Music Video

Baby Keem, Kendrick Lamar - range brothers (Official Audio)
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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Kendrick Lamar
Kendrick Lamar
Vocals
Baby Keem
Baby Keem
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Samuel Gloade
Samuel Gloade
Songwriter
Hykeem Carter
Hykeem Carter
Songwriter
Ruchaun Akers
Ruchaun Akers
Songwriter
Dylan Clearly-Kell
Dylan Clearly-Kell
Songwriter
Jahaan Sweet
Jahaan Sweet
Songwriter
Eric Sloan
Eric Sloan
Songwriter
Riccardo Polo
Riccardo Polo
Songwriter
Kendrick Duckworth
Kendrick Duckworth
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
30 Roc
Producer
Scott Bridgeway
Scott Bridgeway
Producer
Dez Wright
Dez Wright
Producer
Ricky Polo
Ricky Polo
Producer
Jahaan Sweet
Jahaan Sweet
Producer
Eric Sloan
Eric Sloan
Producer
Johnny Kosich
Johnny Kosich
Recording Engineer
Jake the Snake
Jake the Snake
Assistant Engineer
Nicolas De Porcel
Nicolas De Porcel
Mastering Engineer
Baby Keem
Baby Keem
Producer
James Hunt
James Hunt
Recording Engineer
Scott Moore
Scott Moore
Assistant Engineer

Lyrics

Bad bitch, pardon me, I say, "What's up?" Educated, so I put her in the cut I need a girlfriend I need a girlfriend Two hoes and I think I did too much I got two phones and I don't know who to trust I need a girlfriend I need a girlfriend Bet that girl get lonely, introduce her to my humor It's a lot of bitches that they sent home in their Uber Uh, high-profile niggas in my circle dodgin' rumors I been tucked away, dodgin' blood-suckin' maneuvers Huh, okay, just say you not ready Okay, okay, comin' in heavy Okay, they ain't in shape, I'm petty Okay, okay Okay, y'all be on E, unleaded Okay, okay, hold the confetti Okay, okay, you say you not ready They wanna bite the hand that try to feed them, prudes You cannot hide behind the shades, I see right through it You ain't stand up on your word, then you's a fool They're not, chea, they're not, chea, they're not bool I be wanna see me whole gang on TV, pg my Rollie Turnin' out tops and the tall bitches, that remind me of the old days Sneakin' in hoes with the backstage pass What they all in, huh, for the poet? Huh I'm a young poetic nigga, I just go at it, nigga, I'm a hoe at it, nigga You could ask my mama, we poetic, nigga I was raised in the projects, we could go at it, nigga I can't waste no time on a co-edded, nigga Bro code, me and Dad count through seven figures Raised around bottles and dope fiends On a high seat since the day I turned 16 747, I'm starin' at plane wings Prayin' the Lord's seen, Grandma prayin' for me (ayy) Huh, okay, just say you not ready Okay, okay, comin' in heavy Okay, they ain't in shape, I'm petty Okay, okay Okay, y'all be on E, unleaded Okay, okay, hold the confetti Okay, okay, just say you not ready They wanna bite the hand that try to feed them, prudes You cannot hide behind the shades, I see right through it You ain't stand up on your word, then you's a fool They're not, chea, they're not, chea, they're not bool Everybody wanna be great, but the work don't relate him to life Be mistakin' the truth, nigga I remember bankin' with Chase, like 400K Starin' at it, I ain't know what to do, nigga Now I look at money like a resource Every contract gotta put my kid's family in school Health and wealth, goin' deep for it, do right for my next life And he get some too I remember roaches, momma lost focus I was at home, no lights, no food Heard that the joke is "Hykeem broke" And head to the ground when I walk in school Goin' through the motions, mad impulsive Granny, I won't abide by the rules I shall reside with advisers to boom Fuck that, Booman, let me get some too Life ain't always about your name in they mouth And the cars and the clothes and the jewels (jewels, oh) Every lil' bitch that's born looking like soft porn Only meant for your ego to bruise (bruise, oh) Bet when the hoes get bored and the points ain't score You gon' live in this world confused ('fused, woah) Every day, the hate restored and the faith get short Fuck that, let me get some too Nigga, my livelihood was understood That the roof I'm in not bool Nigga, the shoes I fill are huge "Keem, wanna share that hoe?" Bro move Nigga wanna fake sneak diss 'Cause I fucked his bitch in a black hatchback I front in the pics when the heart don't match Take care of the kids, gotta go where they at, ayy Hold on, let's get this shit, let's get this shit Let's get this shit, let's, hmm Top of the mornin', top of the mornin', top of the mornin' Top of the mornin', top of the mornin' Top of the mornin', top of the mornin' Hold on, let's get this shit, let's get this shit Let's get this shit, let's, hmm (like what these niggas on, like?) Ain't shit changed, still fuckin' and rappin' Two bad bitches here, Cartier glasses, huh Her friend got pornography habits ("Give me that bitch!" "But, sir!") Rollie gang, Rollie gang, Rollie gang (pgLang, fool) Hundred thousand on her, she know she gang (she's hot) Rover gang, Rover gang, Rover gang (Rover gang) Range brothers out the roof, we're not the Wayans (we're not the Wayans) Bitch, I hate to tell the truth, we're not the same (he's Baby Keem) I'm with my Rover brother and we're runnin' game (a Range Rover) Whippin' rubber bands on the meatloaf Overseas, tidy up for me 'fore I get home Take one, take two, take three, heave it Stop hidin' comments under your sleeve, nigga, believe it Why your boyfriend keep on lookin' for me, is he Jesus? Let's get this shit, let's get this shit Let's get this shit, let's, hmm Top of the mornin', top of the mornin', top of the mornin' Top of the mornin', top of the mornin' Top of the mornin', top of the mornin' Hold on, let's get this shit, let's get this shit Let's get this shit, let's, hmm
Writer(s): Unknown Writer, Jahaan Sweet Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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