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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
EST Gee
EST Gee
Vocals
FOREVEROLLING
FOREVEROLLING
Programming
Marko Lenz
Marko Lenz
Programming
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
George Stone III
George Stone III
Songwriter
Jeffrey Lynn Jones
Jeffrey Lynn Jones
Songwriter
Mark Nikolaev
Mark Nikolaev
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
FOREVEROLLING
FOREVEROLLING
Producer
Marko Lenz
Marko Lenz
Producer
Eric Fernandez
Eric Fernandez
Mixing Engineer
Johngotitt
Johngotitt
Recording Engineer
Rich Keller
Rich Keller
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

Phew, phew, phew (FOREVERROLLING) Yeah, yeah Come take a trip down memory lane with a gravedigger A made nigga, poppin' painkillers don't make me think different I'm a drank sipper, I done slayed niggas, I done paid killers Out the whip and out the window, long as you get 'em, ain't no difference Shame is, the same niggas dissin' used to wan' hang with us I ain't trippin', I been had a lot of opps, even more pistols Bougie freak say she don't wan' eat 'cause I ain't say, no pickle Put her on the nigga, she get that lo', we gon' for sure get him Most get it, the small few of 'em that don't don't need no nose tissue 'Cause I'ma wipe it for him, he don't even know it, I'm so cold with it She got sexy lips, when she eat dick, I call her soul stealer (mwah) Cried, make her sad, said, I'll be back when it's a whole river She give me a pass on how I act because her old nigga Broke and down bad, sittin' on his ass, watchin' her go get it Plus I used to serve her baby dad, you know I hit his bag Bossed up, I bought all my whips with cash, it came with paper tags Three kilos and one five hundred grams, all my cubans dance Every brick I grab, you ain't my mans, I come for four and a half Run off on your stupid ass next time if you don't lower the tab Niggas ain't got money, got no swag, they can't make me crash Let my brodie score, I threw the pass, he laid it off the glass I done slimed his blood all on my grass, I hope you thinkin' fast Pour of Wock' inside a big blue pop make it look like the Jazz Thought that shit was good, but it was trash, get back to the lab Bricklayer and I was made to last and never come in last Act like you wan' test me, you gon' pass and I ain't talkin' class Know I got that Gretzky, don't even ask, just come with the cash I don't reminisce on what I had 'cause I'm still in my bag Difference me and his is mine's Dior and yours is made from trash Nigga sent the gangsters' text, I laugh, you know that that's his ass He survived from hidin' under the wheel, he ain't dump his iron Know I climbed from out that pile of shit, I had to take my time Step and put some niggas on a shelf who wanted to see me die Video, he up a stupid roll, camera off, he lie Gotta shine 'cause I ain't used to have nothin' and that's the reason why Homicide, another mama cried, son played with 55 Riata drive, whoever tryna collide, know it's suicide Love is blind, so is my left eye, so fuck the other side
Writer(s): Jeffrey Lynn Jones Jr., Mark Nikolaev, George A. Stone Iii, William Eric Boyette Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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