Everybody's Something (Feat. Saba & BJ The Chicago Kid) (Prod. by DJ Ozone)
[Intro: Slum Village] Ladies loving my music is like some sex shit Niggas trying to grip up my mic like it's a dick (On the mic like it's a dick) Run around the corner to pick up the new shit (The shit) Toss this in the deck so niggas can catch rep
[Verse 1: Chance] What's good, good? And what's good, evil? And what's good, gangstas? And what's good, people? And whys God's phone die every time that I call on Him? If his son had a Twitter wonder if I would follow him Swallow them synonyms like cinnamon Cinnabon Keep all them sentiments down to a minimum Studious Gluteus Maxim models is sending him Pics of they genitalia tallied up ten of 'em I slurped too many pain-kills, down I'm off a lot I got a lot off days but it ain't often that I'm off the clock Ya Kna Wha Mean, I got the Chicago Blues We invented rock before the Stones got through We just aiming back cause the cops shot you Buck buck bang bang, yelling "Fuck Fox News!" Booyaka buckle up, mothafuck ops too Ain't no knuckling up 'em young cause it just not cool
[Bridge: Chance] Nice to see you Father New Year Middle finger Uncle Samuel Shooting death with weighted dice And hitting stains on birthday candles I know somebody, somebody loves my ass Cause they help me beat my demons ass
[Hook: Chance & BJ the Chicago Kid] Everybody's somebody's everything I know you right Nobody's nothing That's right (3x)
[Verse 2: Chance] Right? IGH I used to tell hoes I was dark light or off white But I'd fight if a nigga said that I talk white And both my parents was black But they saw it fit that I talk right With my drawers hid but My hard head stayed in the clouds like a lost kite But gravity had me up in a submission hold Like I'm dancing with the Devil with two left feet and I'm pigeon toed In two small point ballet shoes with a missing sole And two missing toes But it's love like Cupid kissing a mistletoe
[Bridge]
[Verse 3: Saba] Like Cassius ducking the draft and now the fight is over The type to love from a distance not the type that told her Spent three days on the rap, trash it and type it over With babies on the block under arms like fighting odors Coppers and quotas Hold ya head like 2Pac had taught Obviously they are on a come up With better chances tobogganing in the fucking summer Concoctions for the bad days and a condom for the good ones All odds against we tryna get lucky Doper than Lucky You're ending happy that's only a tugging Like Satan masturbating shit come hot But y'all still love me ugh How father time a deadbeat Maybe I'm adopted That'll explain why all of my shit been so timeless IGH