More songs by Trippie Redd
Description
Mastering Engineer: Igor Mamet
Mixer: Igor Mamet
Producer: OZ
Vocals: Trippie Redd
Composer, Writer: Arthur Ross
Composer, Writer: Leon Ware
Writer: Michael Lamar White II
Composer: Ozan Yildirim
Lyrics and translation
Original
Yeah, Big 14 know what the fuck goin' on, yeah
Ooh, said I made y'all
So how could I be mad that I ain't y'all?
Same reason why I hate y'all
Hop up in this f'rarri then I race off, ayy
Do the dash in this racecar
Got the Pistol Pete on me, is this a face off? Ayy
Better say your damn grace dog
Blind in reality just like you're Ray Charles
Ayy, I don't want no more press
No, I don't want no more press
No, I don't want no more press
Ahh, don't want no more press
Ahh, don't want no more press
Ahh, don't want no more press, ahh
Ayy, fuck your bitch and hit my fucking dab
Ayy, choppers by my side, you know it clap
Like your bitch ass, big bag
Big cash, and I tote a big guy
Aftermath, I been dressed in all black
Got the black mask
I'll pull it out the motherfucking black bag
Ooh, yeah, and drop your ass
Bang bang, lil nigga you left in the past
Ooh, ayy, son these niggas, I'm your dad
Big racks on my body, baby got this cash
Pray these goofy niggas really goin' out sad
Give these pussy niggas hell like I'm Johnny Gat, ooh
Swear I want no press
No, swear I want no press
No, swear I want no press
No, swear I want no press
No, swear I want no press
No, swear I want no press
No, swear I want no press
Ooh, ayy, ooh, are you niggas really from the field?
Or are you niggas really from the hills?
I got a mob of niggas coming by the mills
They'll shoot your ass down boy for fourteen hundred kills, for real
I'm tryna find your fuckin chill
I'm off this activist, I'm tryna pop a seal
I don't do sunnies baby, no, don't do no pills
I'm just smokin on dope, baby
Just thumbin' through the mills, so ill
English translation
Yeah, Big 14 know what the fuck goin' on, yeah
Ooh, said I made y'all
So how could I be mad that I ain't y'all?
Same reason why I hate y'all
Hop up in this f'rarri then I race off, ayy
Do the dash in this racecar
Got the Pistol Pete on me, is this a face off? Ayy
Better say your damn grace dog
Blind in reality just like you're Ray Charles
Ayy, I don't want no more press
No, I don't want no more press
No, I don't want no more press
Ahh, don't want no more press
Ahh, don't want no more press
Ahh, don't want no more press, ahh
Ayy, fuck your bitch and hit my fucking dab
Ayy, choppers by my side, you know it clap
Like your bitch ass, big bag
Big cash, and I tote a big guy
Aftermath, I been dressed in all black
Got the black mask
I'll pull it out the motherfucking black bag
Ooh, yeah, and drop your ass
Bang bang, lil nigga you left in the past
Ooh, ayy, son these niggas, I'm your dad
Big racks on my body, baby got this cash
Pray these goofy niggas really goin' out sad
Give these pussy niggas hell like I'm Johnny Gat, ooh
Swear I want no press
No, swear I want no press
No, swear I want no press
No, swear I want no press
No, swear I want no press
No, swear I want no press
No, swear I want no press
Ooh, ayy, ooh, are you niggas really from the field?
Or are you niggas really from the hills?
I got a mob of niggas coming by the mills
They'll shoot your ass down boy for fourteen hundred kills, for real
I'm tryna find your fuckin chill
I'm off this activist, I'm tryna pop a seal
I don't do sunnies baby, no, don't do no pills
I'm just smokin on dope, baby
Just thumbin' through the mills, so ill