Music Video

EST Gee - Hit Maker (Official Audio)
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Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
EST Gee
EST Gee
Vocals
FOREVEROLLING
FOREVEROLLING
Programming
Flex On The Beat
Flex On The Beat
Programming
Tymaz
Tymaz
Programming
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Aaron E Butler
Aaron E Butler
Songwriter
George Stone III
George Stone III
Songwriter
Jeffrey Lynn Jones
Jeffrey Lynn Jones
Songwriter
Oscar Braojos Garcia
Oscar Braojos Garcia
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
FOREVEROLLING
FOREVEROLLING
Producer
Flex On The Beat
Flex On The Beat
Producer
Tymaz
Tymaz
Producer
Eric Fernandez
Eric Fernandez
Mixing Engineer
Johngotitt
Johngotitt
Recording Engineer
Colin Leonard
Colin Leonard
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

Phew, phew, phew, phew Baow, baow (Flexin' on that bitch, hold up) Yeah, with Rece, slidin' through the city, knockin' raw his bitch call Girl think that I'm cheatin', phone keep chingin', fifteen missed calls (FOREVERROLLING) All short and shit when he up blick, have a big nigga tryna get small I'm on Tubman Court on my brother porch off two timed-release footballs Left hand work flip phone, right hand whack big dogs With a dirty doubled up muddy cup, same purple stuff killed Jim Jones Brick weigher, hit maker on an island, nigga, I'm Kim Jones Real trapper, cook it outside on a hot plate in the freezing cold Different now, I have six figures, still grittin', warmin' up pizza rolls Reason I got a quarter million jewelry on my right wrist alone Fix the holes, put my mix on it, and I know it's gettin' sold Chrissy 'bows I bought for twenty-four, and they go for sixty, shit I ain't been to sleep, been home to eat, or changed my trench clothes I'm off XOs in the red zone, geekers tryna get the rest gone In my city, it's so many opp niggas gettin' repped on And the first time, you get the best dope, but the next load get stepped on And I'm ten toes, stepping for the bros 'til I get sent home Niggas been hoes since big clothes, calling young niggas they big bros And I switched lows with a thick ho, tryna turn this flick on And my wrist froze, AP Skeleton with the big stones If it's no, don't grab no coat, that's code for coke If you talkin' 'bout my worth was in dollars, I'm worth the most I'll pull up, tell 'em, "Lace up that trunk, I buy in bulk" Niggas couldn't beat me beefin', they had to involve them folks Niggas toddlers, broke and live with their mamas, these niggas jokers This ain't no movie, ain't no secret shit to it, I'm just the GOAT Keep it real, heard your statement was sealed, you niggas spoke He ain't feel safe when he got out that day, told his PO Fakin' like he want that smoke, me and him both know that he don't I don't feel alone, all of these dead niggas I keep on smokin' on Let's get it on, you ain't tryna pop nothin' but a poppin' song And I been wrong, but I got right that same night and I changed my phone I never told, never heard of no rumor where they said I told I'll never fold unless it's foldin' up luggage with heavy loads Never, niggas known for bein' nothin', never doin' nothin' gangster Niggas never made no money, ain't never made no noise on they block Don't even run they block Mm, plus you niggas been rappin' for fifteen years And ain't got shit up Free Mo
Writer(s): Jeffrey Lynn Jones Jr., Aaron Butler, Oscar Braojos Garcia, George A. Stone Iii Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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