Yo, KOBK the murder gang
Shit
Free Tune, That's my bro
Yo, I'm the fucking coldestIn the hood tryin' to make it out
So what the fuck they mad 'bout?
Rappers in my city don't want me to make a route
Jackers goin' jack so I'm prepared to take 'em out
Baby's on the way I ain't got a dime
Just a choppa to my name and these books of rhymes
All alone in a room with this crooked mind
Watchin' rappers' videos knowin' I can take their shine
Calm, tell me be patient, and take my time
I be strugglin' too long now I'm takin' mine
What good is bein' hot if nobody notice?
That in a room full of rappers I'm the fucking coldestOnly, tells me some things I don't wanna know
And I can't
Tells me some things I don't wanna know
(I'm the fucking coldest)
No I can't
Mind over matter but the matter is
The fact that we live with no time to give
Our fam, we thowin' money at our kids
They be starvin' for knowledge and I can see their ribs
No ambition for college, they sittin' at the crib
Sellin' drugs, probably be the next gettin' killed
On the block, there's 30 more just like 'em
I don't pawn til those crackers come a reindict 'em
Chain smoking blunts, now they searchin' for a title
That you earned in the hood cause you shot a rifle
Guns make niggas feel tall like the Eiffel
Til somebody shoot 'em down and their body stiffle
Fuck a magazine, need to read a Bible
But the preacher steal money for his own survival
Or maybe I'm just takin' notice
That in a room full of rappers I'm the fucking coldest
Song Discussions is protected by U.S. Patent 9401941. Other patents pending.