Music Video

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
YG
YG
Vocals
Terrace Martin
Terrace Martin
Keyboards
Smooth
Smooth
Additional Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Leland Wayne
Leland Wayne
Songwriter
Keenon Jackson
Keenon Jackson
Songwriter
Andre Romell Young
Andre Romell Young
Songwriter
David Axelrod
David Axelrod
Songwriter
Brian Bailey
Brian Bailey
Songwriter
Melvin Charles Bradford
Melvin Charles Bradford
Songwriter
Calvin Broadus
Calvin Broadus
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Metro Boomin
Metro Boomin
Producer
Dee Brown
Dee Brown
Recording Engineer
Derek "MixedByAli" Ali
Derek "MixedByAli" Ali
Mixing Engineer
James Hunt
James Hunt
Assistant Mixing Engineer

Lyrics

It was 1:00 in the mornin' and I was up yawnin' Moms asked where I'm goin', to the hood if you ain't knowin' Pops locked up so mama couldn't stop me I was out the house A$AP Rocky And it wasn't 'cause she couldn't control us We was her babies, she just wanted to hold us And we ain't get disciplined, her friend started whisperin' About how she was a bad mama, mama said, "Fuck 'em then" I was in the streets stylin', nobody could tell me nothin' Grandpa or grandma, not my auntie or my favorite cousin I was buzzin' Fuckin' all these hoes wearing no condoms, no nothin' I used to ditch school when the homie had the Chevy I used to sneak and smoke stress weed But now I'm rollin' on dubs How you feel, whooptie woop, nigga, what? Now I'm rollin' on dubs How you feel, whooptie woop, nigga, what? All these hoes showin' love How you feel, whooptie woop, nigga, what? All these hoes showin' love How you feel, whooptie woop, nigga, what? Skkrrttt, I was on a mission On a mission to the money, sun down 'til it sunny Know my family love me Ridin' in the car with two niggas and a pistol, this ain't funny I do it all for the money, hold up Slowly as I pull up to the donut stand I already know the plan, hop out and get on your mans And take what he got Go through pockets, wallets and socks, dig all the knots This a stick-up Phone ring, it's my mama in the middle of some drama So I don't pick up thinking I gotta get my shit up I gotta pick my bitch up Let's hurry up and leave, I feel the police near us So we left with a thousand dollars cash It was me and my nigga, so you know I want half The shit get real when niggas get greedy Pop, pop, pop, pow, that's when he leave me Put your fuckin' hands in the air Don't fuckin' move Fuck you man
Writer(s): Calvin Broadus, David Axelrod, Barry Ridgeway Bailey, Melvin Bradford, Keenon Jackson, Leland Wayne, Andre Romell Young Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
instagramSharePathic_arrow_out