Bro, if I’m Drake I’m slapping the FIRE outta J Cole’s goofy ass
Then J Cole backed down off ALL this shyt and let Drake get lined up knowing this shyt was all bait.
Tweet and delete ass 
I even start to wonder if Cole knew more than he let on all this time…
Just incredibly nasty work by Jermaine… And yall gonna let him slide with this shyt too
[Part I]
[Intro: J. Cole]
(Pew, pew-pew)
First-person shooter mode, we turnin' your song to a funeral
To them nikkas that say they wan' off us, you better be talkin' 'bout workin' in cubicles
Yeah, them boys had it locked, but I knew the code
Lot of nikkas debatin' my numeral
Not the three, not the two, I'm the U-N-O
Yeah
Numero U-N-O
Me and Drizzy, this shyt like the Super Bowl
Man, this shyt damn near big as the
[Chorus: Drake]
Big as the what? (Ah)
Big as the what? (Mm)
Big as the what? (Ayy)
Big as the Super Bowl
[Verse 1: Drake]
But the difference is it's just two guys playin' shyt that they did in the studio
nikkas usually send they verses back to me and they be terrible, just like a two-year-old
I love a dinner with some fine women when they start debatin' about who the G.O.A.T.
I'm like go on 'head, say it then, who the G.O.A.T.?
Who the G.O.A.T.? Who the G.O.A.T.? Who the G.O.A.T.?
Who you bytches really rootin' for?
Like a kid that act bad from January to November, nikka, it's just you and Cole
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Red Button
Drake
Red Leather
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[Chorus: Drake]
Big as the what? (Ah)
Big as the what? (Mm)
Big as the what? (Ayy)
Big as the Super Bowl
[Verse 2: J. Cole]
nikkas so thirsty to put me in beef
Dissectin' my words and start lookin' too deep
I look at the tweets and start suckin' my teeth
I'm lettin' it rock 'cause I love the mystique
I still wanna get me a song with YB
Can't trust everything that you saw on IG
Just know if I diss you, I'd make sure you know that I hit you like I'm on your caller ID
I'm namin' the album The Fall Off, it's pretty ironic 'cause it ain't no fall off for me
Still in this bytch gettin' bigger, they waitin' on the kid to come drop like a father to be
Love when they argue the hardest MC
Is it K-Dot? Is it Aubrey? Or me?
We the big three like we started a league, but right now, I feel like Muhammad Ali
Huh, yeah, yeah, huh-huh, yeah, Muhammad Ali
The one that they call when they shyt ain't connectin' no more, feel like I got a job in IT
Rhymin' with me is the biggest mistake
The Spider-Man meme is me lookin' at Drake
It's like we recruited your homies to be demon deacons, we got 'em attending your wake
Hate how the game got away from the bars, man, this shyt like a prison escape
Everybody steppers, well, fukk it, then everybody breakfast and I'm 'bout to clear up my plate (Huh, huh, huh)
When I show up, it's motion picture blockbuster
The G.O.A.T. with the golden pen, the top toucher
The spot rusher, sprayed his whole shyt up, the crop duster
Not Russia, but apply pressure
To your cranium, Cole's automatic when aimin' 'em
With The Boy in the status, a stadium
nikka
[Part II]
[Intro: Drake]
Ayy, I'm 'bout to, I'm bout to
I'm 'bout to, yeah
Yeah
[Verse: Drake]
I'm 'bout to click out on this shyt
I'm 'bout to click, woah
I'm 'bout to click out on this shyt
I'm 'bout to click, woah
I'm down to click out you hoes and make a crime scene
I click the trigger on the stick like a high beam
Man, I was Bentley wheel whippin' when I was nineteen
She call my number, leave her hangin', she got dry-cleaned
She got a Android, her messages is lime green
I search one name, and end up seein' twenty tings
Nadine, Christine, Justine, Kathleen, Charlene, Pauline, Claudine
Man, I pack 'em in this phone like some sardines
And they send me naked pictures, it's the small things
You nikkas still takin' pictures on a Gulfstream
My youngins richer than you rappers and they all stream
I really hate that you been sellin' them some false dreams
Man, if your pub was up for sale, I buy the whole thing
Will they ever give me flowers? Well, of course not
They don't wanna have that talk, 'cause it's a sore spot
They know The Boy, the one they gotta boycott
I told Jimmy Jam I use a GRAMMY as a door stop
Girl gave me some head because I need it
And if I fukk with you, then after I might eat it, what?
nikkas talkin' 'bout when this gon' be repeated
What the fukk, bro? I'm one away from Michael
nikka, beat it, nikka, beat it, what?
[Outro: Drake]
Beat it, what? Beat it, what? Beat it, what? Beat it, what?
Beat it, what? Beat it, what? Beat it, what? Beat it, what?
Beat it, what? Beat it, what? Beat it, ayy, beat it, what?
Don't even pay me back on none them favors, I don't need it
Then J Cole backed down off ALL this shyt and let Drake get lined up knowing this shyt was all bait.
