album cover
.Thinking About You.
4
Hip-Hop/Rap
.Thinking About You. was released on February 1, 2019 by 1116452 Records DK as a part of the album .Thinking About You. - Single
album cover
Release DateFebruary 1, 2019
Label1116452 Records DK
LanguageEnglish
Melodicness
Acousticness
Valence
Danceability
Energy
BPM86

Music Video

Music Video

Credits

COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Edoardo Menta
Edoardo Menta
Songwriter
Domenico Orlando
Domenico Orlando
Songwriter
Andrea Portoghese
Andrea Portoghese
Songwriter

Lyrics

Grief, Death, Bitches and Rain
Sweat, Blood, Stitches and Pain
Believe me homie I don’t give a Fuck
It’s me against the world you Can call me NickPac
Don’t throw stones in your Glass block
You ain’t no G you ain’t no Black bloc
Do you know the gutter, cause I am from there
They call me Nick Cutter, keep It in your head
You suffer from stutter, I’m Drunk with rap
I’m starting to sputter, go save Yourself
Since the day I was born I Didn’t get no-thing
That’s why I don’t care about Sneakers or clo-thing
I don’t wear no chain, no gold Or no rings
Raw as fuck, if ya die man I am Busting
Don’t care what you say you Only be judging
Whether you think I’m cool or Disgusting
Blablabla man you bluffin
Blablabla man you puffing
Get the fuck out of my way Man I’m rushing
I ain’t got no time to waste for No bullshit
Whether you God-Trump-Pac Or a cool chick
Can’t picture myself away from This music
I’m a dumb no doubt, but I can Use it
So smoke some weed, turn up And just lose it
I’ve been thinking about you, thinking about you lately
I’ve been thinking about you
Thinking about you maybe
And I’m crawling in this ocean Of words
Crunk as fuck I don’t want to Be so
Ain’t got no time to waste for No hoe
To waste for no hoe, to waste for no hoe
Fake, Friends, Snitches, Cain
Tears, Screams, all on my lane
Be-lieve me homie I don’t give A fuck
Your chick I think she comes From Bangkok
How can’t you see she has a Damned cock
I don’t care if you like to get Ass fucked
Eeny meeny miny moe, I ain’t Got no more words
Won’t squeeze no whore, I will Build a wall
Like Trump or Jericho, here we Go
Trust me son this shit is literal
I wanna break your spinal cord Ok here we go
Rash, savage, nuts, I’m so sore
I wish I couldn’t wake up at all
But it ain’t no dream, it ain’t no Fantasy
I’ve been living on the bottom I Became the boss
Pulled my dick out the trash And got up
Got back to this game to win all The cups
Prayer, Prayer, Prayer, Prayer
You ain’t gonna get shit until You apply yourself
Traitor, traitor, traitor, traitor
You ever loved someone more Than life itself?
Judas, Judas, Judas, Judas
I learned my lesson and got my Degrees
Took my laurel wreath now I’m The teacher
Fuck math class own my own Expertise
Got all by my own I owe none But this sheet
Don’t talk about the street if Your dad’s a Chief
Of Medicine a lawyer a Cop You cheater
Don’t talk about weed if you Can’t even smoke cheese
Don’t talk about the street if You then go to pray Jesus
Don’t talk about no shit you Ain’t no fuckin genius
Your flow’s as simple as the Solitary reaper
Written by: Andrea Portoghese, Domenico Orlando, Edoardo Menta
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