| Song | Cot Damn |
| Artist | Clipse |
| Album | Lord Willin' |
| 作曲 : Hugo, Thornton, Thornton ... | |
| Cot damn, it's a new day | |
| Cot damn, but the nigga wanted money | |
| Hoo, hoo, hoo, oh, cot damn | |
| They just can't understand or fathom 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 mistook me for a rapper, huh | |
| Well that makes me an actor, 'cause | |
| I would rather clap a gun | |
| And buck on them niggas who 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, rattle ya shit | |
| And I leave it to y'all, to freestyle and battle and shit | |
| That's not me, | |
| I'm more at home wit the chrome | |
| Or that play wit' the yay, movin' 12 for a zone, | |
| I'm goneCot damn, it's a new day | |
| Cot damn, but the nigga wanted money | |
| Cot damn, when that white hits the pan | |
| And comes back hard, | |
| I can account for every gram | |
| And the streets molded the man | |
| I amThe pimp, the hustler, the crook, the killer, gorilla | |
| Traits of a blow dealer, cost my fame | |
| I hustle, | |
| I'm rich, blow scrilla, | |
| I'm the torch that carry the game | |
| The flame | |
| I throw, crack change came from blow, push the | |
| O'sSix 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 sleevea | |
| Nigga that they gave they soul and hearts to mistreat you | |
| Nigga told, they breakin' my heart on the streets so | |
| Watch the phonies, watch ya homies | |
| We pop, pop, drop you homey | |
| 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 sharin' my 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 | |
| Curt Mayfield's music(Are you a pusha?) | |
| Damn right, | |
| I treat ya nose to hook ya | |
| And only pull back to cook ya, partner | |
| Cot damn, it's a new day | |
| Cot damn, but the nigga wanted money | |
| I been if | |
| I die of starvation, things is ****ed up as is | |
| So I bangs for my cabbage | |
| Do you not know the most affective way of gettin' money | |
| Pull yo gun, rapid | |
| Leave and watch you see the situation be corrected | |
| Lord Heavens, why must | |
| I be so devilish | |
| They say whatcha do comes back on you two times | |
| I shoulda been died, but | |
| I'm still walkin' around wit two nines | |
| Who wants to be a millionaire? | |
| Me, and you ain't got no more life lines | |
| You a snitch nigga fightin' 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 | |
| Natural spittin' from me, [Incomprehensible], field to the limit | |
| Head to the menace, loud niggas talking gibberish | |
| Ground beef, | |
| I deliver it, you cock the mineral [Incomprehensible], for certain | |
| Live in the livin' room, searchin' to hurtin' you | |
| Cot damn, it's a new day | |
| Cot damn, but the nigga wanted money | |
| Hoo, hoo, hoo | |
| Cot damn |
| zuò qǔ : Hugo, Thornton, Thornton ... | |
| Cot damn, it' s a new day | |
| Cot damn, but the nigga wanted money | |
| Hoo, hoo, hoo, oh, cot damn | |
| They just can' t understand or fathom 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 mistook me for a rapper, huh | |
| Well that makes me an actor, ' cause | |
| I would rather clap a gun | |
| And buck on them niggas who 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, rattle ya shit | |
| And I leave it to y' all, to freestyle and battle and shit | |
| That' s not me, | |
| I' m more at home wit the chrome | |
| Or that play wit' the yay, movin' 12 for a zone, | |
| I' m goneCot damn, it' s a new day | |
| Cot damn, but the nigga wanted money | |
| Cot damn, when that white hits the pan | |
| And comes back hard, | |
| I can account for every gram | |
| And the streets molded the man | |
| I amThe pimp, the hustler, the crook, the killer, gorilla | |
| Traits of a blow dealer, cost my fame | |
| I hustle, | |
| I' m rich, blow scrilla, | |
| I' m the torch that carry the game | |
| The flame | |
| I throw, crack change came from blow, push the | |
| O' sSix 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 sleevea | |
| Nigga that they gave they soul and hearts to mistreat you | |
| Nigga told, they breakin' my heart on the streets so | |
| Watch the phonies, watch ya homies | |
| We pop, pop, drop you homey | |
| 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 sharin' my 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 deeprooted, | |
| 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 | |
| Curt Mayfield' s music Are you a pusha? | |
| Damn right, | |
| I treat ya nose to hook ya | |
| And only pull back to cook ya, partner | |
| Cot damn, it' s a new day | |
| Cot damn, but the nigga wanted money | |
| I been if | |
| I die of starvation, things is ed up as is | |
| So I bangs for my cabbage | |
| Do you not know the most affective way of gettin' money | |
| Pull yo gun, rapid | |
| Leave and watch you see the situation be corrected | |
| Lord Heavens, why must | |
| I be so devilish | |
| They say whatcha do comes back on you two times | |
| I shoulda been died, but | |
| I' m still walkin' around wit two nines | |
| Who wants to be a millionaire? | |
| Me, and you ain' t got no more life lines | |
| You a snitch nigga fightin' 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 | |
| Natural spittin' from me, Incomprehensible, field to the limit | |
| Head to the menace, loud niggas talking gibberish | |
| Ground beef, | |
| I deliver it, you cock the mineral Incomprehensible, for certain | |
| Live in the livin' room, searchin' to hurtin' you | |
| Cot damn, it' s a new day | |
| Cot damn, but the nigga wanted money | |
| Hoo, hoo, hoo | |
| Cot damn |