Music Video
Music Video
Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
BlakRoc
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Dan Auerbach
Composer
Patrick Carney
Composer
Raekwon
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Damon Dash
Executive Producer
Adam Ayan
Mastering Engineer
Gateway Mastering
Mastering Engineer
Clay Holley
Mixing Engineer
Joel Hamilton
Producer
The Black Keys
Producer
Studio G, Brooklyn, NY
Recording Engineer
Lyrics
Uh, yup, uh-huh, word
Up in the bleachers in the penthouse, fronting
Stove burning a half a bird, you laker out, the legs is burning
We eating escovich, green pea soup, Korean coupe in the front
With twelve rich whores, ready to stunt
Roll the blunts, lady, you straighten the pussy, ran Glenny my man
Honest seven hundred gram, be easy
Then the phone rang, BLING BLING BLING, aiyo, King, two more ice packs
Coming, forty bundles of onion
Roll the reefer to the maximum, sax playing, lay on the drum
The Jeffersons on, I'm ready to cum
She looking at me with a relevant stare, know my pockets the only here
Could come up out the hood, stay here
Pissing Merlot out, twirl my little thing downstairs
Cuz anything other than that, we all Williamaires
Can't forget that, the ziplocks is gift bagged
None of that over night shit, we selling seconds, pa, hit back
Sean, aiyo, it's stupid hot, take a shotty with you
You and Barkim, make it pop
Them **** is from the golden era, lemonade leathers
Who don't give a fuck, if they die, they more high
They soldiers in the streets, they rebels
Bubble for muthafucking money, with bitches rocking stilettos
So when the drought hit, they on they shit
The sheeps come out, loving the C Cypher Powers, they cowards
Stay off the fucking flowers... yup
Rocking a skull full of waves, four frames on his chains
Jamaican accent, fresh out Toronto, we black skinned
Young Black Panther M.O., love wheeling rentals
He on the crack spot, we know it as the trap shop
Adidas down, sterling brown, uncles is traffickers
Lifestyle throwing, spectacular
Green grass smokers with green hash, them **** don't need cash
They only play fresher by the mean glass
A dream stash only when the good boy last
These is all roofless ****, we don't feel glad
Left the Aspen, the back of the gas station
Remember no shorties in it, it's only Glocks with mags
Here the feds come, **** is bad, no, give him his bag
These is ninjas in rags, rock the flags
Yeah, uh-huh, yeah, yeah, uh-huh
Word, for real, what the fuck, damn
It's that fly shit, it's that muthafucking fly shit
Word up, we going ****, one
Written by: Dan Auerbach, Patrick Carney, Raekwon


