Music Video

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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Doe Boy
Doe Boy
Vocals
G Herbo
G Herbo
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Cotrell Dennard
Cotrell Dennard
Songwriter
Herbert R Wright
Herbert R Wright
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
FOREVEROLLING
FOREVEROLLING
Producer
Chi Chi
Chi Chi
Producer
FreshThPharmacy
FreshThPharmacy
Recording Engineer
Rosewood
Rosewood
Mastering Engineer
Too Dope
Too Dope
Producer

Lyrics

(What's happening, Chi Chi?) Rubberband Money Gang, nigga (FOREVEROLLING) We don't got no limit We gon' take that shit nigga, fuck you talking 'bout, nigga? Fuck, it's up And niggas hoes All the way (y'all niggas hoes) Let's go, fuck 'em Ayy, Beezy told me set it off, you already know (what up?) Got my Glock in, I'll let it off, you already know (what up?) Ain't gon' let nobody play with me, y'all niggas hoes (bap) If you talking street shit on the net, y'all niggas told (shut up) Pop up in your city, hit the club rocking all rolls I like putting a lot of ice on 'cause my heart cold (ayy) And G Herbo keep that heat on, but my heart cold (heart cold) Stomach full but I'll eat y'all, 'cause my heart cold (oh, really) Tried to keep it a secret, why you tell the world we beefing? (Pussy) Told 'em everything but forget to tell 'em the real rеason What's-his-name killed your man, yeah, you know hе a real demon Stood over him, I'm still squeezing, demon, glizzy still preaching though (think I'm playin') That's just how we talk to niggas, we don't give no speeches, uh Is you really gon' shoot it? I don't give a fuck if you keep it, ho Blicky got a beam and scope, up on the opps, but who keeping score? Bullets hit his body, his insides look like pizza rolls (oh, really) Ayy, no bap, we gon' get him gone (let's go), we just need his lo' Hit my OG on the phone (hello), tell him bring my pole (let's go) Did a hit, I ain't talking song (shh), they don't even know Lil' bro act like Shang Tsung, say he want his soul I was trapping, both my parents home, I just wanted clothes Burner tried to pay me for a verse, but I just wanted bows If a nigga living what he rapping 'bout, I'm one of those Pull a trigger, hit his face, his family want his coffin closed Uh His family want his coffin closed (a bitch) Old nigga sneak dissing, how the fuck you dissing and wearing my clothes? (Oh, really) Mwah, come here baby, share my hoes, but I won't share my pole Ricky Owens on, you better not step on my toes (boom) Said he outside, but he ain't been seen lately (pussy) She said she for me, nah, you for the team, baby (you for the team, baby) Feel like I'm getting washed up, ain't made a nigga bleed lately His lil' brother wanna play hardball, get dead like G, baby, uh (oh, really) I'm with the shits, play, you gon' learn Me and Herb arguing who gon' kill 'em, hold on Swerve, wait your turn (bap, bap, bap, bap) Damn, drunk-ass bitch Let me shoot the nigga in his face Fuck him You a ho, huh (ya dig?) Fuck it then, let's over-do 'em, we could both do 'em (fuck 'em) It don't count unless you run up on 'em, get up close to 'em (fuck 'em) I'm that nigga, I'm a boss now, got too much influence I could easily have my cousins do 'em, have my brother do 'em (bap, bap, bap, bap) When I was in traffic, it was cracking then, it was a bunch of shooters (yeah) You ain't gang-gang, you couldn't hang with us (yeah), we was like fuck recruiting When that rain came, here to maintain, and I changed lanes, let my chains hang Went through real pain, let some flames flame, you a pussy boy, we ain't the same thing On foe'nem, uh, we ain't like y'all, we don't like y'all Yeah, on foe'nem, keep playing, pussy Swerve, big Swerve Oh, really, big, oh, really (big, oh, really...)
Writer(s): Herbert Randall Wright, Chidi Osondu, Jeffrey Lynn Jones Jr., Cotrell Dennard Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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