| Yeah | 
| I’m feelin' this one Q | 
| This a classic | 
| Pachino Life | 
| These rappers is so old | 
| Need to retire rap | 
| Fuck with young Coz, 'cause I’m where that fire at | 
| Come walk through my home | 
| Yeah, I’ll take you inside of that | 
| Inside my rap, still strugglin', but I know real cats admire that | 
| I got a fam so most my time get applied to that | 
| But I’m still hungry, see the fame, I desire that | 
| I heard they sayin' I’m sweet now | 
| 'Cause I don’t run around strapped, tuckin' that heat now | 
| And I ain’t in the mix, movin' P’s and keys now | 
| 'Cause I could make a hunnit-thou, fuckin' with beats wild | 
| You not in my ball game | 
| You dudes is small change | 
| Ice and a couple hoes, is that what you call fame | 
| A lot of cats hatin' on me | 
| But most of 'em fakin', homie | 
| The world is debatin' on me | 
| I got her patiently pacin' and waitin' on me | 
| They know the flow is so butter | 
| Rap with the soul level brother | 
| I’m so gutter | 
| It’s no other | 
| I’m so cold | 
| So cold | 
| So cold | 
| Under pressure and won’t fold | 
| 'Cause homie I’m | 
| So cold | 
| So cold | 
| So cold | 
| Got rap in a choke hold | 
| And homie I’m | 
| So cold | 
| So cold | 
| So cold | 
| I won’t fold | 
| This street life is so cold | 
| I’m holdin' my mom’s hands | 
| And beggin' her don’t go | 
| I’m watchin' my kids cry | 
| The price on the brick’s high | 
| Shit, I remember when they were goin' for 10−5 | 
| And now it’s like, losin' life is supposed to be easy | 
| Now he lost his life over money | 
| He was tryna' feed his child | 
| And my young homie tried to send a brick or two | 
| Be careful where you’re shippin' to | 
| It’s been hard to get 'em through | 
| But I’m in love with this lifestyle | 
| This Kush is just so loud | 
| I’m tryin' to slow down | 
| My heart is just cold now | 
| And trust me, them boys tried twice | 
| But no, they couldn’t touch me | 
| Bag full of dirty money | 
| Used to ride around town with that thing on my lap | 
| And now I’m stuck in the traffic | 
| And while I’m weighin' these packs | 
| I start to think about all I used to dream about | 
| Cars, big houses, and money | 
| How can they leave me out | 
| I’m so cold | 
| So cold | 
| So cold | 
| Under pressure and won’t fold | 
| 'Cause homie I’m | 
| So cold | 
| So cold | 
| So cold | 
| Got rap in a choke hold | 
| And homie I’m | 
| So cold | 
| So cold | 
| So cold | 
| Conversin' with my O.G. | 
| and burnin' on some Christmas tree | 
| Ask 'em why don’t you please give me game on life mystery | 
| Told me that we all born to die, so prepare to be | 
| A maker of history and broken down misery | 
| You told me every hustle that was ever born to struggle | 
| Was forgivin by God, so I purchase the hard | 
| Then I put it in the trunk | 
| And I took a short trip | 
| And I put it in the trap | 
| And I make that brick flip | 
| And it only took a Summer for my come up | 
| Shorty had them units in the city doin' numbers | 
| Fuckin' with the pretties of hoes, you remember | 
| Tammy, Trenae, Melinda, Jacenta | 
| Had all them hoes whippin' with a blender | 
| Either that or carryin' them bags in the rental | 
| And I done took my O.G.'s plug by December | 
| They told that old man, homie, don’t trip, remember | 
| I’m so cold | 
| So cold | 
| So cold | 
| Under pressure and won’t fold | 
| 'Cause homie I’m | 
| So cold | 
| So cold | 
| So cold | 
| Got rap in a choke hold | 
| And homie I’m | 
| So cold | 
| So cold | 
| So cold |