Music Video

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
The Roots
The Roots
Performer
Modesty Lycan
Modesty Lycan
Vocals
Porn
Porn
Vocals
Tarik Trotter
Tarik Trotter
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Tarik Trotter
Tarik Trotter
Composer
Gregory Spearman
Gregory Spearman
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Damion Ward
Damion Ward
Producer
Tarik Trotter
Tarik Trotter
Producer
Questlove
Questlove
Producer
Jon Smeltz
Jon Smeltz
Recording Engineer
Montez Roberts
Montez Roberts
Recording Engineer
Jason Goldstein
Jason Goldstein
Mixing Engineer
Rich & Rich
Rich & Rich
Assistant Mixing Engineer

Lyrics

Lights, camera, chemical reaction Attracted to a body of lies with fat asses Thank the most high for the high of high fashion My art of war is killer couture, denim assassin Am I a douchebag or just another doo-rag? Tryna get ahead on some brand new-wave shit For your entertainment money is the language So every time I speak I'm tryna make another payment I do 'em dirty, sleep and get a dirt nap, that works Tell my P.O. ask me where I work at Think I woulda learned that sleeping in the bird trap Living on the run like somebody tryna burn fat I don't give a fuck, now maybe that's abstinence Or the arrogance of someone who ain't got shit That think money over bitches is a stock tip... I live in a trap where things go crack Wake up in the boxes with a box of Apple Jacks Everybody acts like God is all that But I got the feelin' he ain't never coming back So I got an angel that answer my prayer Floating on the cloud that I blow in the air Nobody wins but nobody cares They just want blood when the people cheer I'm down to 95 dollars, that's the extent of my riches Out of 99 problems, 98 of 'em is bitches Out here hollerin' what's ironic is I've honestly been tryna do what's right But some jawn legs in the air tonight, like Phil Collins I'm a sex-addicted introvert Sucker for a pencil skirt Looking for a shorty coming from work, that I can pervert On my existential grind doing consequential dirt Searchin' for physical pleasure if I don't go mental first Molly poppin', trolley hoppin' Know somebody prolly watchin' That ain't stoppin' me from coppin' a feel Karate choppin' in this after-hours spot Watching mommy body rockin' First I feed her vodka shots then she eat my Johnnie Cochran Livin' fast, drinkin' capt' One of them hoes even had The audacity ask me how long this thing would last I said, "You wanna pay for class? Get on that stage and shake your ass." She keep a dick in a box and in an emergency break the glass I make her laugh She makes it clap And then she gives me lap dances and I'm thankful that She keeps providing the place for me to be unfaithful at... I live in a trap where things go crack Wake up in the boxes with a box of Apple Jacks Everybody acts like God is all that But I got the feelin' he ain't never coming back So I got an angel that answer my prayer Floating on the cloud that I blow in the air Nobody wins but nobody cares They just want blood when the people cheer
Writer(s): Ahmir K. Thompson, Tarik L. Collins, Gregory Allen Jr. Spearman, Damion Ward Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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