Tweet and delete ass I even start to wonder if Cole knew more than he let on all this time…
Just incredibly nasty work by Jermaine… And yall gonna let him slide with this shyt too
[Part I]
[Intro: J. Cole]
(Pew, pew-pew)
First-person shooter mode, we turnin' your song to a funeral
To them nikkas that say they wan' off us, you better be talkin' 'bout workin' in cubicles
Yeah, them boys had it locked, but I knew the code
Lot of nikkas debatin' my numeral
Not the three, not the two, I'm the U-N-O
Yeah
Numero U-N-O
Me and Drizzy, this shyt like the Super Bowl
Man, this shyt damn near big as the
[Chorus: Drake]
Big as the what? (Ah)
Big as the what? (Mm)
Big as the what? (Ayy)
Big as the Super Bowl
[Verse 1: Drake]
But the difference is it's just two guys playin' shyt that they did in the studio
nikkas usually send they verses back to me and they be terrible, just like a two-year-old
I love a dinner with some fine women when they start debatin' about who the G.O.A.T.
I'm like go on 'head, say it then, who the G.O.A.T.?
Who the G.O.A.T.? Who the G.O.A.T.? Who the G.O.A.T.?
Who you bytches really rootin' for?
Like a kid that act bad from January to November, nikka, it's just you and Cole
You might also like
Say Don’t Go (Taylor’s Version) [From The Vault]
Taylor Swift
Red Button
Drake
Red Leather
Future, Metro Boomin & J. Cole
[Chorus: Drake]
Big as the what? (Ah)
Big as the what? (Mm)
Big as the what? (Ayy)
Big as the Super Bowl
[Verse 2: J. Cole]
nikkas so thirsty to put me in beef
Dissectin' my words and start lookin' too deep
I look at the tweets and start suckin' my teeth
I'm lettin' it rock 'cause I love the mystique
I still wanna get me a song with YB
Can't trust everything that you saw on IG
Just know if I diss you, I'd make sure you know that I hit you like I'm on your caller ID
I'm namin' the album The Fall Off, it's pretty ironic 'cause it ain't no fall off for me
Still in this bytch gettin' bigger, they waitin' on the kid to come drop like a father to be
Love when they argue the hardest MC
Is it K-Dot? Is it Aubrey? Or me?
We the big three like we started a league, but right now, I feel like Muhammad Ali
Huh, yeah, yeah, huh-huh, yeah, Muhammad Ali
The one that they call when they shyt ain't connectin' no more, feel like I got a job in IT
Rhymin' with me is the biggest mistake
The Spider-Man meme is me lookin' at Drake
It's like we recruited your homies to be demon deacons, we got 'em attending your wake
Hate how the game got away from the bars, man, this shyt like a prison escape
Everybody steppers, well, fukk it, then everybody breakfast and I'm 'bout to clear up my plate (Huh, huh, huh)
When I show up, it's motion picture blockbuster
The G.O.A.T. with the golden pen, the top toucher
The spot rusher, sprayed his whole shyt up, the crop duster
Not Russia, but apply pressure
To your cranium, Cole's automatic when aimin' 'em
With The Boy in the status, a stadium
nikka
[Part II]
[Intro: Drake]
Ayy, I'm 'bout to, I'm bout to
I'm 'bout to, yeah
Yeah
[Verse: Drake]
I'm 'bout to click out on this shyt
I'm 'bout to click, woah
I'm 'bout to click out on this shyt
I'm 'bout to click, woah
I'm down to click out you hoes and make a crime scene
I click the trigger on the stick like a high beam
Man, I was Bentley wheel whippin' when I was nineteen
She call my number, leave her hangin', she got dry-cleaned
She got a Android, her messages is lime green
I search one name, and end up seein' twenty tings
Nadine, Christine, Justine, Kathleen, Charlene, Pauline, Claudine
Man, I pack 'em in this phone like some sardines
And they send me naked pictures, it's the small things
You nikkas still takin' pictures on a Gulfstream
My youngins richer than you rappers and they all stream
I really hate that you been sellin' them some false dreams
Man, if your pub was up for sale, I buy the whole thing
Will they ever give me flowers? Well, of course not
They don't wanna have that talk, 'cause it's a sore spot
They know The Boy, the one they gotta boycott
I told Jimmy Jam I use a GRAMMY as a door stop
Girl gave me some head because I need it
And if I fukk with you, then after I might eat it, what?
nikkas talkin' 'bout when this gon' be repeated
What the fukk, bro? I'm one away from Michael
nikka, beat it, nikka, beat it, what?
[Outro: Drake]
Beat it, what? Beat it, what? Beat it, what? Beat it, what?
Beat it, what? Beat it, what? Beat it, what? Beat it, what?
Beat it, what? Beat it, what? Beat it, ayy, beat it, what?
Don't even pay me back on none them favors, I don't need it
Last edited:
Who cares
