Lil Yachty and J. Cole - The Secret Recipe
YeahAllegedly, they figured out that I'm the secret recipe
The baddest hoes gon' test the E, then blame the high for wantin' sex
I never wanted peace, fuck all the opps, I support Malcolm X
The stack of chains is just a front
Overtaxed and underwhelming, your jeweler pulled a major stunt
I don't smoke weed, already blunt, all of my cars, I had to hunt
My doggy young as hell but still'll step, we call him baby runt
Like window shoppers, I see through every front
I speak on what I need, I foresee everything I want
I block out anything I hate, and still the home is still unpaid
The notice went unseen, the tenants too relaxed
The standards have collapsed, they wrote me in with lames
They treat me like I'm them, they hate, I overcame
Refuse to pat my back, refuse to shake my hand
Refuse to give me props when I am not around
Refuse to act like I ain't shift the sound, like I ain't push the culture
Like several vultures, they ain't come after me
Like several vultures, ain't come after me, still, I keep it P
Yeah, we still digress, and I'm playin' checkers, ain't playin' chess
'Cause I don't go 'round on niggas, we go over niggas
I'll show you niggas, I'm personally nothin' like you and plus I ain't never liked you
I'm rich as hell, I'd never fight you, I'll have somebody snipe you
My doggy Lucky on the edge, holdin' on by a thread
Just like a kite, it wouldn't cost a price
And even if it did it always be right, just like I'm Bob Barker
When I speak, pay attention, go over my words like highlight markers
My only celebrity crush is Nikki Parker
They said I got a type, said all my hoes, they look the same, they said they look too light
Peep my cup, betcha couldn't tell that it was Sprite
I give a fuck about her face, she walkin' with a bamski, I'ma strike
For real (yeah)
I'ma strike (it's us)
I'ma strike, uh
Cole and Yachty, comin' for they respect, come and pay your debt
Just like a travel pillow, we at your neck for the way you slept
It's nuance but I see hella influence in the way you dress
The way you sound, the way you try to move
And try to stay abreast on all the latest flows and the latest tones from Generation X
Y'all chasing relevance, it's evidenced by the way you step
As for me, I cook so masterfully, ain't gotta pay a chef
I'm older now, but still, I'm cuttin' edge, I'm like a bayonet
From out the 'Ville, we ocean certified
You gotta wear your vest, too many homicides
A lotta slidin', they good at makin' decks
Thanks to God, I made it out the city, most would say I'm blessed
My greatest flex is that I made a milli', feel like I'm Bangladesh
I hate the press, refusin' interviews whenever they request
Niggas fake-progressive and woke, I started sayin' less
I had to stop it, peeped how they profit off of racial stress
Some activists got so rich, they prolly wish we stay oppressed
Studio steppers movin' extra on songs, fakin' rep
Only breakin' bad in the lab, thought y'all was makin' meth
Niggas makin' threats and I laugh, that's 'cause you ain't a threat
Don't ask how I feel 'bout no rappers, shit, they okay, I guess
Incomin' call, press the button, the one that say accept
He FaceTime to ask for a feature and saw the face of death
I'm on your song, your streams goin' up, not quite the Drake effect
But don't complain, bitch, take what you get and cut the label check
My table set, I dine on your favorite, one verse'll take his breath
I prolly put more niggas on pause than Cam and Mason Beth
My agent get a whole lotta calls, it's like he paid the ref
These bitches out here lookin' like Steph on the late contest
Wide open, shootin' they shot, don't even waste your breath
I been stop fuckin' you thots, ain't got no patience left
Save that shit for one of them niggas that rock the fake Pateks
My paper stretched just like a Laker before he break a sweat
Signed, the greatest yet
Written by:
Miles Parks McCollum, Jermaine Lamarr Cole
Publisher:
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
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