Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Erick the Architect
Vocals
Meechy Darko
Vocals
Zombie Juice
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Antonio Lewis
Songwriter
Demetri Simms
Songwriter
Erick Elliott
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Erick the Architect
Producer
Joel Gutman
Mixing Engineer
Lyrics
All you fools just sound the same
Ain't no credit to your name
Ain't no credit line open
That's discrediting the fame
Form your business in the name
Something unique like a slain
Make a difference, make a change
But ain't no puppets on a string
Don't be chilling on the couch
Remember this is for the clout
Remember this is for the poor **** that'll represent you when you're out
Forget you when you need your friends
Fuck it, we just meet again
All my **** need a plan
'Cause all my **** need to win
Always was a winner even when I wasn't 'posed to
The money getting bigger as if it wasn't supposed to
Just a lonely ****, talk too much to myself, need a break
On July 8th broke down heaven’s gates
Now I stay high all day
Fuck you leaving, fuck all evening
Call me mister fuck all day
Trap all day and night
Don't need a house much less you bout some change
Expand my conscious, tryna walk on water
Feel the earth on me
You hating, I'll be somewhere slaying bitches by their face on me
Catch a fade, Kobe, with an eighth on me
Not phased, don't pass that shit homie
Cough, smoke, cough, got my shit sealed off
'Bout to put some in the air, 'til a **** doze off
'Cause you got some shrooms, I got a room
You and me 'til we reach the moon
Never wore a disguise, love the skin I'm in
You trade your soul for fame, we ain't built the same
All you fools just sound the same
Ain't no credit to your name
Ain't no credit line open
That's discrediting the fame
Form your business in the name
Something unique like a slain
Make a difference, make a change
But ain't no puppets on a string
Don’t be chilling on the couch
Remember this is for the clout
Remember this is for the poor **** that'll represent you when you're out
Forget you when you need your friends
Fuck it, we just meet again
All my **** need a plan
'Cause all my **** need to win
All I ever wanted was to be a one to one
Now I'm one in three
Compulsively a **** gotta run up or get none
Know I feel your pain, a different day, a pay is always altered when you're done
Hater put you down, afraid to look around, instead I pen it for my dogs
Now my city give me 150 for my steez
150 for my beats
Three ****, we gotta eat
Shouts to fans that's overseas
Independent grind, at least
We did form a company
We a bond that never breaks
Never giving up the cake
Not a fan of pointing fingers at men
It's dependent on who can pay for academics
Homie your chemists are missing the appendages
You back into handling business, no kidding
My head's at the clinic, I need a prescription
My vision is clearer through smoke and them mirrors
I can't be compared to those **** you hearing
So don't be offended when **** don’t feel you
All you fools just sound the same
Ain't no credit to your name
Ain't no credit line open
That's discrediting the fame
Form your business in the name
Something unique like a slain
Make a difference, make a change
But ain't no puppets on a string
Don't be chilling on the couch
Remember this is for the clout
Remember this is for the poor **** that'll represent you when you're out
Forget you when you need your friends
Fuck it, we just meet again
All my **** need a plan
'Cause all my **** need to win
Feeling brave? **** run up
Buck shots, here muscle
And I don’t need Joey to pump it
Pitbull, no muzzle
Badmon, I’m thugging
Dunno, gun smoke
Can’t tell me nothing
There’s no need for discussion
I’m the sinner and saint
I'm the box logo bully
Used to buy Bathing Ape
Now they send this shit to me
I paved the way for **** that're scared to say what they wanna say
Now watch a demon demonstrate, annihilate, love haters all the same
Will I die from my homicide or will I die from taking too much drugs?
Lord knows I deserve to die on an acid high and I'm double cupped
Cold line, hundred blunts
Seen a few bitches I'd love to fuck
2Pac in 96 and troublesome
27 club, here I come
Comma, comma, comma, comma, a whole lot of decimals
I just see my account and count all my blessing up
Bloodstream full of chemical
Crip, blood, twist your fingers up
Better than some of them veterans
Bet they gon' say it's beginners luck
I would die for my ****
But would they do the same?
Hennessey by the gallon, I'm losing my balance and manage the pain
I would ride for my ****
Just show me the lane
My grandaddy's still in the kitchen
Whooping the 'caine
My celly' keep ringing
I cannot find enough courage to answer
The Backwoods is hitting
Hope that that shit is not giving me cancer
Trip on acid while I'm rapping
Sipping muddy, counting money
I think she took too many Xannies
She fell asleep while she was sucking
Made it out the gutter, shout out to my mother
Kudos to my papa, he ain’t wear the rubber
This is it, I do this shit here for my brothers
This is it, I do this shit here for my brothers
(This odyssey is complete)
(Now you ready for some fucking bars)
(Ha, ha, ha, ha)
Written by: Flatbush Zombies