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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
yvngxchris
yvngxchris
Vocals
Lil Yachty
Lil Yachty
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Christian Williams
Christian Williams
Songwriter
Miles Parks McCollum
Miles Parks McCollum
Songwriter
Teracne DeCarlo Coles
Teracne DeCarlo Coles
Composer
Simon Schranz
Simon Schranz
Songwriter
John Freeman
John Freeman
Songwriter
C. Jackson
C. Jackson
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Blwyrmnd
Blwyrmnd
Producer
MIKE DEAN
MIKE DEAN
Mixing Engineer
Teracne DeCarlo Coles
Teracne DeCarlo Coles
Producer

Lyrics

Uh-uh, yeah, uh He shot first when we get back Shoot up the party, we fuck up the kickback I have my niggas pull up where you live at And my niggas purgin', we hop out Suburbans like Kyrie Irving by the way I'ma spin back I feel like a waiter, these bullets I'm servin', I pull that bitch out then I aim at your six-pack Servin' these bullets, I heard it was Christmas, we decorate your block with bullets I put on my mask and I put on my hoodie, I pray to God that nobody got the footage I'm pullin' up slow and I roll down the window, I catch me an opp, I'm not afraid to pull it And we givin' him shots like a camera Just like the picture, you know that boy yvngxchris took it (yeah, yvngxchris took it) If you scared, get a dog, nigga Shoot him in his leg and I told him, "Shake it off, nigga" Do that nigga like Dwayne, I'ma get him rocked, nigga You ain't really nothin' but a Shade Room blog nigga Take her back to telly, get her gone with him Tryna get a milf, might as well bring your mom with you Put that bitch up on the bed, then I long dick her Take a nigga whip, back then, used to rob niggas Yeah, way back then, used to rock niggas Way back then, used to do what I had to Nowadays, I got a thousand of bitches but way back when, I was broke, I just had to- Damn, homie In high school, bitch, I'm the man, homie This shit is lit Now I'm rockin' the Belacartes with the Rick Yeah, my money be flippin', twerkin', do a split I'ma cut that boy like a surgeon, he a bitch Or just put that lil' bag on your head, you get hit They was just hatin', now on my dick (Got Johnny Dang, all on my wrist) Cop me a chain, it cost a brick Shorty a fan, she want a pic' And I'm rockin' designer, I drop me a couple of bands on this fit Why that boy in the house like he Cory? He postin' 'em bands on his story, that boy is a lick I don't talk, better talk to the .40, I link with your shorty, that thot finna give me the spits I'm droppin' a bag when I'm shoppin', when that nigga yvngxchris walk in, these niggas turn bitch Do it myself, no assist (on God) Walk in that bitch with a limp, told that bitch, "I don't kiss" Knowin' I'm genius at least (cap) Got my lil' dawg or a lawyer to put him in a blitz Knowin' he'll still do a bid (yeah) But them folks was givin' 'em death, so anything is better than that (oh) I want my dog and a cat (ice) Post cellphones, all both, thank God I ain't stuck in the trap, I used to scam before rap (damn) Rich hill sticks, got a cost on chops (damn) I just got me a switch, might go buy me a bitch (damn) Diamond on bands, offset, four on spot Belly up in the Ritz, I fell in love with my wrist (ee) Twenty-four years, I stomped on Earth, I ain't ask for shit, ain't have a pot for piss I sleep with one eye wide, my pride Tim Tebow slick I be finessin' a lick It's us, you know that, ahh
Writer(s): Curtis Jackson, John Freeman, Terence Coles, Christian Williams, Miles Mccollum, Simon Schranz Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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