Music Video

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Rick Ross
Rick Ross
Vocals
Rich Brian
Rich Brian
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Brian Imanuel
Brian Imanuel
Songwriter
Marcus Morton
Marcus Morton
Songwriter
William L. Roberts II
William L. Roberts II
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
David “TropDavinci” Anthony Bermudez
Recording Engineer
Jasmine Chen
Jasmine Chen
Recording Engineer
Alex Tumay
Alex Tumay
Mixing Engineer
redveil
redveil
Producer
Nacor Zuluaga
Nacor Zuluaga
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Kai Tsao
Kai Tsao
Assistant Mixing Engineer
Dale Becker
Dale Becker
Mastering Engineer
Noah McCorkle
Noah McCorkle
Assistant Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

You're now listenin' to 1999, keep it lo-fi Yeah, ayy, apparently they try to get him out the picture Pheromones are back, been gone too many winters Courthouses full of people pointin' fingers Little did they know it's gon' take more than that to bury me Killin' Bills, feelin' like I'm Tarantin', we against defeat, that's not our fantasy Lil' hoe, ayy, yeah, aw, ayy, bottles on bottles, I'm talkin' Le Labo I speak to the mic and the paper gon' follow You might've misheard me if you think I'm lettin' you fuck with the (fuck with the) Ayy, fuck with the journey, if anything, I'm puttin' you on a jersey I fucked with a freak from Berlin, she a 9 outta 10, but I'd prolly not do it again Yeah, I hate fallin' out with a bitch, ayy, I hate pillow-talkin' to bitches You ridin' this dick, but you don't have no interests (ayy, ayy, ayy) They movin' like ramen noodles way the heat turnin' all of 'em soft in an instant (yeah) That fame was my bitch for a sec, but I'm over her now we maintainin' a distance, uh (You have arrived at Cupertino Station, doors are openin') Ricky Ravioli, that's the biggest boss, baby (the biggest, baby) Huh, yes (let's go, ayy) Top-down, my smoke thick (huh), free throws, I don't miss (huh) White tees, my hat back, my bitch bad, I love this I run past that fuck shit, that small talk, some fuck shit Rich nigga my forecast, anything else is suspect (boss) Laid back, let's roll up (boss), smoke good, my nose up (boss) Roscoe's I'm iced out (huh), them niggas know my polar (woo) Check this out, so hol' up, Jada Pinkett, done sold dust (hol' up) Double M, we on one, right back with the Cold Crush I been rich, do research (run it), top-down, on three perks (run it) South Beach, I moonlight (ah, ah, ah), niggas know what I mood like And she know what my mood like, Luc Belaire, it's a smooth night (woo) Dark room, I'm iced out (iced out), sunrise, it's lights out (biggest, Maybach Music) (La-la-la-la-la-la-la) (La-la-la-la-la-la-la) (La-la-la-la-la-la-la) (La-la-la-la) (La-la-la-la-la-la-la) (La-la-la-la-la-la-la) (La-la-la-la-la-la-la)
Writer(s): Brian Imanuel, Marcus Morton, William L. Roberts Ii Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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