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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Pusha T
Vocals
Darhyl Camper, Jr.
Keyboards
Duralcha
Sampled Artist
Kanye West
Background Vocals
Rick Ross
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Kanye West
Songwriter
Terrence Thornton
Songwriter
William Roberts
Songwriter
Ross Birchard
Songwriter
Willis Norman
Songwriter
Hal Ritson
Songwriter
Richard Adlam
Songwriter
Darhyl Camper, Jr.
Songwriter
J Hutson
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Kanye West
Producer
Hudson Mohawke
Producer
Noah Goldstein
Recording Engineer
Vlado Meller
Mastering Engineer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
I sold more dope than I sold records
You **** sold records, never sold dope
So I ain't hearing none of that street shit
'Cause in my mind, you motherfuckers sold soap
Got rich selling hope to the hopeless
But I'm a thinker, methodic in my motives
I motivate to put my **** into motors
No woman, no child, no witness, no Jehovahs
Like Scarface but it's God's face in that mirror
We was made in His image, dialing and it's much clearer
Scoring from the heights but I wanted mine purer
Aryan, blonde hair, blue-eyed like the Führer
The judge and the jury, the jewellery mad froze
Watercolors on my neck, fuck rhyming when you blinding ****
We ain't the same color clarity of diamond, ****
Nah, I ain't got nothing in common with yous
Pain in my heart, it's as black as my skin
They tipping the scale for these crackers to win
No reading, no writing, made us savage of men
They praying for jail but I mastered the pen
Descended from kings, we at it again
Just hand me the crown, I'm active again
Everything that it seems, hear my passion again
Was never my dream, the immaculate win
[Verse 2]
I was pissing my shorts, having rich **** thoughts
Wish I had a pistol before all the friends I done fought
Overnight I seen a **** go get a Carrera
Two weeks later I had to be that boy pallbearer
Young king bury me inside a glass casket
Windex wipe me down for the life after
Crack dealer living like a hoop star
Black marble, white walls in my new spot
Four chains, big studs, a **** too fly
Top down, tank top, I think I'm 2Pac
So I'm labeled the rebel, **** get on my level
We were born to be kings, only major league teams
Chasing my paper, couldn't fathom my wealth
Built a school in Ethiopia, should enroll in myself
God body and mind, food for the soul
When you feeding on hate, you empty, my ****, it shows
Follow the codes, ain't no love for these hoes
If you slip and you fall I got you, my ****, hold on
If you right or you wrong, if you riding, come on
By the end of this song, can't be hiding for long
I seen children get slaughtered, ****' grandmothers assaulted
Throw a gang sign, dare you do something about it
Fuck copping them foams, when you copping the home
Cop a kilo and have them people on top of your home
[Instrumental]
Follow the codes, ain't no love for these hoes
If you slipping you fall, I got you, my ****, hold on
If you right or you wrong, if you riding, come on
By the end of this song, I got you, my ****, hold on
I got you, my ****, hold on
I got you, my ****, hold on
If you right or you wrong, if you riding, come on
By the end of this song, I got you, my ****, hold on
I got you, my ****, hold on
I got you, my ****, hold on
I got you, my ****, hold on
I got you, my ****, hold on
Written by: Darhyl "DJ" Camper, HENRY RITSON, Hal Ritson, Kanye West, Richard Adlam, Ross Birchard, Sample, Terrence Thornton, William Roberts, Willis Norman