Music Video

Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Harry Fraud
Harry Fraud
Performer
Valee Taylor
Valee Taylor
Rap
Fred Lowinger
Fred Lowinger
Synthesiser
Elijah Wolf
Elijah Wolf
Synthesiser
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Valee Taylor
Valee Taylor
Songwriter
Rory William Quigley
Rory William Quigley
Songwriter
Fred Lowinger
Fred Lowinger
Songwriter
Elijah Wolf
Elijah Wolf
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Harry Fraud
Harry Fraud
Producer
John Sparkz
John Sparkz
Mastering Engineer

Lyrics

Fraud, you wanna hit the butt? I see you brought your boogie Tryna smoke these hoes? When we slap the color, ain't no fraud, but we're in ends We hot box exotic now we're fried in the Benz Quarter million, my bitch want necklaces When we hit the store, we ball get crossed like Saint Francis I tune out the city when I hot box exotic Everything upgraded, I got fuel pumped by Holly My SS robotic, move like Wall-E How I leave the exit far away from where I be You know, I don't even start no colony, no mommy I'm in Gucci like a mixtape, no dutty laundry (dutty laundry) Launched off the block in sedan raunchy I just got the seats redid peach look like lunch meat I got sand sandals cuffs on at the beach know something block me (I got sand sandals cuffs on at the beach know something block me) You know, ain't no double what? ARP, you said watch me, what? I'm all energy, just like Sage When I hit the break, I do a nine to five, just like a wage Let me make this clear, five percent tint, that not clear Bitch wanna ride my private like Frontier When I pour the lean inside my cup, it disappear (disappear) I make the scope spot on like a freckle When I made a right in the Hellcat, I'm about to let go (I'm about to let go, yeah) Cherry Range Rover, I pull up picky When she lick me, I pull up, I show up just like hickey In that Tesla truck, I do many miles, just like Mickey Backwood loud, you and I uniform, just like Dickies (just like Dickies) I rode Backwood, bitch, like ATV We slap, call out, we ain't do no fraud, but we in Benz We hot box exotic, now we fried in a Benz Fifteen hundred dollar frames, non-prescripted lens Quarter million, my bitch want necklace's When we hit the store, we ball get crossed like Saint Francis I tune out the city when I hot box exotic Everything upgraded, I got fuel pumped by Holly My SS robotic, move like Wall-E How I leave the exit far away from where I be You know, I don't even start no colony, no mommy I'm in Gucci like a mixtape, no dutty laundry
Writer(s): Fred Lowinger, Rory William Quigley, Michael Maggiore, Valee Taylor, Elijah Wolf, Keshav Garg Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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