Music Video

JID - Crack Sandwich (Offiical Audio)
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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
JID
JID
Vocals
Christo
Christo
Vocals
Bas
Bas
Vocals
Yuli
Yuli
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Destin Route
Destin Route
Songwriter
Carl McCormick
Carl McCormick
Songwriter
Thomas Brown
Thomas Brown
Songwriter
Dylan Ismael Teixeira
Dylan Ismael Teixeira
Songwriter
Benjamin Tolbert
Benjamin Tolbert
Songwriter
John Welch
John Welch
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Cardiak
Cardiak
Producer
Tommy Brown
Tommy Brown
Producer
Groove
Groove
Producer
Christo
Christo
Producer
John Kadadu
John Kadadu
Recording Engineer
Derek "MixedByAli" Ali
Derek "MixedByAli" Ali
Mixing Engineer
Curtis "Sircut" Bye
Curtis "Sircut" Bye
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Nicolas "Dep" de Porcel
Nicolas "Dep" de Porcel
Mastering Engineer
Cyrus Massoud Taghipour
Cyrus Massoud Taghipour
Assistant Mixing Engineer
nami
nami
Producer

Lyrics

You can tell a **** like me ain't never had shit
R.I.P., I miss my dogs like Mike Vick
Zombies in that midnight fog, them boys sic 'em
Fall victim to a gun brawl started over some bitches
**** trippin', they taking whatever's given
The irony when a **** starvin', gotta grip the biscuit
Jump the fence, empty all the dishes out your kitchen
If you witnessing, then click-click-clickin', and they spill the grits
Feel the kick, fuck a fair catch, kill 'em, who tryna take the hit?
First take, go to first base
Stephen A. Smith Wess' on the hip
Talkin' shit like Skip
Or Shannon Sharpe shootin' off the top of the cliff
And if I got to bring it to you cowards then it's gonna be sick
Put in my ten thousand hours while the clock still ticks, Zone 6
Five fingers with the "Suck my dick"
Me and Izzy was slap-boxin', **** bust my lip
Start fighting, lil' brother on some tough guy shit
But if you ever did me wrong, he on some "What's right?" shit
Bust a left, feel the pressure like the bust pipe drip
Blood red, rum sippin', they ain't cut like this
Mama said, "When you fall down, stand up, get a bandage"
"I ain't got cheeseburger money, make a sandwich"
"Why you being bad? See your Dad, get ya ass whipped"
Seven crackhead bad kids in a caravan
You can tell a **** like me ain't met a **** like me
Metaphysical things seen in dreams, what you believe?
You bleed, I bleed, and draw blood
I'm a fucking artiste, Artest, with the gun
I can give my world peace
Give your world ether
Big dick or grief, I can give your girl either
She could be the, could be the collapse of a kingdom
But kings gotta peep the "C" word, the Caesar
Remind me to keep receipts, y'all shit weak
I ain't worried that that bullshit leaked
See the volumes it speaks to your broke speakers
**** breakin' they back tryna promote some shit that ain't even dope
They ask for my coat when I walk through the door
God flow, I don't walk on the floor
God knows y'all hoes, y'all shows ain't packin' the door
Crack in the floor, I don't even know **** rappin' no more
Okay, runnin' my city, I am my shooter
Mindin' my business, I am not you
Runnin' my city, I am my shooter
Minding my business, I am not you
Runnin' my city, I am my shooter
Minding my business, I am not you
Runnin' my city, I am my shooter
Minding my business, how about you?
Look, uh, I do it for Royal and Rosalyn
Rachel and Carl, Izzy, Precious, Destin
Strong, seven kids, different blessings
Izzy athletic as fuck, All-American star
Hard head, scholarship to this school in New Orleans
On the football shit, but in class, he on the smart shit
Black man using his mind, it's a target on your forehead
Gotta stay on point like a marksman
Make a mark, leave a footprint before marching
Bro graduating, so we heading to the blue state
Fam celebratin', granny cookin' up a few cakes
Yeah, gown on with the cap like a toupee
Handed a diploma, all the room say, "Hooray"
Hooray, today, catch a bouquet
Tonight'll probably be a movie, what's a Blu-Ray?
I got some new Js and a fade
We hit the section with the football team
And a couple other professionals
It sound cool, but really this a confessional
Twenty minutes in and Precious done went to the restroom
Said they got to hittin' with some women and they 'bout to get kicked out
They ain't even tell us what that shit was about
All I really seen from the big VIP couch
Was a **** swing and hit my sister right in the mouth
The bouncer tried to block the door, that way we couldn't get out
But fuck that, the whole team bust that motherfucker down
Now we fighting in the street, it's like ten against twenty-three
I was seventeen, swinging on any and everything
Bing-bing, seen my brother doin' buddy like a boxin' ring
Ros' got a bitch doing the hair weave sling
So beautiful, beatin' ass was like a family thing
Fightin' together made us tighter in spite of how we would argue and scream
And now we brawling right outside of a party in New Orleans
And all the people start police calling
Pack us inside of a patty wagon, we sardines
To Saltine crackers that wanna shackle us in chains
Lo and behold, they held us in the holding cell for six or maybe seven hours
Just to let us go without a stain
But who's to blame when all of us got the same mind frame?
We like a gang, mom and pop would probably be proud and ashamed
Pound for pound, my sister Precious never lost a fade
Got up of the ground and she said she could hear my father saying
"When you fall down, stand up, get a bandage"
"I ain't got cheeseburger money, make a sandwich"
"Why you being bad? See your Dad, get ya ass whipped"
Seven crackhead bad kids in a Caravan
Written by: Benjamin Tolbert, Carl McCormick, Destin Route, Dylan Ismael Teixeira, John Welch, Thomas Brown
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