Video musicale

In primo piano

Crediti

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Nardo Wick
Nardo Wick
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Horace Walls
Horace Walls
Songwriter
Tyler Maline
Tyler Maline
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Nardo Wick
Nardo Wick
Producer
Horace Walls Jr.
Horace Walls Jr.
Recording Engineer

Testi

Trademark! Ain't gotta turn on demon mode, that shit be automatic Ain't gotta tell her, "Take 'em, off," that shit be automatic See this lil' cube on the back, it make it automatic Nigga ain't teach me to be real, that shit was automatic Gave her what's under my belly, now, she love me Walk in the building, now, all the pretty bitches tug me Her hair got caught on my chain when she tried to hug me Found out I hit his hoe, he see me and he mug me Every time I see the camera, throw the gang up We some dogs and got on chains, but they can't tame us Every time that one corner get hit up, they blame us We like a record label, make a nigga famous Say he a lion, okay lion, still pussy I'm like, "Bro, why the fuck you keep lookin'?" Aim at his beak and have the whole crowd duckin' The clip got somethin' in it, pull it 'til it's nothin' They got hoes in the tele' Racks in the duffle Choppers in the Sprinter Van bust a nigga bubble They say I'm all alone, I see they in a group But, this lil' cube on the back'll break up a nigga huddle What's the plan? (What's the plan?) What's the word? (What's the word) You say they over there (they over there), fuck it, go and swerve We really get into it (bang) We really do it We livin' what we rappin', we not just makin' music Pull up 30D, but I'm by myself Nardo, what you mean? I got like 29 shells Hop that patty cake, that mean I hop that clappin' shit Hop that Will Smith, that mean I hop that smackin' shit And I keep that pipe, I feel like Pookie, nigga I'm so icy, boy, I feel like Gucci, nigga I make yo' block hot, I think I'm Tunechi, nigga My lil' badass, I feel like Boosie, nigga She got the nerve to pop a Perc' before I fuck her Put yo' phone in the safe, then we can cuddle We can fuck a thousand times, still ain't a couple Or take you shoppin' 'cause I'm happy, and I ain't no sucker Just like I left the barber shop, I'm comin' trim Pull over, give you wood, yeah, I'm one of them Blam 'em in the mall, yeah, I'm one of them Damn, pussy boy can't call me, one of them Pull up in what you run on in the 'Burbs Threat who? Come again, say what? Lil' nigga got some nerves "Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang," died because of words "Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang," got what he deserve Pull up Trackhawk, farm in my hood, lot of horses in 'em She like a gun range Know that 'ussy good, I keep bustin' in it Like a toothpick, stick to his teeth like it's somethin' in it Pointin' fingers, move it back and forth until you hear it clickin' Ain't gotta turn on demon mode, that shit be automatic Ain't gotta tell her, "Take 'em, off," that shit be automatic See this lil' cube on the back, it make it automatic Nigga ain't teach me to be real, that shit was automatic
Writer(s): Horace Walls, Tyler David Maline Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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