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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Freddie Gibbs
Vocals
Madlib
Programming
Revelation Funk
Sampled Artist
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Otis Jackson
Songwriter
Fredrick Tipton
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Freddie Gibbs
Producer
Madlib
Producer
Ben "Lambo" Lambert
Producer
Eothen Alapatt
Producer
Sidney "Speakerbomb" Miller
Recording Engineer
Rich Gains
Recording Engineer
Fabian Hummel
Recording Engineer
Mario Caldato Jr.
Mixing Engineer
Dave Cooley
Mastering Engineer
Eric Anthony Sandoval
Recording Engineer
Lyrics
[Intro]
Warning
The surgeon general has determined (Mm, yeah)
That the sounds you are about to hear
Will always be devastating to your ear (I want it all, ****, all-leather)
Sleep well
Kane season
Drink some of this champagne
(I love Madlib, he makes me much joy)
Yeah, yeah
I want it all, ****, all-leather (My favorite, my **** Madlib, obrigado)
Yeah, yeah
[Verse 1]
I want it all, ****, all-leather
25th and Jackson, I'm back in action like Carl Weathers
Uh, tryna beat the Rocky like Carl Weathers
Trap boy Kane, I Clubber Lang Sylvester
Crack cocaine, I was my own investor
Could I do this shit independent? That was my only question
Uh, Usher Raymond IV, Confessions
Ferra let me come through and hit when I was alone and stressin'
Yeah, that's when this music shit wasn't movin', man
I said, "I might as well be movin' things"
Uh, Joey let 'em shelf it
But I still put out my fuckin' debut record, for the record
Where I move when I'm with these hoes is off the record, for the record
For the social media shit, I was livin' reckless
And these rap **** share the same hoes
Gotta curve bitches, gotta cut bitches, gotta change hoes
I was reminiscin' in the Range Rove'
Me and my little brother shared the same clothes, ****, yeah
That's when this music shit wasn't movin', man
I said, "I might as well be movin' things"
That's when this music wasn't movin', man
And I was barely even movin' things
Uh, said I was moving with them shooters, man
Before I barely even knew the game
Eastside Gary ****, I got it tatted
Virginia Street, fuck the **** that ratted, my ****, uh
Don't wan' hit the trap if I don't gotta
My weed habit so close to snorting powder
**** don't holler 'less I got narcotics
Scratchin' and itchin', he on that dog collar
Trunk full of tapes, I ain't got no dollars
By the time **** show you love, you don't even want it
By the time **** showed me love, I ain't even need it
By the time **** showed me love, I was on the TV
Yeah, that's when this music started movin', man
But I still received and moved them things
Uh, said, I was moving with them shooters, man
Gangbangin' and recruitin', man
[Outro]
Uh, yeah
Movin', man
Fuck it, keep it, I'm done
Written by: Freddie Gibbs, Otis Jackson