Music Video

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Gucci Mane
Gucci Mane
Vocals
Lil Baby
Lil Baby
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Juke Wong
Juke Wong
Songwriter
Radric Delantic Davis
Radric Delantic Davis
Songwriter
Wesley Glass
Wesley Glass
Songwriter
Dominique Jones
Dominique Jones
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Juke Wong
Juke Wong
Producer
Amani "A $" Hernández
Amani "A $" Hernández
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Eddie "eMIX" Hernandez
Eddie "eMIX" Hernandez
Mixing Engineer
Wheezy
Wheezy
Producer
Colin Leonard
Colin Leonard
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

(Wheezy outta here) Bitch sayin' I do too much 'cause I got all these chains on Niggas don't like when we in the club 'cause they get rained on We get up with niggas, we turn disses into pain song The feds pick up the case, he got a bond, that money bring him home How many you got? Just bring 'em all, I'm Mister Get 'Em Gone I move like a ghost, I'm on the go, four weeks, I switch the phone I walk in the club but I run shit, no cap, I set the tone You the type to flex for hoes, I'm the type turn up the bros I wouldn't give a damn they offered life, you better not break the code Knowin' bruh ain't sweet, you tryna speak, so they had wiped your nose So deep off in the street, I signed my life away to sellin' 'bows New Ferrari cost nine hundred bands, you know I pay it cash Kind of thick, she just missin' a lil', so I touch up her ass They just spin, I tell 'em "Spin again, and bro, don't leave your mask" If I don't go, I'm gon' feel like a hoe, we gon' get on your ass Fuck the other side, you gon' get blitzed for tryna mediate I'm gon' run this money up no matter what, yeah, eat away (yeah) My bullets don't discriminate, don't play with Wop, I demonstrate (wop) Don't get shot on the interstate, your girlfriend hyperventilate R.I.P. to Trouble and free Thugger and free Gunna too (Thug) While you at it, free the Mayor Foo and free my nigga Pooh (pooh) The DA bring up lyrics in the court, may not be even true (huh?) And try to pen some shit next to your name that you ain't even do (well, damn) Fuck the other side, that nigga be shot for tryna duplicate (bah, baow) Ran off with the swag like they forgot where it originated (huh?) Fuck the trolls, the blogs, the hoes, and yes-men who be instigating (fuck 'em) Hit him in the head and he survived, but still a mental patient (ayy) I don't even have to drop no payments, they feel obligated (huh?) Shit's so complicated, now the killers be cooperatin' (wow) Feds investigated, but I made it, never gave a statement (nah) AKA Big Gucci or Big Guwop, never call me Radric (never) Ain't nobody safe, so I tote Glock 'cause they don't have a safety (huh?) I got killers strapped all on the yacht, we the So Icy Navy (Icy Navy) And I'ma rep EA until I'm eighty, that's the hood that made me I done sold so many tuna babies, think I'm born in Grady (it's Gucci) Bitch sayin' I do too much 'cause I got all these chains on Niggas don't like when we in the club 'cause they get rained on We get up with niggas, we turn disses into pain song The feds pick up the case, he got a bond, that money bring him home How many you got? Just bring 'em all, I'm Mister Get 'Em Gone I move like a ghost, I'm on the go, four weeks, I switch the phone I walk in club but I run shit, no cap, I set the tone
Writer(s): Wesley Tyler Glass, Radric Delantic Davis, Dominique Jones, Lucas Depante Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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