Music Video

Machine Gun Kelly – Roulette (Official Audio)
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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
mgk
mgk
Vocals
Bobby Wooten III
Bobby Wooten III
Keyboards
Cook Classics
Cook Classics
Bass
Jake Troth
Jake Troth
Drums
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
William Lobban Bean
William Lobban Bean
Songwriter
Jacob Troth
Jacob Troth
Songwriter
Richard Colson Baker
Richard Colson Baker
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Cook Classics
Cook Classics
Producer
Jake Troth
Jake Troth
Producer
Bobby Wooten III
Bobby Wooten III
Co-Producer
Brandon “SlimXX” Allen
Recording Engineer
Colin Leonard
Colin Leonard
Mastering Engineer
Fabian Marasciullo
Fabian Marasciullo
Mixing Engineer

Lyrics

This that motherfucking rider, music This that motherfucking rider, music All night, when I'm Roulette Dirty, how many times you gon' play with death before you thirty? But I'm chosen, so I'm Roulette With eleven of my closest, on a mission to get rich like Danny Ocean How we Roulette All through traffic with this mob apparatus These people want me in a casket, still I'm Roulette I heard Heaven got a place for me there but I don't know if I'm goin', ah Smoking on Sequoia, running from my paranoia Hollywood want me to come and live and die in California I ain't going out like River Phoenix I wanna enjoy all of the spoils I'm a golden boy like Oscar de la Hoya, I'm a soldier Mask up like it's the end of October Blowing doja in the streets with Mannie Fresh down in the 'Noia I done told ya, when it comes to beefing, I ain't kosher Bought a cobra just to keep you snakes closer I conspire motive, y'all can try and clone this Get them lines quoted but Him and I know this None of my opponents hold the eyes open Rip out the hearts and let 'em all die soulless This that motherfucking rider, music This that motherfucking rider, music (Eastside, ay) This that motherfucking rider, music This that motherfucking rider, music All night, when I'm Roulette Dirty, how many times you gon' play with death before you thirty? But I'm chosen, so I'm Roulette With eleven of my closest, on a mission to get rich like Danny Ocean How we Roulette All through traffic with this mob apparatus These people want me in a casket, still I'm Roulette I heard Heaven got a place for me there but I don't know if I'm goin', ah Wait, I heard they said they want the old Gunner Fuck 'em, I still turn coyotes into road runners Fuck a family, I'll leave your ass with no brothers It ain't no love when you become a man with no mother That's what it was I used to get my ass beat just because (For real) I ran away, hit the trap, they couldn't make me budge Junior year, my homie selling crack right off the bus Knew that I wasn't turning back when I got cuffed Fuck a charge, this a territory, y'all don't wanna march Cemetery full of graves, I could finish what you start Lost a milli when they sued me for a fight inside a bar I hope you pussies think of me every time you see the scars This that motherfucking rider, music This that motherfucking rider, music (Eastside, ay) This that motherfucking rider, music This that motherfucking rider, music All night, when I'm Roulette Dirty, how many times you gon' play with death before you thirty? But I'm chosen, so I'm Roulette With eleven of my closest, on a mission to get rich like Danny Ocean How we Roulette All through traffic with this mob apparatus These people want me in a casket, still I'm Roulette I heard Heaven got a place for me there but I don't know if I'm goin', ah Twenty-four seven, I keep my eyes open ready All these signs show me they want me gone like I'm Makaveli On the cross when they cross me over, over something so petty Kill 'em all even if I die like Method Man did in Belly I am Gun Kelly, ain't shit you can tell me Get me drunk and mad enough, I go pop the trunk at the Chevy I'm a dad and a savage, this is not an image, I get it Rap for currency, like I'm spitter Andretti and let it fall like confetti Ball for my dawgs that they got locked in the celly And fuck the one that turned on me, I will never forget it You learn it's your own homies you knew since the beginning They see you winning and they wanna see you finished Goddamn
Writer(s): William Lobban Bean, Colson Baker, Jacob Troth Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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