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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Nardo Wick
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Horace Walls
Composer
Collin Michael Wetzel
Composer
John Lam
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Horace Walls Jr.
Recording Engineer
John Lam
Producer
Tatsuya Sato
Mastering Engineer
Dinero Tarantino
Producer
Lyrics
[Chorus]
I don't really too much fuck with ****, I be chillin'
Checkin' shit and doin' hits, that's how we made a killin'
I put it on my granny, we sent **** pass the ceilin'
**** you was stealin', I was robbin', it's a difference
She feelin' on my lap she like, "Damn, daddy, you hard"
No, baby, you trippin', that's that Glicky in my britches
[Verse 1]
Every time I take attendance on they block, they absent
This choppa here from Russia, when I shoot you hear the accent
LRG and Levi jeans, was rockin' that way back then
Now I rock Amiri jeans, I upgraded my fashion
I'm a mut, I'm a mut, I'm a mut, mut
She woke me up with sloppy, she's a slut, slut
Not a plain Jane, this a bust, bust
All that talkin' hit his top and make him hush, hush
All these **** bitches, I don't fear no man
Call me Nardo Wolverine, I keep steel in my hands
Like it's foil in my jeans, I keep ten in my pants
Like it's strippers on my jewelry
All these diamonds on me dance
They say I'm too nice to hoes
Off guard, I don't like to pose
Anti, I don't like to post
White, I don't like yellow gold
I'm from three two double O
Got more sticks that Double O 7
(That chopper blow like wind)
Play with me you feel the breeze
Play with me you be deceased
And don't say that **** name unless it's after R.I.P.
Pop 'em like a RP
Pop 'em like a IP
Popped 'em like a M5, a M523
Shot em like a IV
[Verse 2]
Get yo bitch she like me
Said she wanna fight me
We all know what that mean
Fucked her once
Baby wanna fuck
Baby wanna ehh, ehh
Put it in her back, back
Nut all on her ehh, ehh
Then never call her back, back
[Verse 3]
Nardo you a rude boy, how? I'm not Jamaican
Baby you's a rude girl, you ate all of my children
Your tongue is a baby sitter, your stomach a day care
[Verse 4]
I don't really too much fuck with ****, I be chillin'
Checkin' shit and doin' hits, that's how we made a killin'
I put it on my granny, we sent **** pass the ceilin'
**** you was stealin', I was robbin', it's a difference
She feelin' on my lap she like, "Damn, daddy, you hard"
No, baby, you trippin', that's that Glicky in my britches
[Verse 5]
Mut, I'm a mut, I'm a mut, mut
She woke me up with sloppy, she's a slut, slut
Not a plain Jane, this a bust, bust
All that talkin' hit his top and make him hush, hush
Written by: Collin Michael Wetzel, Horace Walls, John Lam