The World Cold
The world cold, better lay low
Something they a never take from me is my soul
Black fist high, let my nappy hair show
We don't speak the same language if you aint talking dough
I'm the phantom of the opera in a drop top
In all black pullin up at ya mama spot
Get the money and you might spare her life
If she fine I just might do sumn with her I like
I aint the type that's gone do alotta talking
Im all about the bread and you see it come often
Do what I say or you might see a coffin
Or find ya body laying on a railroad crossing
I move like it aint a hood that I cant go
Im everybody topic but my drip what they pay for
You might need a mop to clean up the mess
Gimme what I ask no negotiating, nothing less
Got some dirty money coming in the mail
And its wrapped so tight that they could never tell
Gotta clean it up and save it for the bail
Gotta crooked halo and im living in hell
Got my hand on the tool at the stop light
Pull up if you wanna but I bet I end your life
You don't really wanna see what my life like
I'll still come for ya head with the right price
They wanna put me in the grave aint that a shame
Cant they tell I done been through enough pain
I suppose I should let em know I never fold
Im ten toes down and my heart ice cold
I come to get the money I just really want the bag
I want everything that I never really had
Haters talking down yea I kno I make em mad
They see I got it and they money they cant make it last
Something they a never take from me is my soul
Black fist high, let my nappy hair show
We don't speak the same language if you aint talking dough
I'm the phantom of the opera in a drop top
In all black pullin up at ya mama spot
Get the money and you might spare her life
If she fine I just might do sumn with her I like
I aint the type that's gone do alotta talking
Im all about the bread and you see it come often
Do what I say or you might see a coffin
Or find ya body laying on a railroad crossing
I move like it aint a hood that I cant go
Im everybody topic but my drip what they pay for
You might need a mop to clean up the mess
Gimme what I ask no negotiating, nothing less
Got some dirty money coming in the mail
And its wrapped so tight that they could never tell
Gotta clean it up and save it for the bail
Gotta crooked halo and im living in hell
Got my hand on the tool at the stop light
Pull up if you wanna but I bet I end your life
You don't really wanna see what my life like
I'll still come for ya head with the right price
They wanna put me in the grave aint that a shame
Cant they tell I done been through enough pain
I suppose I should let em know I never fold
Im ten toes down and my heart ice cold
I come to get the money I just really want the bag
I want everything that I never really had
Haters talking down yea I kno I make em mad
They see I got it and they money they cant make it last
Credits
Writer(s): Slim Spitta
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
© 2024 All rights reserved. Rockol.com S.r.l. Website image policy
Rockol
- Rockol only uses images and photos made available for promotional purposes (“for press use”) by record companies, artist managements and p.r. agencies.
- Said images are used to exert a right to report and a finality of the criticism, in a degraded mode compliant to copyright laws, and exclusively inclosed in our own informative content.
- Only non-exclusive images addressed to newspaper use and, in general, copyright-free are accepted.
- Live photos are published when licensed by photographers whose copyright is quoted.
- Rockol is available to pay the right holder a fair fee should a published image’s author be unknown at the time of publishing.
Feedback
Please immediately report the presence of images possibly not compliant with the above cases so as to quickly verify an improper use: where confirmed, we would immediately proceed to their removal.