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yang - a cold sunday rmx ! lyrics

[intro]
uh ! (they f+ck wit’ me tho)
they peep my lyricism, and bank balance (aye, aye)
its apparent that i am 3 stacks (aye, aye, aye !)
my cynicism is a talent
ya’ll love riding me, i put the saddle back (okay)
gotta carry that, uh, uh wait
(gotta carry+ just gotta carry that, woah)
(woah woah)

[verse 1]
gotta carry the money, the fame, and the weight that just come with the minimum wage (yea)
give me the glitter and gold, and everything pretty they put on my body today (yea, yea)
f+ck around, start a genre
f+ck it baby, do whachu want ! (do whatchu want)
people shady, “i, tonya” (pew)
they see nuisance (pew), in your nuance (mhm)
and the truth is, ain’t no common ground
with ya’ll b+tches (huh)
real time rag to riches (haha)
flow like devon hendryx (wait)
pray to god i’m eccentric (okay)
censor your album cover cuz i’m putting it in, forensics (pew pew pew pew)
critics tired from sleeping on me cuz they doing mental gymnastics
nasty, ion start beef, with strangers, i won’t meet
all i do is write facts, spit fire, and make heat (sheeeeesh, okay)
huh !
all i do is write facts, spit fire, and make heat (wha)
manufacture these beats my room a sweatshop, not a factory (uh)
production on your tracks that you call peak is satisfactory (okay)
my boy way too obsessed with me cuz he dabbling, in my f+ggotry (uh)
my old b+tch still obsessed with me cuz she dabbled, in my f+ggotry (uh)
swerve on these kids, initial d (skrrrrrrrrrrrr)
my bag too deep it’s feeding me
to my enemies respectfully:
indeed+dot+com (get a job !)
and two wrongs could never make a right, that’s why i wrote this song (ahahahahaha)
(uh, yuh)
[hook]
b+tches on they mental when they get to paydays (ha+ha+ha+ha)
(b+tch ! what the f+ck ? wait… b+tch)
i just flew down on the freeway (woooo)
put my whole life on the parlay
(pew pew pew pew)
okay, i don’t play
(man just+ f+ck yo dumbass man)
(man what the f+ck)
(…god, f+ck you)

[outro]
it’s a cold sunday
(yo, yo, yo. f+ck off)
(nah nah nah nah nah nah but it’s like, it’s like, you do it like this)
(f+ck dude, f+ck !)
it’s a cold sunday
(nah the f+ck you ain’t, you f+cking fraud ! you fraud !)
(swear to god ya’ll f+cking hate me bruh, aha)

- yang lyrics

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