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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Freddie Gibbs
Freddie Gibbs
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Freddie Gibbs
Freddie Gibbs
Lyrics
Andrew "Pops" Papaleo
Andrew "Pops" Papaleo
Composer
Ben "Lambo" Lambert
Ben "Lambo" Lambert
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Andrew "Pops" Papaleo
Andrew "Pops" Papaleo
Producer
Ben "Lambo" Lambert
Ben "Lambo" Lambert
Producer

Lyrics

Jam (jam), jam, bitch You know what I'm sayin'? (Get your notes together, nigga) Ayo Slammin', Eastside, drugs in my bloodstream Killer with the illegitimate funds, I got 'em scrubbed clean (yeah, yeah) Pussy had me too excited, picked up on the first ring (yeah) Chopped some blow and fucked that ho to Joe, I made a love scene (yeah, yeah) Slangin' on this blade, steadily prayin' they don't cut me (yeah) Hide my scars with Audemars, got diamond tenants up under the rug Me DM flooded from all the hoes that said I was ugly and wouldn't touch me Tigers in my yard like Tyson, get to dicin', niggas is dusty I'm on four tires and gold wires Low on the supply, but if she fuckin', then I'm supplyin' (yeah) Like Pablo in the Bahamas, drop my dope off on Rabbit Island (yeah) I never crash out, I got my life set on autopilot (yeah) Suck me while I'm drivin', put the Cyber in autopilot (yeah) They said I was in a no-fly zone, I had no compliance I had a couple of nothin'-ass hoes on my shoulders cryin' He dumped her like a thot, he got the roster spot on the Lions That's how we do, ho, yeah (He got you, now you think I'ma fuck with you, huh?) 'Cause all the bitch recent contacts was niggas that's on a contract (yeah) Ho, I know your salary cap, off the 'Gram, you in a Kia Fuckin' hoes from all arenas, I ain't got no off-season, bitch, yeah Fuckin' hoes from all arenas, I ain't got no off-season Slangin' thangs, my shit bangin' like orangutans Prices on my head, blood all over this paper, man, yeah (The Rabbit) mic check-check, yeah Yeah, come on, yeah, gotta check-check Slangin' thangs, my shit bangin' like orangutans Prices on my life, life is what you make it, man (uh) Still thuggin', hoes frontin' Niggas underrate me like Jalen Brunson, but yo, I'm leavin' with somethin' I'm from around the way, ho can't take my crown away (yeah) Starvin' in that cell, feel like I lost like three, four pounds a day Growin' up in the G, might have to duck at least four rounds a day Don't wait 'round for no ambulance, bitch, ándale (yeah) Murder always complicate, once it's up, it's outer space Niggas wanna have a kumbaya, but I can't conversate (nah) We kill 'em, we can't conversate (we can't conversate) No more talk, that's for the weak Got a brand-new switchy with an itchy trigger finger, fuck a tweak And if you cross me in the street, I pray to God you think it's sweet I put some change up on your head and have your name stuck on your feet I fuck your-, I fuck your name up in the street Like Jussie Smollett, label looked at your first week, that shit was cheeks Rabbit bakin' cakes and all of these pussies gon' get a piece Gangster Kane, I ain't ashamed like Jermaine, I won't delete, nigga Fin poppin', opps droppin' Handicapped that nigga, gave him front-row parkin', I leave a bitch with options Slangin' thangs, my shit bangin' like orangutans Prices on my life, life is what you make it, man (yeah)
Writer(s): Garry Dewayne Glenn, Fredrick Jamel Tipton, Andrew Nicholas Papaleo, Ben George Lambert Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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