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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
42 Dugg
Vocals
Nardo Wick
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Elijah Ohiri
Songwriter
Gregory Sanders Jr.
Songwriter
Dion Hayes
Songwriter
Horace Walls III
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
StoopKid
Producer
Leo Goff
Mixing Engineer
Hitman Audio
Producer
Lyrics
(I got Hitman on the beat)
Free them boys, my bad
(Stoop, go stupid)
Free them motherfuckin' boys, bitch
Warning, bitch, I made a million on the corner
Informants, I had too many encounters with informers
Oh well, Hughie, remind me of a bitch named Stewie
In my bag (What bag?), Goyard, Chanel, and Louis
Ayy, Vuitton (Yeah), niggas' hoes, bro, I swear to God
If he a five, cook his ass and call one of mine
What's that in the air? We call that opp pack (Opp pack)
How he sellin' that and he ain't dropped? Nigga, how?
What's that in the air? We call that block pack, block pack, roll him in the hood
Ayy, blow that bitch shit down, turntest nigga in the city, he a foe
I came up off pills, bitch and reds, meds, lеads
These niggas in the city all hoеs (We all hoes)
I know about that deal, big homie took on his mans, bring me grams
Maybach with a driver (Yeah), fork and a stick
I'm a God, rip this whole shit down 'til I retire
Back to back, me and money wired
Say I ain't the turntest, bitches be liars (Lyin' ass)
Same freak on a flyer
Free Woo, hope it ain't in the feds when I see Woo
Five big bodies in 'bout three coupes
Still supplyin', I'm sellin' free juice
Bitch, we is never equals (At all)
Fuck a nigga hatin' on me
And fuck a nigga hatin' on RIC, still yellin' "Free Skeet"
Doggy bone, bitch, where'd it be?
Warning, bitch, I made a million on the corner
Niggas pointers, I had too many encounters with informers
Oh well, Hughie, remind me of a bitch named Stewie
In my bag (What bag?), Goyard, Chanel, and Louis
Ayy, Vuitton (Yeah), niggas' hoes, bro, I swear to God
If he a five, cook his ass and call one of mine
What' that in the air? We call that opp pack (Opp pack)
How he sellin' that and he ain't dropped? Nigga, how?
Ever run into it, I'ma blow his ass down, bitch (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
Warnin', yeah, warnin', warnin', warnin', warnin', warnin'
Warnin', warnin', warnin', warnin', warnin', warnin', warnin', warnin'
When I catch that boy, I'm gon' step (I'm gon' step)
I had dove in that water and I turned to Michael Phelps (Turn to Michael Phelps)
I built that shit by myself (Myself)
When I see that I almost built, they went to ask me, can they help (Can they help)
They say, "You talk to such and such?" Fuck no (Fuck no)
"What you gon' do to such and such?" Gun blow (Pop, pop)
This AK not a mini, it's a jumbo
Choppa bullets look like crayons, color on your front door
Opp pack (Opp pack), opp pack
I don't smoke, but I done made a couple opp packs
Drop that, drop that, drop that, silly me, got butter-fingers
Caught an opp and then I dropped that (Blow his ass down)
Writer(s): Julien Anderson, Inconnu Compisiteur Auteur
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