Nolan cites his first rhyme as being written before 4th grade when his older brother encouraged him to try it out. He quit after that and picked the pen back up in 7th grade for a brief stint before quitting once again. In his freshman year of High School, he resumed writing lyrics after breaking his leg in an accident while playing basketball. Ever since then, J.Nolan was frequently writing songs, freestyling, and battling fellow emcees in local ciphers after school. In 2005, Nolan formed a group with his best friend Osiris The Prophet and cousin Yung B Da Producer. The trio was called Manifest. They officially stayed together until 2007 when they disbanded as solo artists in a crew known as The Manifest Movement. J.Nolan uses this imprint to release his independent mixtapes and free albums.
In The Wind
J.Nolan Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
Hands on her face and
Praying to god I wake up the next day when
Testing my morals and what I'm ok with
She likes when I rap in similar cadence
You with your clique and I'm with myself
You handing favors I don't need no help
Committing a crime by killing this microphone
Over compressing is something y'all kinda do
I prefer coffee and sucking on lozenges
609 With a 6 foot ego
5'8 Born with Napoleon syndrome
Been out the house hell nah bitch been home
There is a thug with a gun up in your window
Handing out disses like raffles at stadium
Fuck with this bullet right into your cranium
Mumbling da,da,da that's what a baby does
Half of my talent is so non attainable
Death is creeping over like it's spit in the wind
Chilling In the cut while I'm sipping on this Gin
Death is creeping over like it's spit in the wind
Chilling In the cut while I'm sipping on this, sipping on this
The lyrics to J.Nolan's song In The Wind describe his introspective thoughts and feelings of isolation and detachment from his surroundings. He talks about waking up feeble and praying to God for the next day. He is testing his own morals and what he is okay with, and simultaneously raps similar to the cadence that his partner likes. He feels alone in a crowd, with others handing out favors that he doesn't need. He commits metaphorical "crimes" by killing the microphone, while others sleep on his skills. J.Nolan prefers to take care of his voice with coffee and lozenges, while others over-compress their music. He has a 6-foot ego but struggles with Napoleon syndrome, feeling small yet confident.
He also brings up the idea of death, which is slowly creeping up on him like a gust of wind, and he is chilling in the cut while sipping on gin. He is aware of his own mortality and the inevitability of death, which makes him question his daily actions and the choices he makes. J.Nolan uses powerful metaphors, comparing himself to a thug with a gun in someone's window, handing out disses like raffles at a stadium. He warns others not to mess with him, or they'll end up with a bullet in their brain.
Line by Line Meaning
Feeble awaken
I woke up feeling weak and tired
Hands on her face and
She had her hands on her face, perhaps in distress
Praying to god I wake up the next day when
I hope I survive the day and live to see tomorrow
Testing my morals and what I'm ok with
I'm challenging my beliefs and questioning what I'm comfortable with
She likes when I rap in similar cadence
She enjoys when I rap in a matching rhythm or pace
You with your clique and I'm with myself
You're with your group of friends and I'm alone
You handing favors I don't need no help
You're offering me help or favors, but I don't require or want them
Committing a crime by killing this microphone
My skill in rapping is so good that it's like destroying something
Sleeping on me while OD'ing on Tylenol
You're underestimating me while overdosing on a painkiller
Over compressing is something y'all kinda do
You tend to overuse compression in music production
I prefer coffee and sucking on lozenges
I like drinking coffee and having throat lozenges
609 With a 6 foot ego
I'm from area code 609 and have a big ego
5'8 Born with Napoleon syndrome
I'm short in height and have a complex about it
Been out the house hell nah bitch been home
I haven't left home, don't call me a bitch
There is a thug with a gun up in your window
There's a dangerous person with a gun near where you are
Handing out disses like raffles at stadium
I'm giving out insults like prizes at a stadium event
Fuck with this bullet right into your cranium
If you mess with me, I'll hit you hard and fast
Mumbling da,da,da that's what a baby does
Saying nonsense like 'da,da,da' is something a baby would do
Half of my talent is so non attainable
Some of my skills are almost impossible to achieve
Death is creeping over like it's spit in the wind
Death is drawing near, like a gust of wind blowing spit
Chilling In the cut while I'm sipping on this Gin
I'm relaxing in a hidden or secluded spot while drinking gin
Death is creeping over like it's spit in the wind
Death is getting closer and closer
Chilling In the cut while I'm sipping on this, sipping on this
I'm still relaxing with my drink
Lyrics © DistroKid
Written by: Elijah Fiorello, Jose Ramirez
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind