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Earl Sweatshirt - 20 Wave Caps (feat. Domo Genesis)
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Concerts à venir de Earl Sweatshirt

Apparaît dans

Crédits

AUSFÜHRENDE KÜNSTLER:INNEN
Earl Sweatshirt
Earl Sweatshirt
Stimme und Gesang
Domo Genesis
Domo Genesis
Stimme und Gesang
KOMPOSITION UND LIEDTEXT
Thebe Kgositsile
Thebe Kgositsile
Songwriter:in
Dominique Cole
Dominique Cole
Songwriter:in
PRODUKTION UND TECHNIK
Samiyam
Samiyam
Produzent:in
The Alchemist
The Alchemist
Aufnahmeingenieur:in
Jaycen Joshua
Jaycen Joshua
Mischtechniker:in
Ryan Kaul
Ryan Kaul
Mischtechnikerassistent:in
Dave Kutch
Dave Kutch
Mastering-Ingenieur:in
Trehy Harris
Trehy Harris
Mischtechnikerassistent:in
randomblackdude
randomblackdude
Produzent:in

Paroles

Look for me lost in a whirlwind, 2012 quality High up until the world end, doing 85 in my ride And these niggas hiding, know I'm striding like a giant I ain't lying when I'm rhyming, rule these niggas like a tyrant Damn, Doms, it don't even seem like you trying Know these niggas crucify 'em, couldn't crack him I'm a diamond I know that niggas is finding my progression so uncommon The pressure I'm still applying 'til I hear the angels crying Sad day in Hell for those who doubted, hope your head explode Cry about it, but don't deny that Doms got the realest flows My eyes is feeling low, pulling on the killer 'dro Chilling with a vixen, thinking, "This is what I did it for" Still banging, Wolf Ganging as if you niggas didn't know Still trifling, Loiter Litter Life and triple sixing, hoe Doms, Doms, Doms While they ripping through the packaging to grab the shit I'm shaded with the few whom I usually blow cabbage with New patterns patty-caking with mannequins 'Cause I don't like my fucking homies dip, bruh, they all Jaw-slacking, all 'em awe struck And I ain't got shit but a pretty bitch and cigar tucks Riding in the city and knocking out in the Starbucks I swear these niggas is fucking phony, smoking spliffs and that's Prior to arriving to the studio Eyes glued to a gluteus maximus, attractive lady Where you headed with that shit? And can a real nigga get a look at it? Crook, panic-shook, ain't ya? Blunt fatter than some butch ankles Cheffing, fit the cook apron, ante up for good payment Run until my foot achy, running 'til my foot aching Full-grown terror type, Ferragamo do-rag With my nigga Travy out in Maui, running two-mans Smoking 'till I'm loopy as a motherfucking toucan 20 minutes, burn a fucking quarter back to two grams But I'ma dip, I know you must've had it with my rude ass
Writer(s): Dominique Cole, Thebe Kgositsile, Samuel Baker Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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