Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Chris Brown
Chris Brown
Lead Vocals
Wiz Khalifa
Wiz Khalifa
Vocals
Amber Streeter
Amber Streeter
Background Vocals
Sister Nancy
Sister Nancy
Sampled Artist
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Chris Brown
Chris Brown
Songwriter
Jean-Baptiste
Jean-Baptiste
Songwriter
Ryan Buendia
Ryan Buendia
Songwriter
Michael McHenry
Michael McHenry
Songwriter
Nick Mash
Nick Mash
Songwriter
Cameron Thomaz
Cameron Thomaz
Songwriter
Amber Streeter
Amber Streeter
Songwriter
Steph Jones
Steph Jones
Songwriter
Kevin McCall
Kevin McCall
Songwriter
Winston Riley
Winston Riley
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Free School
Free School
Producer
Brian Springer
Brian Springer
Recording Engineer
Iain Findlay
Iain Findlay
Assistant Engineer
Brian Stanley
Brian Stanley
Mixing Engineer
Mike Layos
Mike Layos
Assistant Engineer
Ryan Kelly
Ryan Kelly
Assistant Engineer
Tom Coyne
Tom Coyne
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

All my ladies put ya hands up All my ladies put ya hands up If you got that bomb-bomb-ba-bomb-ba-bomb-bomb Know you got that bomb-bomb-ba-bomb-ba-bomb-bomb Ladies put ya hands up if you that bomb-bomb Girl you got that bomb-ba-bomb-ba-bomb-bomb-bomb Oh me, oh my, body like a monster Let me get inside if ya booty I'ma conquer If ya question bout my size, I give you the answer Girl you got that good good I already know Tell it by your size I know you a dancer Rein-derierre, I'ma call you Prancer Booty paparaz, pose for the camera All my ladies if you got it let me know She thick in her hips, Cold than a motha Licking her lips, a bad mothasucker Apple looking so right, she make me want a piece I give it to her all night, so she don't wanna leave If you got that bomb-bomb-ba-bomb-ba-bomb-bomb Know you got that bomb-bomb-ba-bomb-ba-bomb-bomb Ladies put ya hands up if you got bomb-bomb Girl you got that bomb-ba-bomb-ba-bomb-bomb-bomb Something like a pimp, nothin' like them other fellas Heard that you the shit, girl we should blow up together Ooh I know you got that bomb shit, call it 9/11 I'm just tryna beat it up, he could it acapella We should go back to my crib, thats what I'ma tell her Bring one or two of them, cause your friends looking kinda jealous Rolling papers like propellors blowing mozarella Lotta n-ggas in the club, who cares I'm the realest Tell the waiters we gon need more cases And when you think the money's gone we spending more faces She with homeboy, but she want this 6 cars, 8 chains, 3 cribs, 1 Wiz She thick in her hips, Cold than a mother Licking her lips, a bad mothersucker Apple looking so right, she make me want a piece I give it to her all night, so she don't wanna leave If you got that bomb-bomb-ba-bomb-ba-bomb-bomb Know you got that bomb-bomb-ba-bomb-ba-bomb-bomb Ladies put ya hands up if you got bomb-bomb Girl you got that bomb-ba-bomb-ba-bomb-bomb-bomb Hold up kimosabe, my crib look like a lobby I'm in that black Bugatti and I'm off that Carlo Rossi I with that Taylor Posse These ladies wanna party And theres so much ice up on my neck it look like I play hockey So hold up n-gga, stop me All these haters watch me I give her the pill and the D, you can call me cocky Any stage or any beat you know I'ma body And Wiz roll that good shit up and he riding shotty She thick in her hips, Cold than a mother Licking her lips, a bad mothersucker Apple looking so right, she make me want a piece I give it to her all night, so she don't wanna leave If you got that bomb-bomb-ba-bomb-ba-bomb-bomb Know you got that bomb-bomb-ba-bomb-ba-bomb-bomb Ladies put ya hands up if you got bomb-bomb Girl you got that bomb-ba-bomb-ba-bomb-bomb-bomb
Writer(s): Nick Marsh, Amber Denise Streeter, Michael Ojike Mchenry, Cameron Jibril Thomaz, Ryan Buendia, Kevin L. Mccall, Jean Baptiste Kouame, Steph Jones, Christopher Maurice Brown, Winston Delano Riley Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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