Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Cot Damn, artist - Clipse. Date of issue: 31.03.2002
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Cot Damn |
| Cot’damn, it’s a new day |
| Cot’damn, but the nigga wanted money |
| Hoooo, hoooo, hoooo |
| Cot’damn |
| (Verse 1 — Malice) |
| Uh, they just can’t understand or phathom my demeanor |
| Unapproachable appearance to how I pack the ninas |
| Out of two, Clipse they say Malice the meanest |
| Got love for guns and caine, let nothin’come between us You miss took me for a rapper huh |
| Well that makes me an actor, cause I would rather clap a gun |
| And buck on them niggas that hate |
| Who wanna be in my shoes, live my life, but can’t carry my weight |
| I understand that the envy is part of the game |
| But make no mistake, you and I, we are not the same |
| Naw bitch I’m liable to splatter ya shit |
| Light up ya world, 'til you start to stagger and shit |
| Watch how them hollows straight, ravel ya shit |
| And I leave it to y’all, to freestyle and battle and shit |
| That’s not me, I’m all at home wit the chrome |
| Or that play wit the yay, moving 12 for a zone, I’m gone |
| (Chorus — Pharrell) |
| Cot’damn, it’s a new day |
| Cot’damn, but the nigga wanted money |
| (Verse 2 — Ab-Liva) |
| God damn, when that white hits the pen and |
| Comes back hard, I can account for every gram and |
| The streets molded the man I am The pimp, the hustler, the crook, the killer, go-rilla |
| Traits of a blow dealer, cost my fame |
| I hustle, I’m rich, blow scrilla, I’ma toss that, carry the game |
| The flame I throw, crack change came from blow, push the O’s |
| Six lay close, hug the streets, I hug the beat, change flows |
| Thug the streets, my love is deep, my pain shows |
| My hearts on a sleeve-a |
| Nigga that they gave they soul and hearts to mistreat you |
| Nigga told, they breaking my heart on the streets so Watch the phonies, watch ya homies |
| We pop, pop, drop you homey |
| (Chorus — Pharrell) |
| Cot’damn, it’s a new day |
| Cot’damn, but the nigga wanted money |
| They call me Pusha for one reason |
| Cause I keep that sniff all seasons |
| Whether the price is up or down |
| I keep a mound to pitch from, you don’t have to shop around |
| When it come to the money, I get stealth |
| Three guns is fortune, and I don’t mind sharing wealth |
| Dog, I know about my life, I been around the world thrice times |
| I mean what I say, from that Panama sun, the French chanzalize |
| Grind so deep-rooted, I can’t turn away |
| The sell base is now, somewhat therapeutic |
| Hear what I say, please don’t confuse it My verses heal, like Curtis Mayfield’s music |
| (Are you a pusher), damn right, I treat ya nose to hook ya And only pull back to cook ya, partner |
| (Chorus — Pharrell) |
| Cot’damn, it’s a new day |
| Cot’damn, but the nigga wanted money |
| (Verse 4 — Roscoe P. Coldchain) |
| I been if I die of starvation, things is fucked up as is |
| So I bangs my cab-bage |
| Do you not know the most affective way of gettin’money |
| Pull yo gun, ra-pid |
| Lee watch you see the situation be corrected |
| You know happens, why must I be so devilish |
| They say whatcha do comes back on you two times |
| I shoulda been died, but I’m still walking around wit two nines |
| Who wants to be a millionaire, me, and you ain’t got no more life lines |
| You a snitch nigga fighting crime, go ahead and tell the police |
| Cause every move you make |
| I’ma throw a slug, and hope you choke blood |
| Nigga on every breath you take |
| Not to be broke, cause Coldchain fate witness |
| Naturally spitting from me, hearing the gat, field to the limit |
| Head to the menace, loud niggas talking gibberish |
| Ground beef, I deliver it, you cock the mineral shirt, for certain |
| Live in the living room, searching to hurting you |
| (Chorus — Pharrell) |
| Cot’damn, it’s a new day |
| Cot’damn, but the nigga wanted money |
| Hoooo, hoooo, hoooo |
| Cot’damn |
| (Skit at end of the track begins) |