Featured In
Top Songs By Internet Money
Similar Songs
Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Juice WRLD
Vocals
Trippie Redd
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
David Karbal
Composer
Kim Candilora
Composer
Nicholas Mira
Composer
Thomas Wesley Pentz
Composer
William Repko II
Composer
Jarad Higgins
Songwriter
Danny Lee Snodgrass, Jr.
Composer
Michael Lamar White
Songwriter
Henry Nichols
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Diplo
Co-Producer
Terrance Armond
Assistant Recording Engineer
Aryay
Co-Producer
Edgard N. Herrera
Mixing Engineer
KC Supreme
Producer
Nick Mira
Producer
Pharaoh Vice
Producer
Taz Taylor
Producer
REPKO
Producer
Lyrics
Internet Money, bitch
(Nick, you're stupid)
Baby, come and have a blast with me
Do everything I say like your majesty
Fuck with the gang and it be a tragedy
Fuck with my shooters, they in the back with me
Fuck with me, baby, come get this bag with me
Been alone for a minute, that shit been dragging me
Craving your love, it's heart-attacking me
Tryna get in that pussy, baby, that mac and cheese
I cannot show these bitches no sympathy
Or these niggas, they simps and they hella bitch to me
I was just fortunate, got the remedy
Fuck that bitch and then dip, I got them chips to receive, yeah
Baby, come and have a blast with me
Do everything I say like your majesty
Fuck with the gang and it be a tragedy
Fuck with my shooters, they in the back with me (uh)
You picked that knife up and you stabbin' me
Wish it was a paper cut, but it's a gash, I bleed out
And the way you keep harassin' me
It's a shame this the way that it has to be, oh
Uh, yeah, time is of the essence
You know damn well you bring hell, I should call a reverend
Devil horns on a angel, still haven't learned my lesson (uh)
We're a mess and our life's a wreck (hey)
Toxic, toxic, toxic
The most beautiful things grow old and start rottin'
I should've turned away when I found out you were demonic
Let's be honest, you're the devil's daughter
Say hey to your father, uh, he owe me 20 dollars
We gon' run through hell with like 20-hundred choppers
We gon' give 'em hell and I put that on my mama
Me and Trippie Redd boolin' back in the Bahamas
Baby, come and have a blast with me
Do everything I say like your majesty
Fuck with the gang and it be a tragedy
Fuck with my shooters, they in the back with me
Fuck with me, baby, come get this bag with me
Been alone for a minute, that shit been dragging me
Craving your love, it's heart-attacking me
Tryna get in that pussy, baby, that mac and cheese
Gang, gang, gang
Probably fuckin' your mama
Three K on my wrist like André
Servin' like entrée
Ha, huh, you dig? You dig? You dig?
Writer(s): Danny Lee Jr. Snodgrass, Michael Lamar White Ii, Henry Lother Nichols, Jarad A. Higgins, Thomas Wesley Pentz, William Repko, David M Karbal, Nicholas Mira, Kim Candilora Ii
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