Music Video

Young Thug - Droppin Jewels [Official Audio]
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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Young Thug
Young Thug
Vocals
MIKExANGEL
MIKExANGEL
Background Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Andrew Franklin
Andrew Franklin
Songwriter
Chandler Durham
Chandler Durham
Songwriter
Jeffery Williams
Jeffery Williams
Songwriter
Kyle Smith
Kyle Smith
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
A.'Bainz' Bains
A.'Bainz' Bains
Mixing Engineer
Ghetto Guitar
Ghetto Guitar
Producer
K-Notes
K-Notes
Producer
Pro Logic
Pro Logic
Producer
Turbo
Turbo
Producer
Joba Aladeselu
Joba Aladeselu
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Joe LaPorta
Joe LaPorta
Mastering Engineer
Ray Nash
Ray Nash
Recording Engineer
Samuel Reyes
Samuel Reyes
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Tanner Schmiedl
Tanner Schmiedl
Assistant Recording Engineer

Lyrics

(Show me that I'm done, I'm finished here, but still no fear, yeah) Ain't no more reminiscin' Ain't no more judgin', no intuition (Tell me why I'm livin', why am I remaining here?) I was smokin' 'Scotti, but not Pippen I taught my son how to stack that shit to the ceiling Drop a body, and you wouldn't have to pay for lunch I told my dawg I'm ridin' whether he right or wrong I done got big, they record my life through a drone I told my bitch to stand behind me, I'm in my zone She like, "How the fuck you ain't never wrote a song?" Same reason your fine ass ain't never wore a thong You ain't ridin' for life, then I'd just rather ride alone Bought you a spot, now you don't ever gotta go Yeah, I told my nigga I'ma drop the jewels on him You gotta go through this shit with your heart, you can't snooze on it It's bad, you better get rid of it or lose on it I know you heard that old saying about bad fruit, homie Huh, if you can't beat 'em, knock it out 'em If you gon' kill 'em, better not be sloppy I told my daughter, "Keep one in the head," she ain't gotta cock it I told my son if he wanted to live, he might catch a body I told my son he ain't a cheerleader, but he might gotta catch a body His driver named Joe, but he still can't do it sloppy I just hopped up out that Ghost, I been drivin' a dead body I ain't really into nothin', but I spend it like a hobby I was locked inside the trap, didn't think about it, but I got out it And my cars and clothes exotic I ain't 6ix9ine, but two hoes with me right now, you can call me Shotti I been droppin' all my Vicks and now the FBI won't stop me Got this shit on fire like Takis, nigga, woah, woah (Show me that I'm done, I'm finished here, but still no fear, yeah) Ain't no more reminiscin' Ain't no more judgin', no intuition (Tell me why I'm livin', why am I remaining here?) I was smokin' 'Scotti, but not Pippen I taught my son how to stack that shit to the ceiling Yeah, they complimentin' my new Rolls Royce TV in the front of that motherfucker like a tour bus Spirit of ecstasy got me feelin' so blessed, you see I told my bitch I was 'bout to go shoot up Treaster Tree Half a million dollars on my dawgs and all my cars Couple millions to my mama and my pa Got the sniper on the roof for niggas tryna act hard I just bought a brand new coupe, and it's a black Jaguar Matte black, old Trans Am, thank you, ma'am We gon' make us a porn star video, new cam I came up just watchin' my pop gamble my food stamps I just cause cramps, I don't go back and forth with tramps Baby, we stamped, just for that, I'ma call you "Ma'am" Got that T-Rex, I just gave my daddy the Cam I got the sheets wet Pick that lil' bitch up, then I slam her like I'm from B-X Then I fold her up like a crown, yeah It was dark, then I came to the light I was poor, and now my dawg suicide I don't know how to make it right, right Bought four Birkins for you, keep it light, light I don't care about you leavin' me I got no time to try to make it right I just hope you find another life I'll pick you up if you ever fall, right? (Whoa, whoa, whoa) (Show me that I'm done, I'm finished here, but still no fear, yeah) Ain't no more reminiscin' Ain't no more judgin', no intuition (Tell me why I'm livin', why am I remaining here?) I was smokin' 'Scotti, but not Pippen I taught my son how to stack that shit to the ceiling
Writer(s): Kyle Smith, Chandler Durham, Jeffery Lamar Williams, Andrew Kenneth Franklin Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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