[Verse 1:]
You won't feel me until everybody
Say, they love you, but it's not love.
And your suit is oxblood,
And the girl you fucking hates you,
And your friends faded off shots of
What you ordered to forget about the game that you on top of,
Your famous girlfriend's ass keep getting thicker than a plot does,
And when you forget it, that's when she pop up,
And you got a drop but you ride around with the top up,
Or three SUVs for niggas dressed like refugees,
And deal with the questions
About all your excessive needs,
And you do dinners at French Laundry in Napa Valley,
Scallops and glasses of Dolce,
That shit's right up your alley.
You see a girl and you ask about her,
Bitches smiling at you, it must be happy hour,
They put the cloth across your lap soon as you sat down,
It's feeling like you own every place you choose to be at now.
Walking through airport security with your hat down
Instead of getting a pat down, they just keep on
Saying that they feel you, nigga.
[Hook: The Weeknd]
I've been faded too long,
I've been faded too long,
I've been faded too long.
Why won't it stop? The ride.
Why won't it stop? The ride.
[Verse 2:]
You won't feel me till you want it
So bad you tell yourself, you're in it.
And tell the world around you
That your paperwork is finished,
And steal your mother's debit cards
So you maintain an image,
And ride around in overpriced
Rental cars that ain't tinted.
You need a minute? You got it.
You know, it's real, when your
Latest nights are your greatest nights,
The sun is up when you get home, that's just a way of life.
Apartment 1503: some couches and paintings,
When you record with two others that want the same things,
It start to feel better than home feels.
And so you up there every night, you swear, you getting close,
That champagne money was for gas and phone bills
But, shit, you 'bout to spend it on what matters most.
You drop a couple songs in hopes that you could be the nigga
And come out every night to let the city see them nigga,
Telling stories that nobody relate to,
And even though they hate you
They just keep on telling you they feel you, nigga.
[Hook]
[Verse 3:]
I haven't been inside Terminal 1 and 3 in so long,
I'm driving right up to it now.
Make sure you got your coat on,
That runway can be cold especially after summer's rolled on.
And all you knew is alcohol and city lights and slow songs
For four months out the year, it's got you asking, what's good at home.
What's good at home?
The same hoes are still at it, I shoulda known.
My young niggas popping M's and sipping dirty Jones,
Problem children that all be repping October's Own.
Brand new girl and she still growing,
Brand new titties, stitches still showing.
Yeah, and she just praying that it heals good,
I'm 'bout to fuck and I'm just praying that it feels good.
I really don't know much but, shit, I know a secret,
They say, more money more problems, my nigga, don't believe it.
I mean, sure, there's some bills and taxes I'm still evading,
But I blew six million on myself and I feel amazing.
Young money maker, season ticketholder,
Season switching over,
I come through them bitches
Still scorching as if I didn't notice.
You niggas getting older, I see no threat in Yoda.
I'm out here messing over the lives of these niggas,
That couldn't fuck with my freshman floater. (Flow ta.)
Look at that fucking chip on your nephew's shoulder,
My sophomore, I was all for it, they all saw it,
My juniors and senior will only get meaner.
Take care, nigga!
[Hook]