Miss America

Album: Born Sinner (2012)
  • This is a public service announcement
    Brought to you by the good people over at Dreamville Records
    "And so my fellow Americans
    Ask not what your country can do for you
    Ask what you can do for your country"

    Excuse me

    Load the clip in the chopper, flip the script and get Oscars
    All my niggas is mobsters, all my bitches is doctors
    Cole World, this just the tip of the iceberg
    So talk shit and taste the tip of the Mossberg
    Don't trip nigga, they just words
    Though my words tend to sound like Proverbs
    Niggas don't see the preachers 'til we dead in the hearse
    Granny broke cause she always givin' bread to the Church
    Now pastor Mason Betha in a Lambo
    And little niggas holdin' desert eagles like they Rambo
    Bumpin' my shit, always wondered why they fuck with my shit
    I hope it's 'bout the knowledge, not about who's suckin' my dick
    But oh well, I'm gon' sell like I had no bail
    For my chain and my piece I should've won Nobel
    Ill, boy you cold nigga, yeah I know nigga
    Only young nigga do it better than the old niggas

    Took chances, slow dance with the devil bitch
    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?
    Freedom or big chains, they don't feel my pain

    Blood on my sneakers, no remorse for the grievers
    He played the corner like Revis he should've had better defense
    That's how I'm feelin', blood spillin' I love killin'
    Niggas'll swear that they it, this is as rare as it gets
    Rap game changed, this is embarrassing shit
    Bunch of bitches posin' on some old Miss America shit
    I was a wilder nigga back on my therapist shit
    Moving careless as shit
    In a city where niggas really don't care who they hit
    Who the fuck was I?
    Just a young little nigga tryin' to see the other side
    Of the railroad tracks, where them scarecrows at
    No brains on a nigga but they'll air your back
    Fuck the man, Uncle Sam I won't sell your crack
    I won't fight your wars, I won't wear your hat
    I'mma pass your classes, I'mma learn your craft
    I'mma fuck your daughters, I'mma burn your flag

    Took chances, slow dance with the devil bitch
    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?
    Freedom or big chains, they don't feel my pain

    They don't feel my pain
    They'll never feel my pain
    And they'll never play this shit on the radio Writer/s: BROOKLN DEKKER, JERMAINE L. COLE
    Publisher: Universal Music Publishing Group, Downtown Music Publishing
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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