Always worried about the critics who ain’t never fucking did it. I write what’s in my heart, don’t give a fuck who fucking with it. But in a sense, I can relate the need to be great turns into an obsession – it keeps a nigga up late. Writing words, hoping people observe the dedication. That stirs in you constantly, but intentions get blurred. Do I do it for the love of the music or is there more to me?
Real hip-hop ain’t bitches, whips, and gold chains – rather humanistic raps and courage to raise the BAR.
J. Cole drops a signature, story-teller flow, deconstructing Yeezy on Verse 1, and counseling Wale on Verse 2.
Bump “False Prophets” below.