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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Nardo Wick
Nardo Wick
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Horace Walls
Horace Walls
Composer
Collin Michael Wetzel
Collin Michael Wetzel
Composer
John Lam
John Lam
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Horace Walls Jr.
Horace Walls Jr.
Recording Engineer
John Lam
John Lam
Producer
Tatsuya Sato
Tatsuya Sato
Mastering Engineer
Dinero Tarantino
Dinero Tarantino
Producer

Lyrics

I don't really too much fuck with niggas I be chillin' (I be chillin') Checkin' shit and doin' hits that how we make a killin' I put it on my granny, we sent niggas past the ceiling Nigga, you was stealing I was robbing, it's a difference She feeling on my lap she like "Damn daddy, you hard" No baby you trippin' that's that glicky in my pocket Every time I take attendance on they block they absent This choppa hit from Russia, when I shoot you hear the accent LRG and Levi jeans, was rocking that way back then Now I rock Amiri jeans I upgraded my fashion Mut, I'm a mut, I'm a mut mut (dog) She grope me up with sloppy she's a slut, slut, slut (she's a-) Not a plain jane this a bust-bust (this a bust-bust) All that talking, hit his top and make him hush-hush All these niggas bitches I don't fеar nuh man I mean, Nardo Wolverine, I keep steal in my hand Likе it's foil in my jeans, I keep tin in my pants Like it's strippers on my jewelry, all these diamonds on me dance They say I'm too nice to hoes Off white, I don't like to pose Anti, I don't like to post White, I don't like yellow gold I'm from 32 double O Got more sticks than double O Just as Double-O-Seven (tap it, roll and win) Play with me, you feel the breeze Play with me, you beat the scene And don't say that nigga name, unless its after R.I.P. Pop him like a R.I.P. Pop him like a I.P. Pop him like a M5 M5, two three Shot 'em like a IV Get yo bitch she like me She said she wanna fight me We all know what that means For the ones that don't know That means she wanna huh (oh, that mean) (Baby wanna fuck) Baby wanna ahh-ahh Put it in her bah-bah Nut all on her ahh-ahh Then never call her bah-bah Nardo, you the rogue boy How I'm not Jamaican? Baby you the roguer, you ate all of my children Yo tongue is a babysitter, yo stomach is a daycare I don't really too much fuck wit niggas I be chillin' Checkin' shit and doin' hits that how we make a killin' I put it on my granny we sent niggas past the ceiling Nigga you was stealing I was robbing, it's a difference She feeling on my lap she like "Damn daddy, you hard" No baby you trippin' that's that glicky in my pocket Mut, I'm a mut, I'm a mut-mut (dog) She grope me up with sloppy she a slut, slut, slut (she's a-) Not a plain jane this a bust-bust (this a bust-bust) All that talking, hit his top and make him hush-hush
Writer(s): John Lam, Horace Walls, Collin Michael Wetzel Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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