Credit Where It Is Due: Childish Gambino

Although unlike the majority of the Hip-Hop world, Childish Gambino grew up with a silver spoon, but there’s no denying that his lyrical deliveries and presence lights up a room. The aloof rapper makes it known that zero fucks are given when it comes to the bashing from the world for his upbringing, as his confidence within his musical abilities shines as bright as the sun. Yes, Childish Gambino makes it known that he is going to be rich forever no matter what, but that does not push aside his true talent. And with only three albums under his belt in six years, Childish isn’t just dishing out album after album to rack up fat stacks; he does it to make an impact. Don’t be mad because Gambino is doing himself better than you are doing you; here are five rhymes that prove that the California kids imprint makes a difference in the game.

“Girl, I messed up real bad
I’m looking back on the days that we both had
I go to bed and I dream so hard
Of little mixed kids running in the front yard
I need you close, I need your kiss
I never ever, ever, ever knew a love like this
I, miss you more than Puffy missed B.I.G
I didn’t think that you would leave a hole this big
In my life, you need to be my wife
I made this song while holdin’ the pillow tight
And wishin’ that it was you, what can a nigga do
Fuck this success, fuck these interviews
Fuck these phone calls, girl you are worth it
When I was happy, you were happy, you are perfect
When I was blue, you were blue, you’re my Smurfette
I put my best chips on the worst bet”

Track – “Almost There”

“I got a girl on my arm, dude, show respect
Something crazy and Asian, Virginia Tech
She too fine, I do dimes
If not that, I’m walking out with two fives
Change my ID for the cops, it’s not enough yet
Black male in short shorts, I’m double suspect
Ballin’ since ’83, half of ’em say he gay
Maybe that’s the reason I like Lady What-babies-say
I’m a problem, I’m lame as fuck homie
But I rap like these niggas ain’t got shit on me
Fuck the cool kids, not Chuck Inglish
But people who think that hatin on me makes them distinguished
Like, “What is this nigga doin? Rap is for real blacks
I hate that fucking faggot, man, he think that we feel that”
Or “I wrote on rape culture my junior year at Brown
So I’m allowed to say what all his raps are about”
You better shut your mouth before I fuck it
You really hate my lyrics now or Kid Cudi’s, nigga”

Track – “Backpackers”

“She make a movie with her friends
Put it up in a minute
Everybody say it now, ain’t no loop at the minute
Everybody saying “How, how you do it, you did it?”
I’ma show you what it done, but enough for a finish
Pay attention, you listen
You keep losing your mind
How you want to loop this shit but looking like a Vine?”

Track – “California”

“I’m so broke man, scholarship apologin’
Facebook messages from college kids who hollerin’
Girls like, “we love you, we go to LSU
You gotta do a show so we can come and molest you”
This rap stuff is magic
I used to get called “Oreo” and “Faggot”
I used to get more laughs when I got laughed at
Oh you got a mixtape? That’s fantastic”

Track – “Fire Fly”

“Watching haters wonder why Gambino got the game locked
Half-Thai thickie, all she wanna do is Bangkok
Got her hair done, French braids now she A$AP
Bino so insensitive, she asking, “Why you say that?!”
I’m chillin’, real nigga feeling
Rich kid, asshole: paint me as a villain
Still spitting that cash flow: DJ Khaled
I got a penthouse on both coasts: pH balance
Real nigga, I rep those, why though? Cause I said so
Hip deep in the Pepto, I got five on her like Ben Folds
I got more tail than that PetCo
You faker than some Sweet’N Low
Yeah, you got some silverware
But really are you eating though?
Are you eating though? Nigga, are you eating though?
Breakfast, lunch and dinner’s for beginners
You ain’t even know—
Never catching cases, why they faces look so E-M-O?
Watch a hater hate me, wanna play me like a piano
My architect know Japanese, yo’ girl, she jocking these
No hands like soccer teams and y’all fuck boys like Socrates
You niggas ain’t copping these, niggas ain’t looking like me
Nah, I ain’t checking I.D. but I bounce ’em with no problem
Tell ’em, Problem”

Track – “IV. Sweatpants”

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