This is a song about "Make"

No, i can’t called bitch i’m lying, i don’t use my phone, shit

I make elevating music, you make elevator music

When the club gets played

Stored in his mind to make,

But when we scrap you gon make

J. cole runnin' late

Drink whatever's left, kill the pussy, tombstone

Make it a war, ima make it my own,

Yeah this new town cannot make

If i should die before i wake

She glammed up behind that eyeliner i know there's tears

That could make some sense, to make amends, to take a stand, to make it tense

Guess what they got a choice to make

And that was when i was in the eighth grade

Im washin off another plate

Be thankfull for every breath you make