Cotton Fields - Cold Lo

Cold Lo – Cotton Fields Written/performed by Cold Lo produced by Kajmir Beats Please don’t whoop me master Still picking cotton Please don’t whoop me master In the cotton fields We picking cotton, sweating and bleeding, somewhat forgotten, our fingers rotten. Regardless of our plans, or what’s plotting, is so modern. Not physically, but mentally, generations, serves a penalty. From atheist and deity, globally, distracts reality. It’s not a race war like we think. Its war on how you think, our mind is in a clink. The master aint got a whip. Nor do we have tickets to ride the ship, aint that a _ It’s a reverse, of what you learn, and what you teach, what you heard preached Like clothes bleached, it deteriorates, and then it seeps, turning kids to creeps. The work your slaved, to make ‘em behave, is in the grave, almost in vain. You missed the train, without the gain, it’s a war within their brain. Moved out the hood, to make it good, like Martin you stood, doing all you could. But the effort’s is a dud, don’t know what it was, where’s the flood, its just because. We battle evil, , the world is full of diesel, of bad people. And lethal media, abominations legal, mentally feeble. Please don’t whoop me master Still picking cotton Please don’t whoop me master In the cotton fields You envision a better life Seems like a penalty to do right. The opposite, is what’s popular, always accepted, without the proper message The devil dresses, and impresses, clogs up the vessels for a proper blessing We keep working, chopping crops, so the whip won’t pop, we don’t stop To raise ‘em prop, but you can’t plot, the thoughts of our kids, all out blitz Frustrating, to put in work, but it don’t work, make you go berserk, Make you wanna throw the towel and the shirt_ What’s accepted is the antonym of your message, you can see the wreckage. Teach ‘em at breakfast, but they choose reckless, didn’t do what you expected. Til you blue in the face, you try to relate, choose their fate, clean their slate. But theyre still bait, its never late, they have to learn, to be great. They try to change our minds Eliminating our history in time We on the field, still cotton picking, for the world, to destroy our girls And our sons, to defy the ONE, without using a whip or gun. CHORUS