More songs by redveil
Description
The song was produced by redveil
Production: Puzzle World Studios
Musician: Hunter Smalling, Gabe Hostetler
Producer: Om Pathak
Co-Producer: Gavin Bell
Production Manager: Miles Goldman
Director: Tyler Shuler
Writers: redveil, Tyler Schuler and paradisee
Director of Photography: Eli Leibow
First assistant: Alexandra Leitcher
Cinematographer: Janusz Libicki, Caleb Harris
Production Designer: Trevor Briggeman
Artist-assistant: Ainura Alkeeva
Stages: Julien Galant
HMUA: Noemi Torres
Kid: Joseph Kenatus
Lyrics and translation
Original
I'm coming home from the road to my baby girl and our babies grand.
Whoa, what a life, bowl of stew and rice.
Ain't that nice? I mean, I'm somebody's wildest dream.
Miss me with your shit. We just slid to your crib, why can't dip so quick? Oh. I only take Whips.
Keep on blowing up my celly, I don't give no shit. Oh. I bring the North Star.
I don't wanna hear no fucking phone call.
I bring the North Star. I walk.
She said I don't talk my shit enough, I gotta change that.
Imposter syndrome, they impostering me. How you got a dark inside you like Omega Saab five?
And taking cues from dummies, niggas into Poison Ivy, leave me.
I been on my tens since back when we was eating Morning Star, or waiting till it's Sunday just to turn on the TV. Or maybe posting up in Texas every summer like a border czar.
I can see it vivid, August 2015, flawless days spent with Nate and granny pressing through the heat. Car three funerals, by grace of God this music paying me. If I visit River's
Ford to make ol' Pastor rest in peace.
My reflection vital, tell me I am still they wildest dreams. Thanking them, I know my context, but straight to clarity.
I know that the moment's fleeting, but for now got planet feet. And today was almost Ice
Cube 1993, but a family called nigga dickly toe to toe with me. What the fuck?
Miss me with your shit. We just slid to your crib, why can't dip so quick? Oh.
I only take Whips. Keep on blowing up my celly, I don't give no shit. Oh.
I bring the North Star. I don't wanna hear no fucking phone call.
I bring the North Star.
I walk.
I walk.
I bring the North Star.
I bring the North Star. I walk.
I walk.
I bring the
North Star
English translation
I'm coming home from the road to my baby girl and our babies grand.
Whoa, what a life, bowl of stew and rice.
Ain't that nice? I mean, I'm somebody's wildest dream.
Miss me with your shit. We just slid to your crib, why can't dip so quick? Oh. I only take Whips.
Keep on blowing up my celly, I don't give no shit. Oh. I bring the North Star.
I don't wanna hear no fucking phone call.
I bring the North Star. I walk.
She said I don't talk my shit enough, I gotta change that.
Imposter syndrome, they impostering me. How you got a dark inside you like Omega Saab five?
And taking cues from dummies, niggas into Poison Ivy, leave me.
I been on my tens since back when we was eating Morning Star, or waiting till it's Sunday just to turn on the TV. Or maybe posting up in Texas every summer like a border czar.
I can see it vivid, August 2015, flawless days spent with Nate and granny pressing through the heat. Car three funerals, by grace of God this music paying me. If I visit River's
Ford to make ol' Pastor rest in peace.
My reflection vital, tell me I am still they wildest dreams. Thanking them, I know my context, but straight to clarity.
I know that the moment's fleeting, but for now got planet feet. And today was almost Ice
Cube 1993, but a family called nigga dickly toe to toe with me. What the fuck?
Miss me with your shit. We just slid to your crib, why can't dip so quick? Oh.
I only take Whips. Keep on blowing up my celly, I don't give no shit. Oh.
I bring the North Star. I don't wanna hear no fucking phone call.
I bring the North Star.
I walk.
I walk.
I bring the North Star.
I bring the North Star. I walk.
I walk.
I bring the
North Star