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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Polo G
Vocals
NLE Choppa
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Taurus Bartlett
Songwriter
Bryson Potts
Songwriter
Joshua Luellen
Songwriter
Matthew-Kyle Adrian Brown
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Aaron Mattes
Mixing Engineer
Ignacio Portales
Assistant Engineer
Patrizio Pigliapoco
Mixing Engineer
Smatt Sertified
Producer
Southside
Producer
Todd Hurtt
Recording Engineer
Twizz
Producer
Lyrics
Uh-uh, uh, mm
Uh-uh, mm-mm-mm-mm (Southside on the track, yeah)
Uh, uh, uh
Prada steppin', in your club, we got a lot of weapons
Yeah, bitch, I know that I'm the shit, I'm unapologetic
My steppers marchin' like a band, they hit your block and wet it
Hell, nah, we ain't playin', you better call the reverend
I was taught to drop an opp before I go and drop a diss (drop a diss)
Won't apologize about that lick, tell him come get his shit (come get yo' shit)
Brand-new bitch with brand-new tits, her ass thicker than Jiffy mix
Don't fuck with no set-up, bitch, you play, I smack you with this blick (brrt, brrt-brrt)
Pass the Glock, a give and go, shoot it with me when I blow
At your top, we hit your throat, I call that hangin' from a rope
Niggas know how I be gettin' too wicked, two titties on semis
My glizzies got jimmies, no jammin', knock the jelly out biscuits (brrt-b-brrt)
Boy, you got me fucked up (you got me fucked up)
Bitch, you know you lucked up (you know you lucked up)
Caught him out in traffic, hit the car, but he duck, duck (come here, boy)
A goose better get loose (brrt)
Shooters comin' after you, and all of your troops (all of your troops)
What you gonna do when this fire get to lettin' loose?
(When that thing get to lettin' loose, brrt)
Lock him in the trunk (in the trunk)
Take the emergency exit off, so he can't run (ayy, he can't run from us)
Doin' donuts, havin' fun (ayy, havin' fun)
This his last ride before he meet my fuckin' gun, nigga (come here, come here, brrt!)
Prada steppin', in your club, we got a lot of weapons
Yeah, bitch, I know that I'm the shit, I'm unapologetic
My steppers marchin' like a band, they hit your block and wet it
Hell, nah, we ain't playin', you better call the reverend
I was taught to drop an opp before I go and drop a diss (drop a diss)
Won't apologize about that lick, tell him come get his shit (come get yo' shit)
Brand-new bitch with brand-new tits, her ass thicker than Jiffy mix
Don't fuck with no set-up, bitch, you play, I smack you with this blick (uh-uh) (brrt)
Dracos, we'll dump him, slump him like he sippin' purple lean
Broski shoot your man's all in his shit to get his hurt redeemed
Knock him off for snitchin', better act like you ain't heard a thing
Better pray you miss that FaceTime when that burner ring
Body bag, zip him up, it's a murder scene
Left him with a tag like he tryna show his Purple jeans
Deep textin' and decoys to the hood, we servin' certain fiends
I know the feds listenin', tryna figure out what my verses mean
Out the window, dreads shakin', trappin', duckin' fed cases
Dough boy, I was bread chasin', pocket full of dead faces
I'm best friends with Ben Franklin, Addies got my head racin'
Problems got me med takin', models in my bed naked
Prada steppin', in your club, we got a lot of weapons
Yeah, bitch, I know that I'm the shit, I'm unapologetic
My steppers marchin' like a band, they hit your block and wet it
Hell, nah, we ain't playin', you better call the reverend
I was taught to drop an opp before I go and drop a diss (drop a diss)
Won't apologize about that lick, tell him come get his shit (come get yo' shit)
Brand-new bitch with brand-new tits, her ass thicker than Jiffy mix
Don't fuck with no set-up, bitch, you play, I smack you with this blick (brrt, brrt)
Writer(s): Joshua Luellen, Taurus Bartlett, Bryson Lashun Potts, Matthew-kyle Adrian Brown
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