メロディック度
楽曲がどれだけ明確で覚えやすいメロディを持ち、はっきりとした音楽パターンに沿っているかを示します。メロディック度が高い楽曲は、わかりやすく印象に残る楽器やボーカルラインが特徴です。
アコースティック度
楽曲が、電子楽器やデジタル合成音の代わりに、どの程度アコースティック楽器(ピアノ、ギター、バイオリン、ドラム、サックスなど)に依存しているかを示します。
ヴァランス
楽曲のハーモニーやリズムによって伝わる音楽的なポジティブ度や感情的トーンを示します。値が高いほど幸福感、興奮、陶酔などの感情を表し、低いほど悲しみ、怒り、憂鬱などの感情を表します。
ダンサビリティ
テンポの安定性、リズムパターン、ビートの強調などの要素を組み合わせて、楽曲が踊りやすいかどうかを示します。ダンス向きの楽曲は、一定のテンポ、反復的な音楽構造、強いダウンビートを持つ傾向があります。
エネルギー
楽曲の知覚される強さを示し、テンポ、音量の変化、音の密度などによって影響されます。エネルギーが高い曲は、力強いリズムや密度の高い編成を特徴とし、エネルギーが低い曲は、音の間隔が広く、テンポもゆったりとした構成になる傾向があります。
BPM80
クレジット
PERFORMING ARTISTS
J. Cole
Vocals
Grant Green
Sampled Artist
Richard Pryor
Sampled Artist
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
J. Cole
Songwriter
Alan Bergman
Composer
Marilyn Bergman
Composer
Quincy Jones
Composer
Richard Pryor
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Chris Athens
Mastering Engineer
J. Cole
Producer
Juro "Mez" Davis
Mixing Engineer
歌詞
[Intro]
Lots of shit happen like being in show business
A lot of shit happens
Like, like I make a lot of money, you know
And I'm really happy about it, I'm not bragging
I just want to say, I make so fucking–, it's ridiculous
But wait, wait a minute, wait
If my father was alive today
I would go home and say
"Dad, I'ma tell you how much money I make"
You know what he would say?
"You's a lying motherfucker
Joe Louis didn't make that much money
Coming here to–, get you ass out the house
Coming with that bullshit"
[Verse 1]
**** hating on me, I ain't used to that
Know a couple people wanna shoot for that
I say no, no, no, chill it, ain't no need for that
Them **** tryna blow and they need me for that
And if it work for them, well shit, I'm cool with that
Plus how they feel, I ain't got shit to do with that
I just sit back on cool and watch my paper stack
And trip off how much bread them crackers take from that
[Refrain]
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
[Verse 2]
It's been a long time since I have felt this way
About something, but now, but now
I'm controlling my mind, the days are warm
The nights are cool, the lost is found, I'm found
Lord knows I need something to fill this void
Lord knows I need something to fill this void
Lord knows I need something to fill this void
Lord knows I need something to fill this void
[Verse 3]
Hell yeah, boy, I'm a got-damn millionaire now
Hell yeah, ****, **** can't tell me shit now, boy
Hell, no, fuck that
Bitch, got my first motherfuckin' million-dollar check
****, I'm lit, boy, you crazy as hell
Hold up, it's my phone real quick
It's my Unc, Uncle Sam and shit
Wassup Unc!
Yup, hell yeah
I told you that check was coming in, I got you
Came in, goddamn, I'm a man of my word
Goddamn, I told you I'ma have it
And goddamn I'ma have it for you, shit, damn right
Well how much, how much was it though?
Huh? Huh? Half? Half?
****, you crazy boy
You crazy as a–, bitch, you crazy as fuck
Bitch, bitch, you better suck half my dick!
[Verse 4]
I pay taxes, so much taxes, shit don't make sense
Where do my dollars go, you see lately I ain't been convinced
I guess they say my dollars supposed to build roads and schools
But my **** barely graduate, they ain't got the tools
Maybe 'cause the tax dollars that I make sure I send
Get spent hiring some teachers that don't look like them
And the curriculum be trickin' 'em, them dollars I spend
Got us learning 'bout the heroes with the whitest of skin
One thing about the men that's controlling the pen
That write history, they always seem to white-out they sins
Maybe we'll never see a Black man in the White House again
I write a check to the IRS, my pockets get slim, damn
Do I even have a say 'bout where it's goin'?
Some older **** told me to start votin'
I said, "Democracy is too fuckin' slow"
If I'm giving y'all this hard-earned bread, I wanna know
Better yet, let me decide, bitch, it's 2018
Let me pick the things I'm funding from an app on my screen
Better that than letting whack congressmen I've never seen
Dictate where my money goes, straight into the palms
Of some money hungry company
That make guns that circulate the country
And then wind up in my hood makin' bloody clothes
Stray bullet hit a young boy with a snotty nose
From the concrete, he was probably rose
Now his body froze and nobody knows what to tell his mother
He did good at the white man schools, unlike his brother
Who was lost in the streets all day, not using rubbers
So right now he got two on the way
Still sleep on covers in his momma house
She can't take this shit no more, she want him out
On the morning of the funeral just as she's walking out
Wiping tears away, grabbing her keys and sunglasses
She remembered that she gotta file her taxes, damn
[Outro]
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Written by: Alan Bergman, J. Cole, Marilyn Bergman, Quincy Jones, Richard Pryor

