Music Video
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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Deante' Hitchcock
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Deante' Hitchcock
Composer
Brandon Phillips-Taylor
Composer
Clément Bazin
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Brandon Phillips-Taylor
Producer
Colin Leonard
Mastering Engineer
Mark Pitts
Executive Producer
Wayne Barrow
Additional Producer
Rafa Pierra
Mixing Engineer
Spencer Willis
Mixing Engineer
Lyrics
Yeah, yeah
Look
I know you got something on your mind
Ain't no sense in tryna hide it,
I can tell, I can tell, yeah
I could be your nigga on the side,
Keep it secret, girl I promise
Not to tell, not to tell, yeah
I got what you want,
I got what you need
Hennessy and weed
Come and holla at a player,
At a player, yeah
I know I'm a dog but she love it all
Come and roll with me,
We slidin' through the ATL, ATL, yeah
Ayy, look
Hand to God only seem me slip
Made bad decisions when that pack hit
I swear lil' mama was a gymnast,
The way she make her arch and that back bend
Monogamy or ménage-à-trois
Mental plight of the black male
You know you thought the one that you bagged was bad
So you fuck around and meet the bad friend
(You ain't shit, nigga)
Yeah what else is new?
Ain't in the mood for no lectures boo
All the weed and Henny got me extra loose
Still on point like a decimal
So she was skeptical
With all that shit talking
I smashed twice, now she quit talking
She ain't used to getting good dick
Off the head, I had to choke
Slam her like the wrestler move
(I think I love him girl)
Yeah well thank again
And hope you pray you
Got some decent friends
Well besides the ones that I done
Hit already, the tryna freak again,
They tryna freak again
I got her sleeping there, skipping classes
Bending over backwards,
Rolling up the backwoods
Cigarello ashes on the fucking mattress
Once I bless a bitch, she'll never sneeze again like
Nigga you got me fucked up
I can't believe you got me
Out there stuck on stupid
You out here fucking on
These raggedy-ass hoes,
Slanking dick on
Bitches that ain't even a third of me
Nigga, you a fucking joke
I can't believe I wasted all
This time on your stupid ass
I've cut off all my hoes for
Anigga that ain't shit
Look, I know you got
Something on your mind
Ain't no sense in tryna hide it,
I can tell, I can tell, yeah
I could be your nigga on the side,
Keep it secret, girl I promise not to tell,
Not to tell, yeah
I got what you want,
I got what you need
Hennessy and weed
Come and holla at a player, at a player, yeah
I know I'm a dog but she love it all
Come and roll with me,
We slidin' through the ATL, ATL, yeah
Ayy, look
Hand to God only seem me slip
Made bad decisions when that pack hit
I swear lil' mama was a gymnast,
The way she make her arch and that back bend
Monogamy or ménage à trois
Mental plight of the black male
Got me stressed dealing with
All this bad karma,
On the backend, on the backend
How you feel though?
All my old hoes done get the boot like a steel-toe
You ain't truly living, 'less you found
A woman you would kill for
For real though
Staring at this Henny got me reminiscing
And pussy popping got me so conflicting
Now she ask me why
I'm acting so suspicious?
'Cause I've been out here
Fucking other niggas bitches
Need to pack a bag, the way
A nigga tripping, oh shit
All I need is these money trees
And this life of sinning, that's it
I swear to God but when you
Got it all it's kinda hard to miss
But watching her leave
Is gon' be hard as shit
When you realizing that it's too late
And you call her up and she called it quits
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Look, I know you got
Something on your mind
Ain't no sense in tryna hide it,
I can tell, I can tell, yeah
I could be your nigga on the side,
Keep it secret, girl I promise not to tell,
Not to tell, yeah
I got what you want, I got what you need
Hennessy and weed
Come and holla at a player,
At a player, yeah
I know I'm a dog but she love it all
Come and roll with me,
We slidin' through the ATL,
ATL, yeah
Writer(s): Brandon Phillips-taylor, Deante' Hitchcock, Clement Bazin
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