwriter
William "Willie B." Brown
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Juro "Mez" Davis
Mixing Engineer
Brian Gardner
Mastering Engineer
Sean Kellett
Assistant Recording Engineer
Jack Mason
Assistant Recording Engineer
William "Willie B." Brown
Producer
Lyrics
La la la!
La la la!
La la la!
La la la!
La la la!
La la la!
I grew up a fucking screw up
Tie my shoe up, wish they was newer
Damn!
This something newer in love with the baddest
Girl in the city
I wish I knew her
I wish I wasn't so shy
Wish I was a bit more fly
I wish that I
Could tell her how I really feel inside
That I'm the perfect nigga for her
But then maybe that's a lie
She like' a certain type of nigga
And it's clear I'm not that guy
Ball player
Star player
I'm just watching from the side
On a bench
Cus my lack of confidence
Won't let me fly
I ain't grow up with my father
I ain't thinking bout' that now
Fast forward four years
Or so from now I'll prolly cry
When I realise what I miss
But of now my eyes are dry
Cus I'm trying to stay alive
In the city where too many niggaz die
Dreaming quiet trying to dodge a suit and tie
Who am I?
(La,la,la!)
Aye who am I?
(La,la,la,la,la,la)
Yeah
Things change rearrange and so do I
It ain't always for the better dawg
I can't lie
I get high cause the laws can be so cold
I might bend a little bit but
I don't fall
One time for my mind and
Two for yours
I got food for your thoughts
To sooth your soul
If you see my tears fall just let me be
Move along nothing to see
I always did shit the hard way
My niggaz slangging in the hallway
Burnt CD's of trees like this was Broadway
Time square
Kept the dimes there in the locker
Some Reggie Miller
With more brown hairs than Chewbacca
Whispers that he got it for the low-low
Sell a dime for a dub
Them white boys ain't know no better
Besides
What's 20 dollars to a nigga like that?
He tell his popps he needs some lunch
And he gon' get it right back
I peep gang
Got home snatch my momma keychain
Took her whip
The appeal too ill to refrain
I hit the boulevard
Pull up to my nigga front door
He's momma at home
She still let him hit the blunt though
I told her hello?
And sat with my nigga and laugh
And talk about how we gon' smash
All the bitches in class
I complimented how I see him getting his cash
And just ask
What a nigga gotta do to get that?
Put me on
He just laughed when he seen I was sure
17 years breathing his demeanor said more
He told me
You know how you sound right now?
You're my man's
I would think that you a clown right now
Listen!
You're everything I wanna be that's why
I fucks with you
So how you looking up to me
When I look up to you?
You bout' to go get a degree
Imma be stuck with two choices
Either graduate to wait or
Sell a number two
For what?
A 100 bucks or two a week
Do you think that you would know what do
If you was me?
I gat four brothers, one mother
That don't love us
If they ain't never want us
Why the fuck they never wore rubbers
I felt the shame to have ever complained
About my lack of getting and thought about
How far we done came
From trailer parks to
A front yard with trees in the sky
Thank you momma dry your eyes
There ain't no reason to cry
You made a genius and I
Ain't gon' take it for granted
I ain't gon' settle for lesser
I ain't gon' take what they handed
Now I'm gon" take what they owe me
And show you that I can fly
And show old girl what she missing
The the realest nigga alive
Aye who am I?
Things change rearrange and so do I
Aye who am I?
It ain't always for the better dawg I can't lie
Who am I?
I get high cause the laws can be so cold
I might bend a little but I don't fall
One time for my mind and two for yours
I gat food for your thoughts
To sooth your soul
If you see my tears fall just let me be
Move along nothing to see
Writer(s): Jimmy Van Heusen, Johnny Burke, Jermaine L. Cole, William T. Brown
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