Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Cold Hearted, artist - Meek Mill. Album song Dreams Worth More Than Money, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 28.06.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Maybach
Song language: English
Cold Hearted |
Yeah, la-da-da, la-da-da-da, yeah |
I never had a role model |
I was loading gold hollows in my little Glock-40 |
A little shorty, heart colder than December in the morning |
And I think it was December when they swarmed me |
Niggas is jealous, fuck can they tell us |
With them dreams they try to sell us? |
Probably why I’m rebellious |
To a fraud nigga, I lost niggas when I got paper |
It’s like more money I made, they got faker |
And it’s crazy when your best friend turn into your top hater |
Wanna roll out on you and smoke you like top paper |
Damn, what a feeling when you and your homie chilling |
And you know he got thoughts of probably robbing and killing you |
Momma said don’t ever, ever let them belittle you |
And stay away from them haters cause they’ll riddle you |
Last year was like a bad year |
Even though I touched more paper than a cashier |
Small circle, I ain’t never really 'round squares |
They say there’s levels to this shit, you niggas downstairs |
Different floors for different bulls |
Different tours on different jets, my niggas saw |
Different city with different bitches and different whores |
Sometimes I look in the mirror, Meek Milly, this your car? |
Look at your arm, check out your neck, look at your charm |
And to think my niggas started off with cooking raw |
When it was hard the coach told me to get the ball |
I step back for the three, watch it go swish and fall |
And that was and-one, they thinking how we get this far? |
We was just down by three and they thought we took a loss |
They couldn’t D me like Earl Boykins |
, I’m sticking soft |
Tried to pick me off like Champ Bailey but I’m Randy Moss |
And I ran it all for the touchdown, what now? |
Gold AP all bust down, fuck clowns |
My heart getting cold, and the streets getting colder |
They said I wouldn’t make it no way |
I think my heart getting colder, my heart getting cold |
Told them I would make it one day, only Lord knows |
Dedicated, determinated and disciplined |
When Diddy, Hova, and Baby talking, I’m listening |
When I be in the jungle, the Devil be whispering |
Slugs flying by me I hear them, they whistling |
That was a close call |
Stand up nigga so I won’t fall |
My teacher told me I would never go far |
Seen him last week, he was my chauffeur |
, I was like «told y’all» |
Mommy was a booster, daddy was a shooter |
So they couldn’t blame me when I went and copped a Ruger |
Looking at my homies, see the ghost of Freddy Krueger |
Cause if he catch you sleeping he’s gon' knock out your medulla |
Oblongata, |
I’m a father and my son don’t see a lot of |
If I don’t get he gon' probably end up with a chopper |
In a field out in Philly do you feel me? |
Told my momma I won’t let these haters kill me |
Getting high even though it might derail me |
And I won’t ever let these bitches see the real me, do you feel me? |
Times change like the Rollie did |
Now I’m killing these niggas the way that Kobe did |
Ayo, it gets fucked up when your own family start calling you up |
Shit, money’s the root of all evil |
Family start telling you «you acting different nigga» |
You’re goddamn right I’m acting different |
With all this motherfucking money |
But then when it comes from your brother, your sister |
Your mother, your father, that shit hurts you to the core man |
When they start acting like something that you ain’t never motherfucking seen |
You done grew up motherfucker |
They gave birth to you, know what I’m saying? |
You got raised, you done played in the park with them |
This money thing, this shit will fuck you up man |
You got to watch what you ask for |
You sure you want this son? |
You sure you want this money? |
You sure you want this fame? |
You sure you want this power? |
Shit have your own mama talking to you like you ain’t shit |
Yeah everybody want it, everybody need it, money motherfuckers |
Get money don’t stop but I ain’t mad at them |
Shit, but shit even bosses got feelings you know? |
Dear mama, dear papa, family, we’re all we got |
Don’t let this money bring us down |
Shit, everybody eats B, everybody eats, everybody eats |
Let’s go, hahahah |
Uh, yeah |
And we started off as kids, stomach’s touching our ribs |
And them streets all night like we ain’t have nowhere to live |
I remember Sundays we ain’t have nothing but Liv |
Thirty thousand was the tab and you ain’t have nothing to give |
I ain’t trip, I ain’t trip, I pour bottles, I ain’t sip |
I let niggas shine bright, you still act like I ain’t shit? |
Let you have them little hoes, they was all on my dick |
And your main wanted to fuck me nigga, I ain’t hit |
Twenty chains, eight watches, can’t fit on my wrist |
When I speak about them things I never said it’s my shit |
I said it’s ours nigga and when you’re ready we’re gonna ball nigga |
Like Kobe Bryant, Metta Peace and Gasol, nigga |
But I know just what I saw nigga |
It was envious, you looked sideways and I remembered it |
The reason that my heart’s cold now on some December shit |
You used to give thanks for giving on some November shit |
Talking about the twenty-fifth, matter of fact the twenty-sixth |
Maybe it’s the twenty-eighth, fuck it though my money’s straight |
As long as Papi smiling |
I’mma be on airplane mode flier than a pilot |
I’ve seen it, I’ve seen it |
Jealousy in your eyes, I swear that look was deceiving |
And I was surprised man I ain’t want to believe it |
You said you would ride but shit, I know you ain’t mean it |
But yeah nigga I’ve seen it |
My heart getting cold, and the streets getting colder |
They said I would’t make it no way |
I think my heart getting colder, my heart getting cold |
Told them I would make it one day, only Lord knows |