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Fredo Bang - Bless His Soul (feat. Polo G) (Lyrics Video)
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क्रेडिट्स

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Fredo Bang
Fredo Bang
Vocals
DJ Chose
DJ Chose
Programming
hardbody Beazy
hardbody Beazy
Percussion
Polo G
Polo G
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Frederick Givens II
Frederick Givens II
Songwriter
Norman Payne
Norman Payne
Songwriter
Jackie Plant Jr.
Jackie Plant Jr.
Songwriter
Taurus Bartlett
Taurus Bartlett
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
DJ Chose
DJ Chose
Producer
hardbody Beazy
hardbody Beazy
Mixing Engineer
Jess Jackson
Jess Jackson
Mastering Engineer

गाने

Ain't that DJ Chose over there? Look like DJ Chose Hardbody Woadie got a body, he ain't tell nobody He stuck to the code, hope God bless his soul Right hand on the Bible, tell the lie straight to the judge Just 'cause he ain't never fold, hope God bless his soul (yeah, yeah, yeah) Ain't gotta drop a bag, got niggas to do that shit for free (grr) Ain't gotta spend a band, got niggas to do that shit for me Got a house up in the 'burb, but mama I'm still in these streets (ooh-ooh) Know that we be actin', that AC that I'm packin' is compact ('pact) Ask around my city, I work that ratchet (yeah) I'm livin' what they rappin', pull it out like Go Go Gadget (boaw) I put my savage on even though he actin' (yeah) Get a bag and not a casket (yeah, yeah, yeah) I was taught to get it in the old way (old way) I was slingin' iron up on that tollway (tollway) I been traumatized, I can't let nobody close, babe Snakes in disguise, told me lies with a bold face I salute to the real one time Hoppin' gates, tryna duck one time Kept it real, ain't think of switchin' one time You hit a lick to feed your kids, but that's fine Woadie got a body, he ain't tell nobody He stuck to the code, hope God bless his soul Right hand on the Bible, tell the lie straight to the judge Just 'cause he ain't never fold, hope God bless his soul (yeah, yeah, yeah) Ain't gotta drop a bag, got niggas to do that shit for free (grr) Ain't gotta spend a band, got niggas to do that shit for me Got a house up in the 'burb, but mama I'm still in these streets (ooh-ooh) Let off clips when we drill shit, clap his dome With some old heads on field trips like chaperones, uh These niggas vaginal, my niggas animals From the murder capital where catchin' bodies casual Keep these angels guardin' me, saved us with a harmony My daddy saw the star in me when stars seemed too far to reach I'm perfectin' my artistry, grew up on Tha Carter III Shoot like we play for varsity, these slugs'll hit his artery He can't be with gang, we revoked him of his membership Out here writin' statements like he workin' on his penmanship Hellcat just for racin', fuck around and bought the dealership Mama look, I made it and I still got all my killers here Woadie got a body, he ain't tell nobody He stuck to the code, hope God bless his soul Right hand on the Bible, tell the lie straight to the judge Just 'cause he ain't never fold, hope God bless his soul (yeah, yeah, yeah) Ain't gotta drop a bag, got niggas to do that shit for free (grr) Ain't gotta spend a band, got niggas to do that shit for me Got a house up in the 'burb, but mama I'm still in these streets (ooh-ooh) Yeah, I salute to the real one time Hoppin' gates, tryna duck one time Kept it real, ain't think of switchin' one time You hit a lick to feed your kids, but that's fine
Writer(s): Unknown Writer, Norman Payne Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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