Music Video

FMG - BROCKHAMPTON
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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Matt Champion
Matt Champion
Vocals
Grant Lapointe
Grant Lapointe
Synthesizer
Dom McLennon
Dom McLennon
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Ian Simpson
Ian Simpson
Songwriter
Dominique Simpson
Dominique Simpson
Songwriter
Matt Champion
Matt Champion
Songwriter
Isaiah Merriweather
Isaiah Merriweather
Songwriter
Russell Boring
Russell Boring
Songwriter
Jonah Abraham
Jonah Abraham
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Matt Champion
Matt Champion
Executive Producer
Kiko Merley
Kiko Merley
Producer
Russell Boring
Russell Boring
Producer
Jonah Abraham
Jonah Abraham
Producer
Romil Hemnani
Romil Hemnani
Recording Engineer
Garry Purohit
Garry Purohit
Recording Engineer
Eddie Roberts
Eddie Roberts
Recording Engineer
Alex Thompson
Alex Thompson
Recording Engineer
Alex Tumay
Alex Tumay
Mixing Engineer
Andrew Kim
Andrew Kim
Assistant Engineer
Nacor Zuluaga
Nacor Zuluaga
Assistant Engineer
Joe LaPorta
Joe LaPorta
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

Was at the cookout with my other, other, other man, mm That done got me into some motherfucking trouble, man, uh Texas boy the way I love it, love it, love it, man, mm All these new niggas they stealin', but it don't hit the same, uh Feel it in your veins, uh, nigga, I love my gang, mm That's why I fuck my gang, mm, why I fuck my gang, uh Ain't no play today, these ain't just 808s, uh This a murder case, uh, this a murder case, uh Ain't no pushin' me, uh, uh, I change your head into Caesar Ain't no hit on me, uh, uh, if that boy ain't seen it He lucky that nigga still breathin', I don't know what y'all seein' Take my shirt off, run off, then I swallow that nigga's semen Uh, done being humble, so I had to flex Way that I rack up my bands, make 'em sweat 40 acres and a mule on my neck Better to talk to me with some respect Heard they ain't make it, I couldn't have guessed I'll cut the RAM, my connects, they invest And I'm chiefing the keef of a pound of the best Doin' it right take a couple attempts Had to keep climbing and catch the ascent Made it look casual 'cause I'm the best Studio gallery over our wrists Hold on, exactly what do you suggest? Where I'm aiming, ain't no use to a vest When I'm on ten, I get cream But the scene that I leave is grotesque It's a finesse, yes Way she throwin' it so fast, you'd think she need some Tommy John Surgery, nurse gon' pass me over, give me that scalpel please Diggin' through this shit like it was '06, Poké things Green Lamborghin' look like Bulbasaur and his dad (wow) Catch 'em all, uh, bubblegum ain't allowed, uh Sittin' up on that terrace, drinking red wine with cantaloupe Thousand-dollar phone, what the hell can't answer for? I can't see the haters, man, uh, Harry Potter cloak Let the shit rock, we comin' like a landslide They don't call me up, they hit the cell, don't hit the landline Feet up, sippin' hibiscus, ow, I burned my damn tongue Sea salt on that cookie plate, I call that Atlantic crumbs, uh She from Idaho, her friends call her tater thot, uh-huh She from outta town, she never seen the ocean, wow, huh She asked me what's my favorite place to spend a lot? Uh That depends like a adult diaper box
Writer(s): Russell Evan Boring, Dominique Simpson, Matthew Garrett Champion, Isaiah Merriweather, Ian Simpson, Jonah Abraham Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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