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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
JID
Vocals
JD Beck
Drums
Doctur Dot
Vocals
Johnny Venus
Vocals
KAYTRANADA
Programming
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Destin Route
Songwriter
Eian Parker
Songwriter
Olu Fann
Songwriter
James Denis Beck
Songwriter
Louis Kevin Celestin
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
KAYTRANADA
Producer
JD Beck
Producer
John Kadadu
Recording Engineer
Derek "MixedByAli" Ali
Mixing Engineer
Curtis "Sircut" Bye
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Nicolas "Dep" de Porcel
Mastering Engineer
Cyrus Massoud Taghipour
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Lyrics
[Intro]
I was just a, I was just a, uh
I was just a, look at me, uh
[Verse 1]
I was just a poor-ass **** before I turned into a poet
Pro-Keds kickin' the dirt, we playin' buss 'em up, throw it
Ain't never been off a flat show, the fuck is a foreign?
All of my heroes had zeroes and customers growin'
Ain't no hoin' me boy, I ain't goin'
Pistol point,' rib showin', get the point, try disciplinin'
A ****'s disappointed, I participated, could've been avoided
But they kill a ****, try to fill the void, feelin' fouls and a draw
It's a girl, it's a child, it's a boy in a world, tryna drown out the noise
You heard that? You like that? You feel that? You do
You serve that, make a bird bag, alert pack, the flu, huh
Get a knife and get a gun too
Hood **** don't do Kung-Fu
'Bout to jump y'all, ****, jumped you
Pull out the pump, can't punk you, uh
[Chorus]
Pull out the pump, can't punk me, bitch
Pull out the pump, can't punk me, ho
Pull out the pump, can't punk me, bitch
Pull out the pump, lil' punk bitch
Pull out the pump, can't punk me, bitch
Pull out the pump, can't punk me, ho
Pull out the pump, can't punk me, bitch
Pull out the pump, lil' punk bitch
[Verse 2]
Okay, what's happenin', shawty?
From the land where the preachers always packin', shawty
No, I'm never lackin', shawty
Pulpit pulls that ratchet eat your heart out like it's a starvin' pitbull
Shit, where I'm from, everybody got a tool
KP said, "You post your wins, you gotta repeat 'em again and again"
But see, I was born for greatness, why the hell should I pretend?
Like I wasn't in the arms of Allah, bear-huggin'
I fear no man nor brandish steel, here's your fair warning
The audacity to think that I surpassed them from Atlanta streets
You must be crazy, nah, let's be clear, I'm clairvoyant
I never left from Zone-4, bitch, fuck is a foreign?
But I knew I'd drag my nuts across the world 'fore I was tourin'
Europeans rainin' kisses out in Paris, it was pourin'
****, I was just in Georgia where the gunshots was stormin'
Blacka, blacka, blacka, tell the story
To be or not to be dead in the morning
If you knew the cage that I was raised in (Bitch)
Shit, my ****
Then you should loot the path I'm out here blazin' (Ho, here, punk me, bitch)
Guess he thought we jumpin', run 'cause he was pistol wavin' (Bitch)
Motherfucker, fuck the devil (Ho)
Boy, I'm from the A, man (Bitch, punk, lil' punk, bitch)
[Verse 3]
Sweep, sweep, mop, mop
Wow, great as Dot, been frequenting the gunshot like a movie montage
Sip this Teremana, feel it like Dwayne the Rock
The way I rock be I-Y-K-Y-K, okay, I kick before I knock
This shit is real, real, kill or be killed, no model citizen (No)
Since Ben Stiller with the blue steel, stray from bein' healed (Woo)
I been stealin' 'fore the pure thrill
Runnin' up in buildings like the Grinch in Whoville (Hahaha)
What's life without adrenaline?
Put you on a shirt, now your purge merch, yur (You, you, you)
Death is freedom, some deserve worse, huh
You get me? (Get me)
You got me (You got me), I'm always talkin' but a **** lil' diamond
That **** mean, you mean about proxy
I don't really fuck with these **** like Gandhi (What's, "yeah-yeah")
What's up, ****? Try me, lot of this shit just lucky timing (What's, "yeah-yeah")
What's up, ****? Try me, broad day brawl and the blood look shiny (What's "yeah-yeah")
What's up, ****? I can always sniff out a fuck ****
I'm the dog, I'ma upset the front runner
Bark big but a bite is a bit bigger
Okay, pull out the pump, can't punk me
Crocodile Dundee, Doco-dile Dundee
Knockin' out front teeth
**** is way too sensitive, touchy, **** is aunties, ah
Must be havin' they monthly, hate it all you want
Only hell can judge me
I just be puttin' shit bluntly
Life too hard to go out humbly
[Chorus]
Uh, pull out the pump, can't punk me, bitch
Pull out the pump, can't punk me, ho
Pull out the pump, can't punk me, bitch
Pull out the pump, lil' punk bitch
Pull out the pump, can't punk me, bitch
Pull out the pump, can't punk me, ho
Pull out the pump, can't punk me, bitch
Pull out the pump, lil' punk bitch
Written by: Destin Route, Eian Parker, James Denis Beck, Louis Kevin Celestin, Olu Fann