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Créditos
INTERPRETAÇÃO
Preston Crump
Baixo
Martin Terry
Guitarra
Cool Breeze
Vocais
Big Gipp
Vocais
Whild Peach
Vocal de apoio
Trina
Vocal de apoio
Joi
Vocal de apoio
Tamara
Vocal de apoio
André 3000
Vocais
Big Boi
Vocais
Ray Murray
Programação
Rico Wade
Programação
Sleepy Brown
Programação
COMPOSIÇÃO E LETRA
Cameron Gipp
Composição
André Benjamin
Composição
Antwan Patton
Composição
Frederick Bell
Composição
Patrick Brown
Composição
Ray Murray
Composição
Rico Wade
Composição
PRODUÇÃO E ENGENHARIA
Organized Noize
Produção
Jarvis Blackshear
Engenharia
Derrick Williams
Engenharia
John Frye
Engenharia
Manuel K. Morris
Engenharia (assistente)
Alex Lowe
Engenharia (assistente)
Brian Frye
Engenharia (assistente)
Alvin Speights
Engenharia (mixagem)
Leslie Brathwaite
Engenharia (mixagem)
Paul Thompson
Engenharia de mixagem (assistente)
Carlton Batts
Engenharia (masterização)
Kevin Parker
Engenharia de mixagem (assistente)
Letra
I call the crib they say "Breeze, you ain't know?"
I say "What?"
"Big Time got popped in his Benzo!"
I said "Damn man, I'm riding in his Lexus"
I'm 'bout to dump this nigga's shit in New Dimensions
Get to the crib so I can call Big Slate up
And tell 'em the money man done slipped and got his throat cut
And everything that we took from the warehouse
I heard somebody talkin' 'bout it at the White House
Man, I thought you said that this job was for me and you
I ain't know that Bill Clampett wanted some too
You tell his folks that I'm sorry 'bout that Lexus
I'm 'bout to dip and see my sister up in, nah
Can't even tell you where I put my extra player card
'Cause them Red Dog police know we homeboys
Just tell everybody who owe us a dime
It's the great, hoe 'round up yo' money time
I got to have mine, then I'm outta here
Take a loss, come back up just like Coco Grier
Ain't got to worry 'bout yo' partner gettin' caught like a lame
It won't be over 'til that big girl from Decatur sing
It won't be over 'til that big girl from Decatur sing
East Point police don't know a damn thing
(Yeah, it won't be over, check this out)
Can you see what I be hearin' talkin' to spirits when I sleep?
Peep this out real quick, Slick, we gets on this beat and speak
About that pimp shit, that walk with that limp shit, that hemp shit
Lookin' up in your face, I see a coward and a dimwit
Lookin' to run up in my private home just like you was the folks
Servin' a warrant to a baby daddy who didn't come to court
On a Tuesday, April Fool's Day, don't get caught slippin'
Leavin' the keys off in the ignition, makin' me guilty by suspicion
Penny pinchers trying to stack for '96
Buyin' another Fleetwood, Diamond took it, so know we's in the mix
I need to take my ass to the crib and drop the baby off
'Cause them niggas at the corner sto' been lookin' at me for too long
Starin' like accidents on highways
High days are better than sober ones
Don't be biased, but I know it has to come (uh)
So I put two in the sky to let them know I'm babysittin'
Y'all don't know nothin' 'bout Big Boi,
'Cause that nigga steady dippin'
It ain't over (why that? Why that?) 'Til the bitch open her mouth up
And sing (yeah)
Took me a long time to get here
Long time, man
I'm talking about, years, and years
Ridin' past funeral fields holdin' bodies of my peers
If you don't educate yo'self
Now how the fuck you gonna understand how you 'posed to get paid?
Niggas walk around get with shade tree ass ways
Fuck a fade, let my hair drag
Back and forth like a see-saw
Jumping Lily, to lilypad dag
Lookin' to get my Goodie feel
I'm broke in like some old men
Who'd stop dem or would stop
I'm droppin' lines for the big plot
16 is when I started this dream
It's '96, I'm in yo' face
Can you hear that bitch scream?
It won't be over til that big girl from Decatur sing
Writer(s): Patrick L. Brown, Cameron F. Gipp, Antwan Patton, Andre Benjamin, Rico Renard Wade, Raymond Ameer Murray, Frederick Bell
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