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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Conway the Machine
Vocals
Westside Gunn
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Alessandro Colombini
Songwriter
Demond Price
Songwriter
Alvin Worthy
Songwriter
Thomas Paladino
Songwriter
Mario Mellier
Songwriter
Lloyd Brown II
Arranger
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Daringer
Producer
Alessandro Colombini
Producer
Demond Price
Executive Producer
rocky tran
Recording Engineer
Elijah Hooks
Recording Engineer
Sonny "Carson" Tudeme
Mixing Engineer
Mark Christensen
Mastering Engineer
Jannique Heard
Creative Director
Lyrics
Cocaine, caviar, and grouper fishes (Sniff)
You see a bunch of rappers, I see a group of bitches
No broke **** around me, that shit might rub off, I'm superstitious (Get out of here)
Direct deposit just came in, that shit was too ridiculous
My music motivate dudes in the trenches usin' switches (Uh-huh)
Ain't even gotta drop a bag, them boys gon' do your dishes (Boom, boom, boom)
Bro got all that time, he appealed and they reduced the sentence
And he still gotta do two digits, shit (That's fucked up)
Word to my **** Malice, everything I spew malicious
That's just somethin' to think about when y'all do y'all lists (Talk that shit)
Run at me, you runnin' towards a wall, boy, I ain't movin' inches (Uh-uh)
BJ modified the yacht, he like "Buzz, check my new invention" (What up, Buzz?)
Yeah, **** can't control their emotions, show their true intentions
That bitch was broke, that made me lose my interest
I'm so in the lead, I could leave for three years and still ain't losin' distance (Ha)
Look, it was resi' in them pots and them pans, now it's tropical sand (Whip up)
I told her "Don't even pack, we gon' shop when we land" (We shoppin')
Private villa, seafood tower, lobster and clam
So paranoid, some nights, I sleep with this Glock in my hand (Uh-huh)
Havin' visions of **** that I done shot with this can (I swear)
It's **** that I love, I know, tryna plot on my land (Who plottin', huh?)
Whack 'em, bury 'em in my yard, dig his plot on my land (Woo)
Shit, I'm just that ****, boy, look at my run
Look all of the classics that I dropped in the span of six years
It would seem I did the impossible, damn
Came a long way from when a **** was shot in my van
Tourin' overseas, I just had a moshpit in France
Puttin' on for my **** that's locked in the jam
I don't rock with industry ****, they is not my men (Uh-uh)
Flygod
Ayo
I don't trust no fuckin' body but this heckler (Boom, boom, boom)
Just spent thirty-thousand in the Webster
You know the car, nothin' more, nothin' lesser (Uh-uh)
Jamaican, raw, hit him in his head and said, "Bless up"
Ayo, Jamaican, raw, hit him in his head and said "Bless up" (Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom)
Ayo, tell 'em to bring the match, to wear Bottega green satchels
Bet I'll be at you, Tom Ford tracksuit
Prince Markie D on the stove, wearin' raccoons
You just got it, I wore this shit Fashion Week last June
Balenciaga, Adida', baklava
The chopper shot, the suede Maserati, with the Prada top (Skrrt)
American cups, patent leathers on blasè blah
Denim Tears Saint Michael top off, Mardi Gras
I talked to Sly and Kutter today
Still be in the hood, got a house on the lake
Got album of the year, still get work from the Bay
Otis had been told me "If you gon' play, you gotta play"
My **** just seen a boy, stomach hurtin', he gotta stay
Gave Y.N. a new Griselda chain and a Drac'
Written by: Alessandro Colombini, Alvin Worthy, Demond Price, Mario Mellier, Thomas Paladino