Music Video

Kanye West - Clique ft. Big Sean & Jay-Z (Explicit)
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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
JAY-Z
JAY-Z
Vocals
Big Sean
Big Sean
Vocals
Cocaine 80s
Cocaine 80s
Background Vocals
Aude Cardona
Aude Cardona
Background Vocals
Travis Jones
Travis Jones
Background Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Chauncey Hollis
Chauncey Hollis
Songwriter
Big Sean
Big Sean
Songwriter
JAY-Z
JAY-Z
Songwriter
Kanye West
Kanye West
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Kanye West
Kanye West
Producer
Hit-Boy
Hit-Boy
Producer
Anthony Kilhoffer
Anthony Kilhoffer
Mixing Engineer
Noah Goldstein
Noah Goldstein
Recording Engineer
The Twilite Tone
The Twilite Tone
Producer
Richard Parry
Richard Parry
Assistant Recording Engineer
Rob Kinelski
Rob Kinelski
Recording Engineer
Christian Mochizuki
Christian Mochizuki
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Eric Kelekolio
Eric Kelekolio
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Gaylord Holomalia
Gaylord Holomalia
Assistant Mixing Engineer

Lyrics

What of the dollar you murdered for? Is that the one fighting for your soul? Or your brother's the one that you're running from? But if you got money, fuck it, 'cause I want some B-I-G, who fuckin' with me? Oh, God! Whoa, okay Ain't nobody fuckin' with my clique Clique, clique, clique, clique Ain't nobody fresher than my muh'fuckin' clique Clique, clique, clique, clique As I look around, they don't do it like my clique Clique, clique, clique, clique And all these bad bitches, man They want the-, they want the- (B-I-G, oh God! Go) I tell a bad bitch do whatever I say My block behind me, like I'm coming out the driveway It's grind day, from Friday to next Friday I been up straight for nine days, I need a spa day (spa day) Yup, she tryin' to get me that poon-tang I might let my crew bang, my crew deeper than Wu-Tang I'm rollin' with... fuck I'm saying? Girl, you know my crew name You know 2 Chainz? Skrrr! I'm pullin' up in that Bruce Wayne But I'm the fuckin' villain Man, they kneelin' when I'm walking in the buildin' Freaky women I be feelin' from the bank accounts I'm fillin' What a feelin'! Ah man, they gotta be Young player from the D That's killing everything that he see for the dough Ain't nobody fuckin' with my clique Clique, clique, clique, clique Ain't nobody fresher than my muthafuckin' clique Clique, clique, clique, clique As I look around, they don't do it like my clique Clique, clique, clique, clique And all these bad bitches, man They want the-, they want the-, they want (Click clack, stick 'em up!) Yeah, I'm talkin' Ye, yeah, I'm talkin' Rih Yeah, I'm talkin' B, nigga, I'm talkin' me Yeah, I'm talkin' bossy, I ain't talkin' Kelis Your money too short, you can't be talking to me Yeah, I'm talkin' LeBron, we ball in our family tree G.O.O.D. Music drug-dealing cousin Ain't nothin' fuckin' with we, me Turn that 62 to 125, 125 to a 250 250 to a half a million, ain't nothin' nobody can do with me Now, who with me? ¡Vámonos! Call me Hov or Jefe Translation: I'm the shit, 'least that what my neck say 'Least that what my check say, lost my homie for a decade Nigga down for like 12 years Ain't hug his son since the second grade Uh, he never told—who he gonna tell? We top of the totem pole It's the Dream Team meets the Supreme Team And all our eyes green, it only means one thing You ain't fuckin' with the clique Clique, clique, clique, clique Ain't nobody fresher than my muthafuckin' clique Clique, clique, clique, clique As I look around, they don't do it like my clique Clique, clique, clique, clique And all these bad bitches, man They want the-, they want the-, they want Break records at Louis, ate breakfast at Gucci My girl a superstar all from a home movie Bow on our arrival, the un-American idols What niggas did in Paris, got 'em hangin' off the Eiffel Yeah, I'm talkin' business, we talkin' CIA I'm talkin' George Tenet, I seen him the other day He asked me about my Maybach, think he had the same Except mine tinted and his might have been rented You know, white people get money, don't spend it Or maybe they get money, buy a business I rather buy 80 gold chains and go ign'ant I know Spike Lee gon' kill me, but let me finish Blame it on the pigment, we livin' no limits Them gold Master P ceilings was just a figment Of our imagination, MTV cribs Now I'm lookin' at a crib right next to where TC lives That's Tom Cruise, whatever she accuse He wasn't really drunk, he just had a frew brews Pass the refreshments, a cool, cool beverage Everything I do need a news crew's presence Speedboat swerve, homie, watch out for the waves I'm way too black to burn from sunrays So I just meditate at the home in Pompeii About how I could build a new Rome in one day Every time I'm in Vegas they screamin' like he's Elvis But I just wanna design hotels and nail it Shit is real, got me feelin' Israelian Like Bar Refaeli, or Gisele—no, that's Brazilian Went through, deep depression when my mama passed Suicide, what kinda talk is that? But I been talkin' to God for so long That if you look at my life I guess he's talkin' back Fuckin' with my clique Ain't nobody fresher than my muthafuckin' clique As I look around, they don't do it like my clique And all these bad bitches, man They want the-, they want the-, they want- Go!
Writer(s): Kanye Omari West, Shawn C. Carter, Chauncey A. Hollis, Che Smith, Alexander Izquierdo, Sean Michael Anderson, Noah D. Goldstein, James Edward Fauntleroy Ii, Anthony R. Kilhoffer Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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