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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
BEO Lil Kenny
BEO Lil Kenny
Performer
Key Glock
Key Glock
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Kenneth Mason
Kenneth Mason
Composer
Markeyvius LaShun Cathey
Markeyvius LaShun Cathey
Composer
Roman Bobrov
Roman Bobrov
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
88friezes
88friezes
Producer

Lyrics

[Intro]
BEO status
Oh, yeah
(Don't worry 'bout it)
Uh
(Friezes got it frozen)
Uh
Fuckin' shit up 'til I D-I-E
Ayy
[Chorus]
Mansion full of bad bitches (Yeah), pull off in that bulletproof
I got too much ice on, don't get hit with that whoopty-whoop (Whoopty-whoop)
Killers in them black trucks catch bodies, that ain't nothin' new (Oh, yeah)
A few of them sell albums, but they still sell a brick or two (Bricks)
All these bitches bad, I might have to hit the switcheroo (Switch)
If we fuck tonight, in the morning, might buy a purse or two (Oh)
Codeine and these tabs, I might have to pop a Perc' or two
Shorty got them legs and thighs (Yeah), uh, just like Church's do (Uh)
[PostChorus]
Uh, uh, yeah, yeah, hold up (Hold up), let's fuck shit up (Fuck shit up)
Uh, uh, yeah, yeah, hold up, let's fuck shit up (Fuck shit up)
Uh, uh, yeah, yeah, hold up, let's fuck shit up (Fuck shit up)
Uh, uh, yeah, yeah, hold up, let's fuck shit up (Uh)
[Verse 1]
Fresh up off the jet, **** (Ayy), landed at the Louis store (Oh, yeah)
Pockets like this clip, ****, both of 'em on overload
My homies need a drug cleanse 'cause I swear to God, they want all the smoke (Yeah)
Hit a **** with the Casamigos in the club 'til the bottle broke (Uh)
Any time I hit the scene, your bitch gon' need a neck brace (Oh, yeah)
She only wanna fuck with me 'cause I got benefits like Section 8
Knock an opp off, count a million dollars, only way I can meditate
I got the tool, put me anyplace, time to see a real **** elevate (Elevate)
Came to the club with a hundred K, watch me fuck shit up (Fuck it up)
Why you can't get over that hump? Damn, you must be stuck
Hit my homie with a brick of raw, he said I came in the clutch
You ain't gotta pay me back, never clutchin', always bust (Frrt)
Three hundred rounds in the truck and he got a handgun under his nuts (Nuts)
Anything movin' funny, he ain't with us, he get hit up (Hit up)
Three hundred thousand in jewelry, I can't blame him for tryin' his luck (Can't blame him)
Lil Boat beat him 'til the punch, now he got Duke diggin' him up (Free him)
They don't want us in the club, when we get in, we fuckin' it up (Fuck 'em up)
Bitches all on my dick, we get in the room, they suckin' it up (Facts)
I'm always goin' hard 'cause two million dollars, that ain't enough (Oh, yeah)
Bro lawyer want two mill', understood, I'm fuckin' it up (Yeah)
[Verse 2]
I just made a bag and doubled it up (Ayy)
They call me Glock, snuck one in the club (Glizock)
Bro paparazzi, they poppin' right up (Yeah)
I can't go in none of these hoes with no glove (What the fuck?)
I can't go in none of these hoes with no rubber (Yeah)
Rolex, Daytona, garlic butter (Phew)
Yeah, my main bitch a walkin' puddle (Uh)
Ballin' hard, just got a triple double
Chopper bigger than BEO (Phew, fah, fah, fah)
Glizock Cutthroat CEO (Yeah, Glizock)
Bro keep all black, he emo (Fah)
You savin' these hoes, you's a hero (Yeah)
Too P, I put the P's in pimping (Yeah)
Came in the rap game, had it glitching (Yeah)
If Glock there, all the hoes attending (Yeah)
I'm ballin' for real, these **** scrimmage (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
My money good, my bitch bad
Ayy, he keep doin' that talkin', he gon' get his bitch ass gift-wrapped (Yeah)
I ain't finna beef about no ho, you can get your bitch back
Ayy, he's a good rapper, but still a ho with his bitch ass (Lame)
[Chorus]
Mansion full of bad bitches (Yeah), pull off in that bulletproof
I got too much ice on, don't get hit with that whoopty-whoop (Whoopty-whoop)
Killers in them black trucks catch bodies, that ain't nothin' new (Oh, yeah)
A few of them sell albums, but they still sell a brick or two (Bricks)
All these bitches bad, I might have to hit the switcheroo (Switch)
If we fuck tonight, in the morning, might buy a purse or two (Oh)
Codeine and these tabs, I might have to pop a Perc' or two
Shorty got them legs and thighs (Yeah), uh, just like Church's do (Uh)
[PostChorus]
Uh, uh, yeah, yeah, hold up (Hold up), let's fuck shit up (Fuck shit up)
Uh, uh, yeah, yeah, hold up, let's fuck shit up (Fuck shit up)
Uh, uh, yeah, yeah, hold up, let's fuck shit up (Fuck shit up)
Uh, uh, yeah, yeah, hold up, let's fuck shit up
Written by: Kenneth Mason, Markeyvius LaShun Cathey, Roman Bobrov
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