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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Dave East
Dave East
Vocals
Harry Fraud
Harry Fraud
Programming
Matt Carrillo
Matt Carrillo
Saxophone
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
David Brewster
David Brewster
Songwriter
Rory William Quigley
Rory William Quigley
Songwriter
Matt Carrillo
Matt Carrillo
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Harry Fraud
Harry Fraud
Producer
Mike Kuz
Mike Kuz
Mixing Engineer
John Sparkz
John Sparkz
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

La Musica de Harry Fraud One in the afternoon, last Wednesday Jimmy Hoffa pulled out of the driveway of his mother's home by Lake Oregon And headed South for Detroit Two men later told police that they had seen and casually greeted Hoffa In this restaurant parking lot between 1:30 and 2:30, Wednesday No one apparently has seen him since Uh Been around Hoffa, yeah Niggas ask me what's up with the music> Shit, I been actin' (actin') Lately my clothes been vintage, not into the latest fashion (no) Feel I could breathe again, I relate it to Toni Braxton And I still get the chills from the thoughts of my homies laughin' I witnessed tragedy and got back to my pen and pad (right back) Most the feelings I felt for the industry, I got past 'em (fuck 'em) Bunch of niggas that came out before me, feel like I lapped 'em (damn) LeBron James, these niggas Bronson like action (my nigga) My attitude was passive before I opened the package (uh) Fiend in the living room high, noddin' to Gladys I seen roaches fall on the toaster before the bread rise (facts) Funny I'm alive but I'm only concerned with dead guys (dead) Fed time, always avoided it, since my teen years Surrounded by stand up men, a rat won't be seen here (never) Summertime in Harlem, I'm sippin' Clicq' on a beach chair Plates only for family, makin' it hard to eat here (hard) For three years, dealt with the hate from niggas that I love Two options when in the trenches, sell or you buy drugs Convinced me you had ill intentions, found out it's not love (no) Added bakin' soda and a double, call it potluck This the life we livin' (we livin') Sendin' flicks to homies in prison (my niggas) Those SIs and these VVS's, they see the difference (mob) At LaGuardia, just landed, get waffles from dirty kitchen I'm vibin' to some classic shit, I ain't heard in a minute (no) I ain't served in a minute, ain't hand to hand in some years (not me) And my aim was just a bid, it's Cartier and chandelier I never ducked a fade, on anything Let's meet up in the square (right) Newports was clickin', fresh up out the book in sellin' squares (facts) Made dreams outta nightmares, I woke up Nigga tried to swing and he got broke up, won't smoke it, it ain't jokes up (nigga) I walked through the fire, eyes wide, like I'm choked up Never powdered my nose up, game, I was tryna soak up Listenin' to legends that did it, when it was real out (real out) They comfortable in prison, so ain't no telling 'em, "Chill out" (You okay?) Cut the chef a cheque before he even brought the meal out Make the reggie smell like exotic, brought orange peels out Peel out, Hellcats speedin', I'm knockin' super cat Die for bein' the witness, you ain't had nothin' to do with that East and Harry Fraud, they scared to sleep, that Freddy Krueger rap Before I blew, I blew a stack on baggies and the newest strap Hoffa
Writer(s): Rory William Quigley, David Brewster, Michael Richard Kuzoian, Matthew Carrillo Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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