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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Moneybagg Yo
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Demario White
Songwriter
Dylan Cleary-Krell
Songwriter
Edin Jakupovic
Songwriter
Lucas Depante
Songwriter
Wesley “Wheezy” Tyler Glass
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Dez Wright
Producer
Juke Wong
Producer
ejpxris
Producer
Jess Jackson
Mastering Engineer
Dillon Brophy
Immersive Mixing Engineer
Colin Leonard
Mastering Engineer
Skywalker Og
Recording Engineer
Wheezy
Producer
Lyrics
[Intro]
Weezy outta here
[Chorus]
Shoot, that's a hard eight
Better stack our straight make
I got big bread
Watch me bake a large cake
Shoot, that's a throw away
Caught 'em on the interstate
We some rich Vikings
Still fuck hoes on minimum wage
[Verse 1]
Go
Rich ****
But, ho, with these racks, I'm petty
I still eat Cup Noodles out the gas station, sittin' on top of the Chevy
Need a big freak that'll chew me off the bone, some' like American deli
Let the seat back, we can fuck in the car right now, no panties, she ready
Viking smoking this blunt to the fire
Viking Wock', I want every drop
Psychic, been saw myself at the top
Right here whether you like it or not
My shooter a star, he gon' rock out for my band
Passing like gas on the dice, got a hot hand
You can't go back to yo' hood, ****, I can
Trap out the mansion, we turn it to Vikeland
Park the whip
Hop out fresh as fuck, smellin' like Baccarat mixed with 'za
Hit the gambling spot, lil' cuh just seen the opp
Trail the car, get close as you can, ooh, he bet' not stop
Cut him off, got caught lackin' in traffic, jump out, fa-fa-fa
[Chorus]
Shoot, that's a hard eight
Better stack our straight make
I got big bread
Watch me bake a large cake
Shoot, that's a throw away
Caught 'em on the interstate
We some rich Vikings
Still fuck hoes on minimum wage
[Verse 2]
Shoot, put a white Patek on a Black bitch, true facts
Real Viking, fuck her, then go eat her kids' fruit snacks
Shoot a thousand, if I lose it, up the bet and get back
Cleanin' house, sweep the floor, walked out the door with them racks
I'm smoking out da pound, bitch
Rest in peace, my uncle, first **** I saw slide off a mountain
Used to grind for Grandma, whole bow to cop an outfit
I don't go out for nothing unless I get paid, I'm in the house lit
Money go Chanel hat, this bitch cost four racks, ****, don't play with me
Big speaker the one they wanna be and who they hate to see
I'm the type of **** take his bitch and make him babysit
When the stars light up inside the foreign, I get spaceship vibes
3.5, fuck, I feel like I can fly
Some' must be wrong with the club lights, the pay me to come and shine
When she ask me what's my zodiac, I told her, "Dollar sign"
I'on trust nobody more than my fire, wish a **** would try me, I'ma up it and
[Chorus]
Shoot, that's a hard eight
Better stack our straight make
I got big bread
Watch me bake a large cake
Shoot, that's a throw away
Caught 'em on the interstate
We some rich Vikings
Still fuck hoes on minimum wage
[Outro]
Shoot
Shoot
Shoot
Shoot
Written by: Demario White, Dylan Cleary-Krell, Edin Jakupovic, Lucas Depante, Wesley Glass