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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Nardo Wick
Vocals
Tay Keith
Programming
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Horace Walls
Songwriter
Brytavious Lakeith Chambers
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Aaron "Dash" Sherrod
Executive Producer
Frank Criddell
Executive Producer
Tatsuya Sato
Mastering Engineer
Derek Ali
Mixing Engineer
Curtis "Sircut" Bye
Mixing Engineer
Brandon Blatz
Assistant Engineer
Tay Keith
Producer
Cyrus Massoud Taghipour
Mixing Engineer
Lyrics
Mm-mm, wicked, I'm
Mm-mm, wicked, I'm wicked, I'm wicked, I'm wicked
Mm-mm-mm, wicked, I'm wicked, I'm wicked, I'm wicked
Wicked, I'm wicked, I'm wicked, I'm wicked, yeah (Tay Keith, fuck these niggas up)
My dawg a walkin' lullaby, he put shit to sleep
I be with wolves, never catch me with a sheep
Go head and commit suicide, talkin' 'bout beef with me
'Cause either way you dead, but I know you'd rather do it than me
I don't got no manners, I don't got no manners (I don't got no manners)
We some loose screws that's why we walk with hammers (walk with hammers)
The gun look like a branch, the clip look like banana (yeah, yeah)
I don't got no (I don't got no)
I don't got no motherfuckin' sense
Uh, I don't got no motherfuckin' sense
I ain't gettin' in that car if that window don't got tint
And them niggas ain't no opps if that block ain't get bent
I ain't the one that shot that K, if that chopper ain't hit shit
Rollin', bitch, I'm rollin' bitch, I'm rollin', but not geeked
When I say rollin', I mean slidin'
Tryna knock somethin' off they feet (motherfuckin' feet)
You see Varis, you see Ian, you see Two, you see me
I see opp, I reach in then pull out and use heat (gra-gra, boom)
I ain't cuffin' no thots, I got hoes bitch I'm pimpin'
Why the fuck you on your camera, give me your phone bitch you trippin'
They say "Wick might need a cane" (why?) "'Cause the nigga always limpin'"
But he can't help it 'cause he got a lot of shots and a lot of knots in them breaches
She say, "You ain't shit", I say, "I know, I might need laxatives"
I can't show her to my mama 'cause she just ain't bad enough
They wanna chase the bag with me, but they just not fast enough
The opps got all 'em sticks and still ain't slide, it just ain't addin' up
Chain on, swing-swing
Reach for this, bang-bang
Drop your nuts and let 'em hang
I'm in the mood to bust a brain
Wicked shit, we wicked gang, gang-gang-gang (wicked, wicked)
Gang-gang, gang-gang-gang
My dawg a walkin' lullaby, he put shit to sleep
I be with wolves, never catch me with a sheep
Go head and commit suicide, talkin' 'bout beef with me
'Cause either way you dead but I know you'd rather do it than me
I don't got no manners, I don't got no manners
We some loose screws, that's why we walk with hammers
The gun look like a branch, the clip look like banana
I don't got no
I don't got no motherfuckin' sense (sense)
Mm, wicked, I'm, wicked, I'm wicked
Wicked, I'm wicked, wicked, I'm wicked, wicked
Wicked, I'm wicked, wicked, I'm wicked, wicked
W-I-C-K, do you niggas know what's up with me?
Writer(s): Brytavious Lakeith Chambers, Horace Bernard Walls Iii
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