Vídeo de música

Créditos

PERFORMING ARTISTS
42 Dugg
42 Dugg
Vocals
EST Gee
EST Gee
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Dion Hayes
Dion Hayes
Songwriter
George Stone III
George Stone III
Songwriter
Martin McCurtis
Martin McCurtis
Songwriter
Royce Monroe Coffin
Royce Monroe Coffin
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Helluva
Helluva
Producer
Leo Goff
Leo Goff
Mixing Engineer
Eric Fernandez
Eric Fernandez
Mixing Engineer
Mike Tucci
Mike Tucci
Mastering Engineer
Khaya Gilika
Khaya Gilika
Engineer

Letra

Yeah, yeah (uh, uh) Yeah, yeah (uh) Who got the ups on us? (Who got ups on us?) Strap across your shirt, like, nigga, buckle up (Helluva made this beat, baby) You can't miss, I send you on that hit, might die, you fuck it up Clip hold got like T trimmers, real street nigga, my money up Wave this bitch like, "Hey, what's up?" Soon as fat boy get close enough Niggas don't want bump, they punks, on IG, hope I post 'em up I talk to them bodies late at night when I be rollin' up They know it's us Gone with all that flaggin', bitch, you braggin', now I choke on bruh 40, that's the caliber, the magazine is 17 I got this from Medellín, 18 times 33 I hope he ain't sellin' dreams, might go back to mailin' ki's I don't want no good bitch, make Dugg bitch a felon, please My wrist methamphetamine, you know this that ice talk Hop out on foot, let pipe off, yellow tape, white chalk OT, gettin' this ice off For a hundred mails, every country town around, we beat it down Used to bag up pieces, sittin' up east listenin' to "Wipe Me Down" I know they don't like me now, your brother, sister, cousin Feds ever hit the house, put my shit in the oven They get cheaper by the dozen Roster grew to a monster We blow them choppers, bitch I don't know my alphabets Tell me, what come after rich? Play with us, we whackin' shit, claimin' shit, and stampin' shit Fuck y'all (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah) These niggas don't want beef with us, they IG killers We bendin' blocks in three rentals, I don't see niggas Keep drillin', bitch, we breed killers We elite spinners Big shiner, keep his heat with him, eat and sleep with it Wake up, bitch won't fuck the youngin from the front, go get that makeup To make sure all my niggas had a piece, I took a pay cut Ho gon' put this 'partment in her name, you need some pay stubs I'm crankin' my fake drugs, four-hundred in eight months Ten with me like eight stuffed The driver like my idol, that's the only bitch I can't touch These niggas is not me, these niggas is not Gee Got blow pack, got roxys Got weed stems and boxed gin, I'm top ten Yeah, go catch one and get locked in Got out of line and get knocked in In my city, I'm top ten Number one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine With a white boy snortin' H lines In the side county, niggas can't find With a 45 on my waistline Like fuck next, I'm lit now Crossed over, I'm big slime I'm still slidin', I'm rich now E'rybody gotta pick sides Took a risk to hold up my wrist high My lil' brother took six lives He a lil' nigga but look 6'5" Can the opps say they didn't hide? Yeah
Writer(s): Martin Mccurtis, Dion Marquise Hayes, George Stone Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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