Music Video

Featured In

Listen to Bo Jackson by Boldy James & The Alchemist
ALBUMBo JacksonBoldy James & The Alchemist

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

Chyeah Chyeah Ayy, where we at? Let's get it, uh I know Sergio, I know Tacchini plug Do Gianni, nigga, no Versace Still servin' blow out the 'Ghini Steppin' on the coke like a pair of 'Raches In the spizzy runnin' up a check With them thirty-sixes and them R Kells Heard that nigga tell a lot of shark tales And I'm really not that impressed (at all) Me and Thirty ate off of Archdale Caught a burger, flake, and a jar sale Now I'm in the Wraith lookin' like a star field Checkin' in at the Fontainebleau (where we at?) Tied in, I got drug ties, me and Papi Bricks hoppin' out the coupe Cuzzo finna make a mud slide He just dropped a fish in the Mountain Dew It was process of elimination Now we chewin' like an overbite (eatin') Everybody so opinionated Keep your two cents, don't need your advice (I don't) In the gutter lane like a bowling ball Always been a Mr. Know-it-all (rollin') If you can name it, I done sold it all Fluff a oil 'caine into a soda ball Put the call in Send them country boys in them overalls (where we at with it?) Lil' dawg keep a string on him, shit, it's just protocol Headshot gang (bah), we the mafia Let my four-fifth spit a sixteen (brr) I hear everybody claimin' gang time And they don't even know what that shit mean Where we at with it? Ranned it up on the incline Maybe if I wasn't in the street full time, would've been signed Life of a Mich' con, real street shit, ain't no sitcoms (no bitches) Circle tight, nigga still a flight risk Nigga might skip bond (jump bail) Life of a Mich' con Art of rock climbin' with a zipline (bungee chord) This blood sport Jumped off the front porch under the wind chime (hell block) Life of a block bleeder, facin' life I had to risk mine (put it on the line) All these niggas cap like a Just Don (snake ass niggas) While I be in the trap with my Concreatures I got high, I got high Front door's open, I'll get it
Writer(s): Alan Maman, James Clay Jones Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
instagramSharePathic_arrow_out