conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Write me a song called Clique with the following description: “Clique” is the third single off of G.O.O.D. Music’s compilation album, Cruel Summer, following “Mercy” and “New God Flow”. The beat was produced by Hit-Boy (his second credit for a song featuring The Throne), Kanye West, Anthony Kilhoffer and Noah Goldstein. Make sure the lyrics are different from the original song.
conversations.from: gpt
conversations.value: [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]