Music Video

THat Part (Black Hippy Remix)
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Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
ScHoolboy Q
ScHoolboy Q
Vocals
Cardo
Cardo
Drums
Sounwave
Sounwave
Drums
Daveon Jackson
Daveon Jackson
Drums
Tim Gomringer
Tim Gomringer
Synthesizer
Kevin Gomringer
Kevin Gomringer
Synthesizer
Ab-Soul
Ab-Soul
Vocals
Jay Rock
Jay Rock
Vocals
Kendrick Lamar
Kendrick Lamar
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Daveon Jackson
Daveon Jackson
Songwriter
Kevin Gomringer
Kevin Gomringer
Songwriter
Quincy Hanley
Quincy Hanley
Songwriter
Johnny McKinzie
Johnny McKinzie
Songwriter
Herbert Stevens
Herbert Stevens
Songwriter
Brock Korsan
Brock Korsan
Songwriter
Anthony Spears
Anthony Spears
Songwriter
Kanye West
Kanye West
Songwriter
Kendrick Lamar Duckworth
Kendrick Lamar Duckworth
Songwriter
Ronald LaTour
Ronald LaTour
Songwriter
Tim Gomringer
Tim Gomringer
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Cardo
Cardo
Producer
YeX
YeX
Producer
Cubeatz
Cubeatz
Producer
Sounwave
Sounwave
Additional Producer

Lyrics

Me no conversate with the fake, that part All my bitches independent bitches, that part I just want the paper, that part All my bitches flavored That part, that part, that part, that part It's impossible to love it, if you don't come from it It's things that goes on, you just can't stomach I seen it all happen, but I ain't sayin' nada Peep, 24/7 in the hood it's hot If you wanna fall through, get Top on the phone He don't pick up then it ain't bool Let you know it ain't good to stop That part, that part (that part) I'm a Watts nigga and we not kosher Shit, niggas only concern is the bottom line like a stockholder This is where they come, where they cop them boulders Hoes catfight with their tits exposed Still sippin' on that Wild Irish Rose Still rock swap meet designer clothes Black MAC 11 in my mattress Make a hundred racks do a backflip Might go Uncle Luke on them hoes Pussy pop for a bankroll (yeah) All my killers with me got a blank face (yeah) On that fuck you, bitch, where the pay pay? Make 'em pull up on your block with them 223s Aim it at your face, hey Movin' with the rock and the Glock concealers You either sellin' rock or you flock to get it You either on the watch or the clock is tickin' The life of my Watts and my Bompton niggas Get pinched, I'ma post a bond Know POP gon' hold it down, look Need cash, gotta get you some If a hater tell you money ain't everything He don't want you to get none So we thuggin' like DMX Bleed shit, PMS Point blank, period, meet me on the ES I'm fully with the BS, believe that! And we don't stress A .38 'til it free your chest Then PP on the PO's desk I'm Jay Z in a blow out press Relate me to your blowout's best Can't heat me, I'm remote you're deaf I'm HD, causin' photo theft My AC antifreeze got a (that part) Hold your breath, I'm 8 feet when I hold this TEC Protect me from the local threats My ID say my eye don't rest My IV qualify T-rex Society kept my IQ vexed Deny me from an Ivy school Applyin' me to the street I slept I quietly had to hold this tool Reminding me of the block I repped The turf I stepped, the church and the earth I blessed The first I guessed the alert was the murk I chef That hearse the flirt with perks of a kill confessed Dispersed the worst, the first 48 addressed The search and laws and verse of the birth I nest The awe, the curse of a pose in zest The good, the flaws, the pain to reverse what's left Me no conversate with the fake, that part All my bitches independent bitches, that part I just want the paper, that part All my bitches flavored That part, that part, that part, that part Zest god, zest god, zest god, zest god Yamborghini high, cream soda with the Wockhardt Soulo Hoe the profit, yeah Soulo Hoe the prophet That's the fortune teller makin' withdrawals and deposits Ironic, they wanna know where I've been in Where the fuck I've been hidin' in When the fuck am I droppin' that New work that take 'em to church and Turn the universe upside down again Since you're so smart I can't get in my groove 'til we get the Q first I will not heed I pull up large enough to part the Red Sea Father forgive 'em for they know not know who they see I got all eyes on me, call me 3Pac Soulo Hang on, nigga, let me get some Hang on, nigga Hang on Made a mil' and I spent it in the same day Got a chopper, not the AK Gettin' money on a vacay Go go gadget's in the driveway Groovy Tony on July 8th Yeah I'm killin' kitties on a Sunday How you ballin' in a Hyundai? My Ferrari got a toupee Swerve in the big body Your favorite artist, I'm his big homie Yeah I'm walkin' with a fifth And I ain't voting, I'm a Crip, homie I'm where them Bloods, where them Locs at Where the blood, where the choke round gloves for the combat How the feds in your contacts? How the feds know my set name? Fled in the Mulsanne Hydrate up the rap game Heard Soulo comin' up next And SZA got a classic, nigga Heard Zay just got it mastered, uh The fire burnin' through the plastic So fingers to the badges They don't love you 'til the racks evolve When I was broke they wouldn't accept the call Now they on me for my decimals Blank Face has gotta X 'em off Enemies gotta bob and weave Gangbangin' like we stand for somethin' When Alton Sterling gettin' killed for nothin' Two cowards in the car, they're just there to film Sayin' #BlackLivesMatter should've died with him Wrong nigga in your hood, you gon' ride on him White nigga with a badge, you gon' let that slide? Tell me how they sent that footage off and slept that night I feel bad that my daughter gotta live this life I'll die for my daughter, gotta fight this fight Put a Blank Face on, nigga let that drop That, that part
Writer(s): Ronald N. La Tour, Herbert Anthony Stevens, Kendrick Lamar Duckworth, Daveon Lamont Jackson, Quincy Matthew Hanley, Brock F. Korsan, Mark Anthony Spears, Tim Gomringer, Kevin Gomringer, Johnny Mckinzie Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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