Clique is a popular song by Kanye West, Jay-Z, Big Sean from the 2012 album Cruel Summer. Check words to Kanye West, Jay-Z, Big Sean Clique Lyrics in English below.
Clique Lyrics – Kanye West, Jay-Z, Big Sean
[Intro: James Fauntleroy & Big Sean]
What of the dollar you murdered for?
Is that the one fighting for your soul?
Or your brother’s the one that you’re running from?
But if you got money, fuck it, ‘cause I want some
B-I-G
Who fuckin’ with me?
Oh, God!
Woah
[Chorus: Big Sean]
Okay, ain’t nobody fuckin’ with my clique
Clique, clique, clique, clique
Ain’t nobody fresher than my muhfuckin’ clique
Clique, clique, clique, clique
As I look around, they don’t do it like my clique
Clique, clique, clique, clique
And all these bad bitches, man, they want the-
They want the-, they want the- (B-I-G, oh God)
Go
[Verse 1: Big Sean]
I tell a bad bitch do whatever I say (Yup)
My block behind me, like I’m coming out the driveway (Swerve)
It’s grind day, from Friday to next Friday (Woah)
I been up straight for nine days, I need a spa day (Spa day)
Yup, she try and gimme that poon-tang
I might let my crew bang, my crew deeper than Wu-Tang (Woah)
I’m rollin’ with, ha, fuck I’m saying? Girl, you know my crew name
You know 2 Chainz? Skrrt! I’m pullin’ up in that Bruce Wayne
But I’m the fuckin’ villain, man, they kneelin’ when I’m walking in the buildin’
Freaky women I be feelin’ from the bank accounts I’m fillin’
What a feelin’! Ah man, they gotta be
Young player from the D that’s killing everything that he see for the dough
[Chorus: Big Sean]
Okay, ain’t nobody fuckin’ with my clique
Clique, clique, clique, clique
Ain’t nobody fresher than my ma’fuckin’ clique
Clique, clique, clique, clique
As I look around, they don’t do it like my clique
Clique, clique, clique, clique
And all these bad bitches, man, they want the-
They want the-, they want the-
Go
[Verse 2: JAY-Z]
(Click clack, stick ’em up)
Yeah, I’m talkin’ Ye (Clique) yeah, I’m talkin’ Rih (Clique)
Yeah, I’m talkin’ B (Clique) nigga, I’m talkin’ me
Yeah, I’m talkin’ bossy, I ain’t talkin’ Kelis
Your money too short, you can’t be talkin’ to me
Yeah, I’m talkin’ LeBron, we ball in our family tree
G.O.O.D. Music drug-dealing cousin, ain’t nothin’ fuckin’ with we
Me, turn that sixty-two to one-twenty-five, one-twenty-five to a two-fifty
Two-fifty to a half a, man, ain’t nothin’ nobody can do with me
Now, who with me? ¡Vámonos! Call me Hov or Jefe
Translation: I’m the shit, ‘least that what my neck say
‘Least that what my check say, lost my homie for a decade
Nigga down for like twelve years, ain’t hug his son since the second grade
Uh, he never told—who he gon’ tell?
We top of the totem pole
It’s the Dream Team meets the Supreme Team
And all our eyes green, it only means one thing: you ain’t fuckin’ with the clique
[Chorus: Big Sean]
Okay, ain’t nobody fuckin’ with my clique
Clique, clique, clique, clique
Ain’t nobody fresher than my ma’fuckin’ clique
Clique, clique, clique, clique
As I look around, they don’t do it like my clique
Clique, clique, clique, clique
And all these bad bitches, man, they want the-
They want the-, they want the-
[Verse 3: Kanye West]
Break records at Louis, ate breakfast at Gucci
My girl a superstar all from a home movie
Bow on our arrival, the un-American idols
What niggas did in Paris, got ’em hangin’ off the Eiffel
Yeah, I’m talkin’ business, we talkin’ CIA
I’m talkin’ George Tenet, I seen him the other day
He asked me about my Maybach, think he had the same
Except mine tinted and his might have been rented
You know, white people get money, don’t spend it
Or maybe they get money, buy a business
I rather buy eighty gold chains and go ign’ant
I know Spike Lee gon’ kill me, but let me finish
Blame it on the pigment, we livin’ no limits
Them gold Master P ceilings was just a figment
Of our imagination, MTV cribs
Now I’m lookin’ at a crib right next to where TC lives
That’s Tom Cruise, whatever she accuse
He wasn’t really drunk, he just had a frew brews
Pass the refreshments, a cool, cool beverage
Everything I do need a news crew’s presence
Speedboat swerve, homie, watch out for the waves
I’m way too Black to burn from sunrays
So I just meditate at the home in Pompeii
About how I could build a new Rome in one day
Every time I’m in Vegas they screamin’ like, “He’s Elvis”
But I just wanna design hotels and nail it
Shit is real, got me feelin’ Israelian
Like Bar Refaeli, or Gisele—no, that’s Brazilian
Went through, deep depression when my mama passed
Suicide, what kinda talk is that?
But I been talkin’ to God for so long
That if you look at my life I guess He talkin’ back
Fuckin’ with my clique
[Outro: Big Sean]
Ain’t nobody fresher than my ma’fuckin’ clique
As I look around, they don’t do it like my clique
And all these bad bitches, man, they want the-
They want the- they want the-
Go
[Produced by Kanye West, Hit-Boy, Anthony Kilhoffer, and Noah Goldstein]
Writer(s): Kanye West, Jay-Z (Shawn Carter), Big Sean (Sean Anderson), Hit-Boy