Music Video

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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Boldy James
Boldy James
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Alan Maman
Alan Maman
Composer
James Clay Jones III
James Clay Jones III
Lyrics
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Eddie Sancho
Eddie Sancho
Mixing Engineer
Joe La Porta
Joe La Porta
Mastering Engineer
The Alchemist
The Alchemist
Producer

Lyrics

Uh, uh Jackson Let's get it V8 in that straight (ayy), Forgis on that black Cherokee (yeah) This that gangster slash pop mixed with trap karaoke (work) Turn the snow globe into a crystal Ball Now that dog a ten (let's get it) Type to turn a stone with many flaws into a flawless gem (turn it on) Stack my money ten foot tall Now I ball above the rim (we on) Livin' above the law, on the North with my brother Em (blocks) Could be locked up But to those that know me, they say "Lucky him" (real) Chop the whole block up That's when we found out that it wasn't them (my bad) Basement on Honda Civic, Auntie maxin' out her Bridget Cup filled to the rim Probably smack the whip before I spill it Knee deep in the dope game, 227, we the realest Cocaina on the skillet Kitchen smellin' like acrylic Touch back with a thousand pack of pills, tryna rape a village (skrrt) Weed so loud, reekin' through the vacuum seal I can't conceal it Made a killin', to those that hate it, I made 'em feel it Sold dope all of my life, so shit, I only know one way to get it Half slab, golden retriever, this ain't no Purina (dog food) Black mag in the four-fever, brick of cocaina Stirrin' the bricks up in the pot, this ain't no farina (uh-uh) Stuffin' thirty clips in my Glock'll switch your whole demeanor (brr) Catch a body, no Randy Moss, I hike it off, hut one These niggas ain't cut from the cloth a nigga cut from (at all) I run with real wolves (real), come from the real hood (uh-huh) These niggas ain't cut from my cloth 'cause I'm steel wool Playin' Tetris with them blocks, why they call me Lego Down in Virginia, for real Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego? Got a better chance of findin' Waldo in that velvet room Watchin' fiends shoot up the raw after it melted on the spoon I'm churnin' brickies, case Barbie But the shirt Givenchy Way he steppin' on the work, Can tell that them his first Balenci's (remix) Free Lenny, I know he home sick (ayy) He used to always leave his screen door Open, you enter at your own risk (uh-huh) Bag doin' phone numbers, ranned it up, OT (yeah) Got killers on speed dial, can get you touched, toll free Niggas shot and killed my mans I ain't been gettin' no sleep (Randy) My nigga been silencin' the lambs Them niggas Little Bo Peep (real) Down in Hattiesburg, I took two ounces out a half a bird (blocks) Nigga hit me back, said it was that, we end up havin' words Can't talk me to death I drop a eighth of flake off in the 'Rex (skrrt) Can't get tricked off the set 'cause I got inmates callin' in collect Half slab, golden retriever, this ain't no Purina (dog food) Black mag in the four-fever, brick of cocaina Stirrin' the bricks up in the pot, this ain't no farina (uh-uh) Stuffin' thirty clips in my Glock'll switch your whole demeanor (brr) Catch a body, no Randy Moss, I hike it off, hut one These niggas ain't cut from the cloth a nigga cut from (at all) I run with real wolves (real), come from the real hood (uh-huh) These niggas ain't cut from my cloth 'cause I'm steel wool These niggas ain't cut from my cloth 'cause I'm steel wool How did you? I'm assuming now, and correct me if I'm wrong, your real name, maybe Is not Bo' is that-the name you were-? My nickname is Bo Say less, man, you already know who it is Look where we at, say good morning to the streets first
Writer(s): Alan Maman, James Clay Jones Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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