Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song BRACKETS, artist - J. Cole. Album song KOD, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 19.04.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Dreamville
Song language: English
BRACKETS |
Lotta shit happens, like, being in show business |
A lot of shit happens, like, like, I make a lot of money, you know |
And I’m really happy about it |
And I’m not bragging, I just wanna say something |
I make a so—fuck, it’s ridiculous |
But wait, wait a minute, wait a minute |
Hey, if my father was alive today, I would go home and say |
«Dad, I wanna tell you how much money I made» |
You know what he’d say? |
«You's a lying motherfucker |
Joe Louis didn’t make that much money |
Come in here, get your ass out the house |
Coming here with that bullshit,» hah |
Niggas hating on me, I ain’t used to that |
Know a couple people wanna shoot for that |
I say «No, no, no, chill, it ain’t no need for that» |
Them niggas tryna blow and ain’t need me for that |
And if it work for them, well shit, I’m cool with that |
'Cause how they feel, I ain’t got shit to do with that |
I just sit back on cool and watch my paper stack |
And trip off how much bread them crackers take from that |
(Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) |
(Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) |
(Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) |
(Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) |
It’s been a long time since I have felt this way |
About something but now, but now |
I’m controlling my mind, the days are warm |
The nights are cold, the lost is found, I’m found |
Lord knows I need something to fill this void |
Lord knows I need something to fill this void |
Lord knows I need something to fill this void |
Lord knows I need something to fill this void |
Hell yeah boy, I’m a goddamn millionaire now |
Hell yeah, nigga, they can’t tell me shit now, bro, hell no, fuck that |
Bitch, got my first motherfuckin' million dollar check nigga |
I’m goddamn lit boy, you crazy as hell |
Hold up, it’s my phone real quick, it’s my Unc' |
Uncle Sam and shit |
«What's up Unc'? |
Yup. |
Hey, I told you that check was coming in, I gotchu when |
it came in. Goddamn, I’m a man of my word. |
Goddamn, I told you I’ma have it, |
and goddamn, I’ma have it for you. |
Hell, shit, damn right. |
Now, |
how much was it though? |
Uh huh. |
Huh? |
Half? |
Half nigga? |
You crazy, boy, |
you crazy. |
Bitch, you crazy as fuck. |
Bitch, bitch, you better suck half my |
dick! |
Yeah, I pay taxes, so much taxes, shit don’t make sense |
Where do my dollars go? |
You see lately, I ain’t been convinced |
I guess they say my dollars supposed to build roads and schools |
But my niggas barely graduate, they ain’t got the tools |
Maybe 'cause the tax dollars that I make sure I send |
Get spent hirin' some teachers that don’t look like them |
And the curriculum be tricking them, them dollars I spend |
Got us learning about the heroes with the whitest of skin |
One thing about the men that’s controlling the pen |
That write history, they always seem to white-out they sins |
Maybe we’ll never see a black man in the White House again |
I’ll write a check to the IRS, my pockets get slim |
Damn, do I even have a say 'bout where it’s goin'? |
Some older nigga told me to start votin' |
I said «Democracy is too fuckin' slow» |
If I’m givin' y’all this hard-earned bread, I wanna know |
Better yet, let me decide, bitch, it’s 2018 |
Let me pick the things I’m funding from an app on my screen |
Better that than letting wack congressman I’ve never seen |
Dictate where my money go, straight into the palms of some Money-hungry company |
that make guns that circulate the country And then wind up in my hood, |
making bloody clothes |
Stray bullet hit a young boy with a snotty nose |
From the concrete, he was prolly rose |
Now his body froze and nobody knows what to tell his mother |
He did good at the white man schools unlike his brother |
Who was lost in the streets all day, not using rubbers |
So right now, he got two on the way |
Still sleep on covers in his mama house |
She can’t take this shit no more, she want him out |
On the morning of the funeral, just as she’s walking out |
Wiping tears away, grabbing her keys and sunglasses |
She remember that she gotta file her taxes, damn |
(Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) |
(Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) |
(Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) |
(Whoa whoa whoa whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) |