Crédits
AUSFÜHRENDE KÜNSTLER:INNEN
Yeat
Stimme und Gesang
KOMPOSITION UND LIEDTEXT
Noah Smith
Songwriter:in
Brady Tremblay
Songwriter:in
Primo Pepper
Songwriter:in
Javier Mercado
Songwriter:in
Wyndham Srenaski
Songwriter:in
PRODUKTION UND TECHNIK
Synthetic
Produzent:in
xbrvdy
Produzent:in
Yateski
Produzent:in
Anthony Kilhoffer
Mastering-Ingenieur:in
Noah Smith
Mischtechniker:in
Primo
Produzent:in
Paroles
You ain't compared to us (now what I said?)
You get bread, or what?
Worst off, yeah, we wanna see you worst off (yeah)
Are you mad? (Yes), are you glad? (Yes)
Know your diamonds off, diamonds off (yes)
I see dead people in my head (dead)
You ain't inside, we get ya trucked (loo-ha-ha-ha)
You ain't on our side, we get you flocked, uh
Purse's name Chanel, punch mag Draco (yeah-yeah)
Trunk full of hunnids (whoo-whoo), and some drugs, it's a coke-soon (yeah, yeah-yeah)
Yeah (whoo), we could call the priest (chop)
Who you gon' call? (Ha) Who you gon' call? Police, huh? (Yeah, how the-)
Why the fuck you fall? Hit ya arteries (whoo, whoo)
How I stand tall? 'Cause I'm ballin', bitch (whoo, whoo, whoo)
How I fly high? 'Cause I'm ballin', bitch (ball)
How the fuck you die? Turn you into swiss (whoo)
Frog eye, bitch (wha'?), open wide, bitch (uh)
Know you gon' fall off, you been compromised, bitch
Seen, seen ya' flyin' off so far
Moon, compromise, I ain't makin' room (eh)
No, you can't see in, it's all got tint
I don't hit the five, I hit the ten (whoo)
We stay out Four Seasons, fuck the Wynn, yeah
Three little piggies, we comin' in, uh
You hand us scissors, we cut you thin, yeah (phew)
It's back to back geek mode, on time again (I'm geeked)
You ain't compared to us (uh)
You get bread, or what?
You ain't compared to us (now what I said?)
You get bread, or what?
Worst off, yeah, we wanna see you worst off (yeah)
Are you mad? (Yes), are you glad? (Yes)
Know your diamonds off, diamonds off (yes)
I see dead people in my head (dead)
You ain't inside, we get ya trucked (loo-ha-ha-ha)
You ain't on our side, we get you flocked, uh
Purse's name Chanel, punch mag Draco (yeah-yeah)
Trunk full of hunnids (whoo-whoo), and some drugs, it's a coke-soon (yeah, yeah-yeah)
Yeah (whoo), we could call the priest (chop)
Who you gon' call? (Ha) Who you gon' call? Police, huh? (Yeah, how the-)
Why the fuck you fall? Hit ya arteries (whoo, whoo)
How I stand tall? 'Cause I'm ballin', bitch (whoo, whoo, whoo)
How I fly high? 'Cause I'm ballin', bitch (ball)
How the fuck you die? Turn you into swiss (whoo)
Frog eye, bitch (wha'?), open wide, bitch (uh)
Know you gon' fall off, you been compromised, bitch
Seen, seen ya flyin' off so far
Moon, compromise, I ain't makin' room (eh)
No, you can't see in, it's all got tint
I don't hit the five, I hit the ten (whoo)
We stay out Four Seasons, fuck the Wynn, yeah
Three little piggies, we comin' in, uh
You hand us scissors, we cut you thin, yeah (phew)
It's back to back geek mode, on time again (I'm geeked)
You ain't compared to us (uh)
You get bread, or what?
Writer(s): Javier Mercado, Noah Smith, Brady Tremblay, Primo Pepper, Wyndham Srenaski
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com