| This is a public service announcement
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| Brought to you by the good people over at Dreamville Records
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| «And so my fellow Americans
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| Ask not what your country can do for you
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| Ask what you can do for your country!»
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| Excuse me
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| Load the clip in the chopper, flip the script and get Oscars
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| All my niggas is mobsters, all my bitches is doctors
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| Cole World, this just the tip of the iceberg
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| So talk shit and taste the tip of the Mossberg
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| Don’t trip nigga, they just words
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| Though my words tend to sound like Proverbs
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| Niggas don’t see the preachers 'til we dead in the hearse
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| Granny broke cause she always givin' bread to the Church
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| Now pastor Mason Betha in a Lambo
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| And little niggas holdin' desert eagles like they Rambo
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| Bumpin' my shit, always wondered why they fuck with my shit
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| I hope it’s 'bout the knowledge, not about who’s suckin' my dick
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| But oh well, I’m gon' sell like I had no bail
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| For my chain and my piece I should’ve won Nobel
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| Ill, boy you cold nigga, yeah I know nigga
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| Only young nigga do it better than the old niggas
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| Took chances, slow dance with the devil bitch
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| Overcomin' the circumstances, we hella rich
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| Since you all in my business, this what I tell a bitch
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| If you ain’t fuckin' me, don’t fuck with me, this life on the edge
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| Green dollars splurged all on embellishments
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| My fellowship paid, don’t need to cop my fellas shit
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| Scoopin' hoes in the party, some Cinderella shit
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| Smash for the hell of it, livin' life on the edge
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| Miss America, petty thoughts
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| Miss America, petty thoughts
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| Miss America, petty thoughts
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| Just to floss pay any and every cost
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| Heavy heart as I sit in this Range countin' thousands out
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| Am I about dollars or about change?
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| Am I about knowledge or about brains?
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| Freedom or big chains, they don’t feel my pain
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| Blood on my sneakers, no remorse for the grievers
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| He played the corner like Revis he should’ve had better defense
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| That’s how I’m feelin', blood spillin' I love killin'
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| Niggas’ll swear that they it, this is as rare as it gets
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| Rap game changed, this is embarrassing shit
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| Bunch of bitches posin' on some old Miss America shit
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| I was a wilder nigga back on my therapist shit, moving careless as shit
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| In a city where niggas really don’t care who they hit
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| Who the fuck was I?
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| Just a young little nigga tryin' to see the other side
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| Of the railroad tracks, where them scarecrows at
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| No brains on a nigga but they’ll air your back
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| Fuck the man, Uncle Sam I won’t sell your crack
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| I won’t fight your wars, I won’t wear your hat
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| I’ma pass your classes, I’ma learn your craft
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| I’ma fuck your daughters, I’ma burn your flag
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| Took chances, slow dance with the devil bitch
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| Overcomin' the circumstances, we hella rich
|
| Since you all in my business, this what I tell a bitch
|
| If you ain’t fuckin' me, don’t fuck with me, this life on the edge
|
| Green dollars splurged all on embellishments
|
| My fellowship paid, don’t need to cop my fellas shit
|
| Scoopin' hoes in the party, some Cinderella shit
|
| Smash for the hell of it, livin' life on the edge
|
| Miss America, petty thoughts
|
| Miss America, petty thoughts
|
| Miss America, petty thoughts
|
| Just to floss pay any and every cost
|
| Heavy heart as I sit in this Range countin' thousands out
|
| Am I about dollars or about change?
|
| Am I about knowledge or about brains?
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| Freedom or big chains, they don’t feel my pain
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| They don’t feel my pain
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| They’ll never feel my pain
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| And they’ll never play this shit on the radio |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Miss America , by - J. Cole. Song from the album Born Sinner, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп