Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Yung Bans
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Vas Coleman
Songwriter
Wesley Tyler Glass
Songwriter
Sergio Kitchens
Songwriter
Jeffrey Williams
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Wheezy
Producer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Hol' up
(Wheezy outta here)
[Verse 2]
Hol' up, hol' up, hol' up
Hmm mm mmm
Ay, hundred racks on me right now, little bitch
Shut your mouth and drink my kids
Freaky lil ho might drink my piss
Wake up, go hit a lick, can't miss
[Verse 3]
Hol' up, lil bitch
I don't want you, lil bitch
I ain't cuffin' no shit
You belong to this dick
Fame got you ridin' the carriage
Pull up right now and embarrass you, yeah
All of these sticks, I'm a terrorist
Your boyfriend a bitch, I'ma scare him, yeah
Nut in the hoe, end your marriage
She for the gang and we sharin' her
[Verse 4]
The stones in my ear are three carats (Gunna)
**** talk, remind me of a parrot (Carats)
I'm in that zone, I put that shit on
They try figure out what I'm wearing (Oh)
Fly like a drone, go shop at Patrón
Hit Barneys right after the Jeffery (Yeah)
Addicted to clothes, I dress up at home
She give me her dome
YSL on the throne (Yeah)
Hol' up, (Woah)
Hol' up (Hol' up)
Whole lot of cash, we got bricks, bucks (Hol' up)
We got the bag in that Lambo truck
Hol' up (Uh)
Hol' up (Hol' up)
I went and got in my bag, yeah
Play with them slimes, we'll smash you up
[Verse 5]
Hol' up, hol' up, hol' up
Hmm mm mmm
Ay, hundred racks on me right now, little bitch
Shut your mouth and drink my kids
Freaky lil ho might drink my piss
Wake up, go hit a lick, can't miss
Hol' up, hol' up, hol' up
Hmm mm mmm
[Verse 6]
I caught a body, I killed all the oppies
I dress in Hibachi, I drumroll like papi
I sold him some soap and I told him it's molly
Automatic the coupe, automatic the shotty
I drip in Off-White, clean up with no spotties
I got a Spyder, my idol was Spikey
Fuck with it, whackin', went been caught a body
I bury him alive in the back of the squats
Bitches perform in the line, it's a spot
Murk him and let him sit down and just rot
Shot up his coupe and we shot up the shop
I don't care 'bout no court, I don't care 'bout no cops
[Verse 7]
He dead on the scene, my **** bang green
Committed lil bitches, they down for the team
[Verse 8]
Racks in, packs in, OMG
It's slatt, these **** know who we be
Young **** came in with a MAC-10
Servin' through the back then
Yeah, I got the packs in
Go get the backend
Break the bitch back in
I ain't gotta run off, ****
That was back then
[Verse 9]
Hol' up, hol' up, hol' up
Hmm mm mmm
Ay, hundred racks on me right now, little bitch
Shut your mouth and drink my kids
Freaky lil ho might drink my piss
Wake up, go hit a lick, can't miss
[Verse 10]
Hol' up, hol' up, hol' up
Hmm mm mmm
Written by: Jeffrey Williams, Sergio Kitchens, Vas Coleman, Wesley Tyler Glass
