Cordae

Yeah, ayy
Yeah, uh
Lord
Ayy
Yeah

I’m dealing with a lot of problems, I know if y’all can relate
Feeling like Rod Wave, I got a lot on my plate
And I can really use a stress reliever
‘Cause where I’m from they catchin’ bullets like the best receivers
The chopper’s singin’ like Justin Bieber
The most effective leaders have closed mouths and open ears
Like the Nile, I can flow for years
I really got my own sneaker, used to shop at Sears
Rap niggas lying through their teeth though these are not veneers
Skipping through the airport, but soon will hop on Lears
I conquer fears, running up them M’s and drive my momma tears
I love Jim Carrey, but don’t fuck with yes-men
I need honest ears when in the studio
Turned down a movie role to finish the album
I pray the outcome is good
Clayton Bigsby, y’all done took a nigga out of the hood
Carrying water, chopping the wood
But you gon’ always have motion if the product is good
Lord knows it’s crazy how I can just text hoes
And run plays on the weekend, it’s more than just XO’s
When I dropped my first album I was nervous, my chest froze
Plans gon’ be executed like niggas on death row
Bought a new fuckin’ crib but that shit is an escrow
Got my credit score low as my self-esteem but I grow
It’s a yellow beam when I glow
I have mellow dreams when I smoke
To my fellow kings, keep the hope
I thank Elohim that I woke up this morning
Acting wild like a Black and Mild, we smoked up on it
I prayed and hoped for this moment and if I post it, I own it
No cap for me, we get money like athletes
Like the eighth man on the Wizards, that’s more of a match for me
If we being completely honest, me and the mic got chemistry
Boy, I got this down to a science, I promise you I ain’t lying
Get love in every borough, my niggas are very thorough
Wish a nigga would like Timmy, bro send ’em to Fairy World
Never wore a jerry curl like Mike Jack in the 80’s
I might crash the Mercedes
My life flashed from a baby
I reminisce on the daily
My penmanship what ya pay me
It’s time to get the bacon, this shit is biscuits and gravy
Time to break fast, to keep it real, how long the fake last
New year, same goals, stay out the way and make cash
The competition, damn, we wave past
I need more real love and less fake laughs, huh

Just let it breath
Let it breath
(Now put your hands in the sky if you feel the vibe)
Yeah, let it breath
(Now put your hands in the sky if you feel the vibe)
Just let it breath

Uh
I need more real love and less fake laughs
I wear this mean mug like a facemask
She give me real love with that fake ass
It fit me like a glove, OJ hands
I’ma need a little love from your hatin’ ass
Real love, real love, Mary J. plan
Need less yes-men and more amens
I’ma need more real prayers and less prayer hands
I’m smoking straight gas, no brake pads
You smoking Bubba Dub, nigga straight trash
I get more camel toe than them Arabs
She deep throat the whole dick but couldn’t take half
I take a nigga life before he take the stand
Take some drugs and take off, take some when I land
You standing on business, I’m a business man
I’m a goat nigga, you a sacrificial lamb
You a teddy bear, nigga, you a Teddy Graham
You sweet as jelly-jam, honey glazed deli ham
Bubblegum candy yams, my gun never jam
I got a heavy hand but hold it like a steady cam
Am I talking to the martians when I pray, man?
I need to know is there a heaven or just Space Jam?
And it’s Saturday morning, everyday math
Young Carter and Cordae, man, all day, man
Why they playing?
Elvis has left the building, went to Graceland
And if it ain’t a red flag then it’s a red flag
And if it ain’t Mula Baby then I ain’t the dad
I need my haters scanned
Yeah, I need more hard drugs, less annoying plugs
I need the astronaut pack with asteroid buds
Blunted like a rocket ship, yeah, we going up
Coffee in a styrofoam cup
Good morning, it’s Saturday

Cordae

Saturday Mornings

Songstrain.com