That Power - Childish Gambino

All these haters
See you later
All that I could do
But you don't even feel me though
I know you know I know you got that power
That power
Oh, oh oh

[Verse 1]
So CG but a n*gga stay real
Though I'm fly I'm ill I'm running sh_t
3-points, field goal
Rappers used to laugh like I tripped and fell
Cause I don't stunt a gold cross like I Christian Bale
Yeah, they starin' at me jealous cause I do shows bigger
But your looks don't help, like an old gold digger
Uncool, but lyrically I'm a stone cold killer
So it's 400 blows to these Truffaut n*ggas
Yeah, now that's the line of the century
N*ggas missed it, too busy
They lyin' 'bout penitentiary
Man, you ain't been there
N*gga you been scared
And I'm still living single like Synclaire
Lovin' white dudes who call me white and then try to hate
When I wasn't white enough to use your pool when I was 8
Stone Mountain you raised me well
I'm stared at by Confederates but hard as hell
Tight jeans penny loafers, but I still drink a Bodine
Staying on my me sh_t, but hated on by both sides
I'm just a kid who blowing up with my father's name
And every black "you're not black enough"
Is a white "you're all the same"
DOOM Food like Rapp Snitch Knishes
Cuz its oreos, twinkies, coconuts, delicious
How many gold plaques you want inside your dining room?
I said I want a full house
They said, "You got it dude!"

All these haters
See you later
All that I could do
But you don't even feel me though
I know you know I know you got that power
That power
Oh, oh oh

[Verse 2]
Holla, holla, holla, holla at yo boy
Like yo dad when he's pissed off
Got flow, I could make a cripple crip walk
N*ggas' breath stank, all they do is sh_t talk
People want a real man, I made 'em wait this long
Maybe if he bombs, he'll quit and keep actin'
And save paper like your aunt does with McDonald napkins
How'd it happen? Honesty did it
See all of my competition at the bodies exhibit
Yeah I bodied the limits and I get at them fakers
Motherf*ck if you hate it, cremated them haters
So, my studio be a funeral
Yeah, this is our year, oh you didn't know?
Uh, yeah I'm killin' you, step inside the lion's den
Man I'm hov if the 'O' was an 'I' instead
On stage with my family in front of me
I am what I am: everything I wanna be

All these haters
See you later
All that I could do
But you don't even feel me though
I know you know I know you got that power
That power

This is on a bus back from camp. I'm thirteen
and so are you. Before I left for camp I imagined
it would be me and three or four other dudes
I hadn't met yet, running around all summer,
getting into trouble. It turned out it would
be me and just one girl. That's you. And we're
still at camp as long as we're on the bus and
not at the pickup point where our parents would
be waiting for us. We're still wearing our orange
camp t-shirts. We still smell like pineneedles.
I like you and you like me and I more-than-like
you, but I don't know if you do or don't
more-than-like me. You've never said, so
I haven't been saying anything all summer,
content to enjoy the small miracle of a girl
choosing to talk to me and choosing to do so
again the next day and so on. A girl who's
smart and funny and who, if I say something
dumb for a laugh, is willing to say something
two or three times as dumb to make me laugh,
but who also gets weird and wise sometimes
in a way I could never be. A girl who reads
books that no one's assigned to her, whose
curly brown hair has a line running through
it from where she put a tie to hold it up
while it was still wet

Back in the real world we don't go to the same
school, and unless one of our families moves
to a dramatically different neighborhood,
we won't go to the same high school. So,
this is kind of it for us. Unless I say something.
And it might especially be it for us if I
actually do say something. The sun's gone down
and the bus is quiet. A lot of kids are asleep.
We're talking in whispers about a tree we saw
at a rest stop that looks like a kid we know.
And then I'm like, "Can I tell you something?"
And all of a sudden I'm telling you. And I
keep telling you and it all comes out of me
and it keeps coming and your face is there
and gone and there and gone as we pass
underneath the orange lamps that line the
sides of the highway. And there's no expression
on it. And I think just after a point I'm just
talking to lengthen the time where we live in
a world where you haven't said "yes" or "no"
yet. And regrettably I end up using the word
"destiny." I don't remember in what context.
Doesn't matter. Before long I'm out of stuff
to say and you smile and say, "okay." I don't
know exactly what you mean by it, but it seems
vaguely positive and I would leave in order
not to spoil the moment, but there's nowhere
to go because we're are on a bus. So I
pretend like I'm asleep and before long,
I really am

I wake up, the bus isn't moving anymore.
The domed lights that line the center aisle
are all on. I turn and you're not there.
Then again a lot of kids aren't in their
seats anymore. We're parked at the pick-up
point, which is in the parking lot of a
Methodist church. The bus is half empty.
You might be in your dad's car by now,
your bags and things piled high in the trunk.
The girls in the back of the bus are shrieking
and laughing and taking their sweet time
disembarking as I swing my legs out into
the aisle to get up off the bus, just as
one of them reaches my row. It used to be
our row, on our way off. It's Michelle, a
girl who got suspended from third grade for
a week after throwing rocks at my head.
Adolescence is doing her a ton of favors
body-wise. She stops and looks down at me.
And her head is blasted from behind by the
dome light, so I can't really see her face,
but I can see her smile. And she says one
word: "destiny." Then her and the girls
clogging the aisles behind her all laugh
and then she turns and leads them off the
bus. I didn't know you were friends with

I find my dad in the parking lot. He drives
me back to our house and camp is over.
So is summer, even though there's two weeks
until school starts. This isn't a story about
how girls are evil or how love is bad, this
is a story about how I learned something
and I'm not saying this thing is true or not,
I'm just saying it's what I learned. I told
you something. It was just for you and you
told everybody. So I learned cut out the
middle man, make it all for everybody, always.
Everybody can't turn around and tell everybody
everybody already knows, I told them.
But this means there isn't a place in my life
for you or someone like you. Is it sad? Sure.
But it's a sadness I chose. I wish I could
say this was a story about how I got on the
bus a boy and got off a man more cynical,
hardened, and mature and sh_t. But that's
not true. The truth is I got on the bus a boy.
And I never got off the bus. I still haven't

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