Featured In
Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Tim Henson
Guitar
Scott Lepage
Guitar
Clay Gober
Bass Guitar
Clay Aeschliman
Drums
Luke Holland
Drums
$NOT
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Tim Henson
Songwriter
Scott Lepage
Songwriter
Clay Gober
Songwriter
Clay Aeschliman
Songwriter
Luke Holland
Songwriter
Edy Edouard
Songwriter
Rio Levya
Songwriter
Paul Judge
Songwriter
Stephen Feigenbaum
Songwriter
Michael Montoya
Songwriter
Nathan Lamarche
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Tim Henson
Producer
Scott Lepage
Producer
Zakk Cervini
Mixing Engineer
Nik Trekov
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Chris Athens
Mastering Engineer
johan lenox
Producer
Nick Sampson
Drum Technician
Sean Kellett
Drum Technician
Rio Levya
Producer
Paul Judge
Producer
Lyrics
(Huh, whoa-oh)
(Fuck what these **** be talkin' 'bout)
(Fuck what these **** be talkin' 'bout)
(We gon' spark it out) ayy
(We gon' spark it out)
Fuck what these **** be talkin' 'bout
We gon' spark it out, just take 'em out
Put 'em in a bag and shut they mouth (shut up)
Police walk around, they won't hear a sound (yuh)
I'm all by myself and I keep it a hundred
I keep a clip on me, if I see an opponent
Driving a foreign and they think that it's stolen
Pull up at the function they won't even notice
Fuck what these **** be talking 'bout
We gon' spark it out, just take 'em out (huh)
Put 'em in a bag and shut they mouth (shut up)
Police walk around, they won't hear a sound (huh)
I'm all by myself and I keep it a hundred
I keep a clip on me, if I see an opponent (yeah)
Driving a foreign and they think that it's stolen
Pull up at the function they won't even notice
Been feelin' so sick inside
Can't really feel pain in mind (huh)
These **** they stealing my shine
And all of my friends turn to enemies
Can't be friends so they try to end me
And then they came with some lil' envy
And chemically mixed with the jealousy
I don't think I don't want no friends
Lone star ****, 'til the end
I don't think I want a bitch
Matter of fact, I want me some
Type bitch to love me some
Type bitch to know I'm wrong
When she know I ain't feelin' right
Two cups Sprite mixed with ice
Beautiful when I think suicide
Eyes closed when I'm in paradise
Blood streaks comin' out my eyes
You will feel the pain inside
Feel the stabs up in my back
**** plot behind my back
But won't talk with they chest
Won't rest until I'm blessed
Bullet hole down in your head
Fuck what these **** be talkin' 'bout
We gon' spark it out, just take 'em out (the fuck?)
Put 'em in a bag and shut they mouth (shut up)
Police walk around, they won't hear a sound (yuh)
I'm all by myself and I keep it a hundred
I keep a clip on me, if I see an opponent (uh-huh)
Driving a foreign and they think that it's stolen
Pull up at the function they won't even notice (uh-huh)
Fuck what these **** be talkin' 'bout
We gon' spark it out, just take 'em out (huh)
Put 'em in a bag and shut they mouth (shut up)
Police walk around, they won't hear a sound (huh)
I'm all by myself and I keep it a hundred
I keep a clip on me, if I see an opponent (yeah)
Driving a foreign and they think that it's stolen
Pull up at the function they won't even notice
Written by: Clay Aeschliman, Clay Gober, Edy Edouard, Luke Holland, Michael Montoya, Nathan Lamarche, Paul Judge, Rio Levya, Scott Lepage, Stephen Feigenbaum, Tim Henson