COLD FLOORS, WARM MONEY

Yeeaaahhh… cold floor—warm money, I’m numb, ion’ feel shiiit,

Double cup muddy, whole night get ugly, I’m floatin’ off the drip.

Pain too loud, so I drown that bitch,

I’m wavy, I’m wavy, I’m lost in the mix—

Pockets on swole, whole life do flips,

Chains too heavy, make my neck go dip.

Cold floor—warm money, that’s the life I grip…

(Yeahhh… somebody tell K-Dot he ain’t built like this…)

I’m in the trap with the walls all black,

Cup too strong got me leanin’ right back.

Heart on froze, mind off track—

I ain’t never had peace, only racks on racks.

Yeah, I’m fucked up, faded, vision too blurry,

Talk slow-motion, ain’t no hurry.

Whole damn night with the demons I’m servin’,

Lost in the smoke, can’t tell if I’m hurtin’.

Yeah, Kendrick talk loud, but he quiet in the room,

Act like a king, but he tremble when we boom.

He got poems, I got pressure that’ll shake down the moon—

He write verses; I write motherfuckin’ DOOM.

Chain on swing like it’s tryna fight me,

Dark thoughts talkin’, they always invite me.

Money my drug, let the devil ignite me…

(Pshhh… yeeeahhh… tell Kung Fu Kenny don’t bite me…)

Cold floor—warm money, I’m numb, ion’ feel shiiit,

Double cup muddy, whole night get ugly, I’m floatin’ off the drip.

Yeah, the pain too loud, so I drown that bitch,

I’m wavy, I’m wavy, I’m lost in the mix—

Pockets on swole, whole life do flips,

Chains too heavy, make my neck go dip.

Cold floor—warm money, that’s the life I grip…

(Mmmm… tell K-Dot stay quiet, don’t slip…)

I’ve been runnin’ through late nights tryna mute my thoughts,

Still dealin’ with the pain that the spotlight brought.

Tryna balance out the fame with the shit I fought,

Turn the ghosts to a crown from the lessons I caught.

And Kendrick keep chirpin’ like he runnin’ the league,

But I’m top two, not two — he ain’t out of my league.

He spit riddles, I spit life with a hundred degrees,

Got him writin’ whole songs tryna study my steez.

Now the wrist on ice and the bag too swollen,

Used to break under weight, now the pressure feel golden.

If they want that smoke, I already told ’em—

This the type of throne that can’t be stolen.

Yeeeahhh…

Cold floor—warm money… that’s the life I picked…

Tell Kendrick he can duck, but he still might get hit…

Mmmm… I’m gone…

(Yeah… Future Hendrix… toxic… rich… talk your shiiit…)