Vídeo musical

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Créditos

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Frank Ocean
Frank Ocean
Vocals
Amber Coffman
Amber Coffman
Background Vocals
Malay Ho
Malay Ho
Programming
Om’Mas Keith
Programming
The Mohawks
The Mohawks
Sampled Artist
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Christopher Breaux
Christopher Breaux
Songwriter
James Blake
James Blake
Songwriter
Frank Ocean
Frank Ocean
Arranger
Malay Ho
Malay Ho
Arranger
Om'Mas Keith
Om'Mas Keith
Arranger
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Frank Ocean
Frank Ocean
Producer
Jeff Ellis
Jeff Ellis
Engineer
MIKE DEAN
MIKE DEAN
Mastering Engineer
Malay Ho
Malay Ho
Producer
Om’Mas Keith
Producer

Letras

These bitches want Nikes They looking for a check Tell 'em it ain't likely Said she need a ring like Carmelo You must be on that white like Othello All you want is Nikes But the real ones Just like you, just like me I don't play, I don't make time But if you need dick, I got you And I yam from the line Pour up for A$AP, R.I.P. Pimp C R.I.P. Trayvon, that nigga look just like me Woo, fuckin' buzzin', woo That my little cousin He got a little trade His girl keep the scales A little mermaid We out by the pool Some little mermaids Me and them gel like twigs with them bangs Now that's a real mermaid You been holding your breath, weighted down Punk madre, punk papá He don't care for me But he cares for me And that's good enough We don't talk much or nothin' But when we talkin' 'bout somethin' We have good discussion I met his friends last week Feels like they're up to somethin' That's good for us We'll let you guys prophesy We'll let you guys prophesy We gon' see the future first We'll let you guys prophesy We gon' see the future first Living so the last night feels like a past life Speaking of the don't know what got into people Devil be possessin' homies Demons try to body-jump Why you think I'm in this bitch wearing a fucking yarmulke? Acid on me like the rain Weed crumbles into glitter Rain, glitter We laid out on this wet floor Away turf, no Astro Mesmerized how the strobes glow Look at all the people feet dance I know that your nigga came, witcha But he ain't, witcha We only human and it's humid in these Balmains I mean my balls sticking to my jeans We breathin' pheromones, Amber Rose Sippin' pink-gold lemonades Feelin' I may be younger, but I'll look after you We're not in love, but I'll make love to you When you're not here I'll save some for you I'm not him But I'll mean something to you I'll mean something to you I'll mean something to you You got a roommate, he'll hear what we do It's only awkward if you're fucking him too
Writer(s): Christopher Breaux, James Blake Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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