Music Video

Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Yeat
Yeat
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Noah Smith
Noah Smith
Composer
Volodymyr Dorofeiev
Volodymyr Dorofeiev
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Dkanee
Dkanee
Producer
Yeat
Yeat
Mixing Engineer

Lyrics

D-DKanee
Hol' up
Bullets make you spread, make you dead, cut yo' head (Hol' up)
Pull up, ice is fled, no need no coupe, watch you sled (Uh)
Diamonds on my body, watch 'em dance and watch 'em flip (Flip, skrrt)
In a Frog-eyed Bentley, pull off on the feds, hol' up
I was just swervin' and divin' the feds (Hol' up)
Couple of pills and the blick in the whip, pull off on the feds, hol' up (DKanee)
Cut off your muh'fuckin' ties, your head, your neck, your muh'fuckin' back (Shhhh)
Said I'm takin' a break, but I pull up, lil' bitch, it's time to attack
We aim for ya head, if you gon' die, you die
Chopper this big, yeah
Chop up your wig, gon' chop up ya (Shhhh)
I'm in the Cullinan, pullin' that bitch off the lot, I'm muh'fuckin' tellin' ya
Couldn't decide with the Benz, and if we not friends, I never could tell ya
I was just swervin' the lanes in the muh'fuckin' Benz, I never could tell ya (Shhhh)
I ain't even fuck with nobody, I count up my money, I never could feel you (Yeah)
Yeah, I ran up my money to twenty Ms, bitch, I'm nowhere near you (Uh)
Yeah, I took this shit to outer-space, bitch, yeah, I'm nowhere near you (Hold on, hold on)
Yeah, I'm poppin' the X again, really all for the hoes till I feel again (Yeah)
For a little, a clause of some money, we can fill your bag, yeah, we can bring you in (Ah)
Twenty-fifty-fifty fuckin' seven, yeah, security like the president (Fuck a seven)
Everything on us designer, the watch, the frames, everything is elegant (Yo)
I really hate everybody, lil' bitch, I'm evil, call me fuckin' Resident (D-Dkanee, yeah)
I mix the syrup with soda, yeah, and I had to mix it, lil' bitch (Lil' syrup)
This shit like Hocus Pocus, tryna get your money, bitch, you turn to a fan (Yeah)
Pull up on the van, pull off with the Mags
I'm rocking a Birkin, bitch, it's no Hermès
Yeah, do what I said, it still don't make sense
I pop a hunnid Perkies, bitch, when I land
Pull up to Japan, they copy my trend
I'm fuckin' my money, I flew it to France
Hol' up, hol' up, I told 'em, "Do that shit again"
Pull up, ice is fled, no need no coupe, watch you sled (Uh)
Diamonds on my body, watch 'em dance and watch 'em flip (Flip, skrrt)
In a Frog-eyed Bentley, pull off on the feds, hol' up
I was just swervin' and divin' the feds (Hol' up)
Couple of pills and the blick in the whip, pull off on the feds, hol' up (DKanee)
Cut off your muh'fuckin' ties, your head, your neck, your muh'fuckin' back (Shhhh)
Said I'm takin' a break, but I pull up, lil' bitch, it's time to attack
We aim for ya head, if you gon' die, you die
Chopper this big, yeah
Chop up your wig, gon' chop up ya (Shhhh)
I'm in the Cullinan and pullin' that bitch off the lot, I'm muh'fuckin' tellin' ya
Couldn't decide with the Benz, and if we not friends, I never could tell ya
I was just swervin' the lanes in the muh'fuckin' Benz, I never could tell ya (Shhhh)
I ain't even fuck with nobody, I count up my money, I never could feel you (Yeah)
Yeah, I ran up my money to twenty Ms, bitch, I'm nowhere near you (Uh)
Yeah, I took this shit to outer-space, bitch, yeah, I'm nowhere near you (Hold on, hold on)
Yeah, I'm poppin' the X again, really all for the hoes till I feel again (Yeah)
For a little, a clause of some money, we can fill your bag, yeah, we can bring you in (Ah)
Twenty-fifty-fifty fuckin' seven, yeah, security like the president (Fuck a seven)
Everything on us designer, the watch, the frames, everything is elegant (Yo)
I really hate everybody, lil' bitch, I'm evil, call me fuckin' Resident (D-Dkanee, yeah)
I mix the syrup with soda, yeah, and I had to mix it, lil' bitch (Lil' syrup)
This shit like Hocus Pocus, tryna get your money, bitch, you turn to a fan (Yeah)
Pull up on the van, pull off with the Mags
I'm rocking a Birkin, bitch, it's no Hermès
Yeah, do what I said, it still don't make sense
I pop a hunnid Perkies, bitch, when I land
Pull up to Japan, they copy my trend
I'm fuckin' my money, I flew it to France
Hol' up, hol' up, I told 'em, "Do that shit again"
D-DKanee
Written by: Noah Smith, Volodymyr Dorofeiev
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