Crédits
INTERPRÉTATION
Beatboy
Programmation
DaBoii
Chant
Fenix Flexin
Chant
Rob Vicious
Chant
Slimmy B
Chant
Yhung T.O.
Chant
COMPOSITION ET PAROLES
Branden Dion McNair
Paroles/Composition
Fenix Rypinski
Paroles/Composition
Juwon Lee BMI 550584392
Paroles/Composition
Robert Magee III
Paroles/Composition
Wayman Zachariah Barrow Jr.
Paroles/Composition
PRODUCTION ET INGÉNIERIE
Beatboy
Production
Paroles
[Verse 1]
Talkin' down your own bro, sound like a dork to me
Wanna beef but you snitchin', sound like pork to me
**** thought that I was lackin', keep a torch on me
And I be rockin' with them shooters, they escort for me
[Verse 2]
Police say it's muddy, thirty shells in that whip
Wet bab, I could probably sell in that shit
Keep on fuckin' with the devil, it be Hell in this bitch
Keep on actin' like he tough and catch a shell in this bitch
[Verse 3]
Uh, talkin' rich when you broke, that's a bad mouth
Follow the next ****'s moves, that's a bad route
And every window rolled up, it's attack out
And I'll face every fear before I back down
[Verse 4]
Pussy soundin' like the gang, that's a copycat
We four deep up in the rentals with all kind of straps
And if K-Rod take your bitch, then come and buy her back
I got them demons in my body, don't know how to act
[Verse 5]
I don't fuck with **** and I never did
And if I hit from from the back, I probably touch her rib
Side **** to his bitch, I got better dick
And for them **** wanna diss, I got a longer clip, bitch
[Verse 6]
Rob Vish, fuck a ****'s bitch
Supposed to hit her once, now she back 'cause she addicted
**** talkin' down then we gonna pull up with extensions
It's Vicious, I gotta make money and break bitches
Robby Vicious got that TEC, he gonna chip somethin'
Bullets flyin' out that TEC, watch it rip somethin'
Say you sippin' on that TEC, you don't sip nothin'
So you smoke with no rep, come and get some
Robby Vicious got that chop, leave you holey
(Leave you holey, bitch)
Tell the cops you don't know me (You don't know me)
Hundred 'round bust you down, like a Rollie (Fuck fuck fuck)
Hit the ground, you talk down on my homies
[Verse 7]
I'm a dope dealer baby, let me change your life up
Goin' thirty off a perc-30 with the pipe tucked
Fendi hold the forty, we might take your life bruh
Shorty want the winning team, no **** like us
All my **** want the smoke, no **** fight us
I ain't worried 'bout that bitch, I had to boss my life up
Run game on a bitch, game on a bitch
Pop a pill then came on a bitch, gang on that bitch
[Verse 8]
Slimy motherfuckin' B, red
Bottom for the cleats, twenty-two up in this gleek
Bitch I'm really in these streets, craft ****, three C's
Thinkin' I was fuckin' for the free, bitch please
Been slidin' all night, no sleep
Cuffin' on that thot bitch, let the ho be
Paid a band-plus for this Louis long sleeve
All that dissin', six feet is where you **** gonna be
Ah, and when I hit your bitch, it's from the back end
Eight-fifty for the belt, that's why I'm saggin'
Like Nike I just do it, no practice
**** want smoke, shit, fuck it, let 'em have it
This stick up on my hip, but this ain't Madden
In the Aston, gettin' head from a ratchet
Glock plastic, make yo' mama pick a casket
And if you ain't talkin' bands, ain't no collabing, bitch
(Bitch, bitch)
Written by: Branden Mcnair, Fenix Rypinski, Jabbar Brown, Juwon Lee, Robert Magee, Wayman Barrow
