[Intro]
What? Uh, uh, uh
I'ma, uh, I'ma, uh
Nigga what? Nigga what?
Aye, Q Da Fool
Gang, gang, gang, gang
[Verse]
They stole the swag, but it's cool
I'm a trap nigga, so everything new
I got some shooters, they be high off the juice
I fuck on that bitch, that bitch pussy the truth
You be smoking on that low grade
High class can't smoke, that's why I count bread
Plus I'm a shooter, RIP Twin, got it tatted on my forehead
Got all this trap shit from my father, now my nigga a goop head
I let your bitch smoke designer drugs with all my thugs, she got good head
I'm on a mission, you better not be an issue
Fuck a bitch, I fell in love with this pistol
Alias, I might just slide in that rental
I've been retarded ever since I was little
I ain't worrying 'bout what you think
You better be worried 'bout Q Da Fool
You ain't never been up in no shootouts
Nigga never stood up like a general
Another one gon' bite the dust
If he try to run, now I gotta bust
You a dick eater, can't hang with us
I'm off a Xan and some angel dust
I ain't tryna love a bitch I'm tryna bust a nut
Since I've been hanging with my dogs I can't hang with moodies
And if the trap get hot then the trap moving
I can't kick it with that hoe because that hoe be choosing
My bitches love me, say that I'm the man
I gotta be bitch, fuck is you saying?
Q Da Fool, he making love to them bands
You looking mad, I just laugh at your ass
OG Bob said I'm moving too fast
He was right, 'cause I let shawty crash
Ooh, since a young nigga
Ain't do nothing but look up to drug dealers
Once I got older, I didn't
My brother Max got me hip to a lick
OG Bob got me hip to a stick
Now a get it cracking bitch, like a Ritz
I ain't tripping bitch, I'm finna be rich
Pop a Molly watch designer I switch
I need some Gucci oven mitts
Damn, It's getting hot up in this bitch
Said "fuck it", I'ma give you the swag
Anyways, 'cause y'all stealing the swag
Ole rapping nigga, I ain't feeling yo ass
Ahh, yeah, uh, yeah, uh
Try run up, yo ass gon' end up in a wheelchair
Real trap nigga, this shit be too real
Streets fucked up, nigga, ain't shit fair
What? Uh, uh, uh
I'ma, uh, I'ma, uh
Nigga what? Nigga what?
Aye, Q Da Fool
Gang, gang, gang, gang
[Verse]
They stole the swag, but it's cool
I'm a trap nigga, so everything new
I got some shooters, they be high off the juice
I fuck on that bitch, that bitch pussy the truth
You be smoking on that low grade
High class can't smoke, that's why I count bread
Plus I'm a shooter, RIP Twin, got it tatted on my forehead
Got all this trap shit from my father, now my nigga a goop head
I let your bitch smoke designer drugs with all my thugs, she got good head
I'm on a mission, you better not be an issue
Fuck a bitch, I fell in love with this pistol
Alias, I might just slide in that rental
I've been retarded ever since I was little
I ain't worrying 'bout what you think
You better be worried 'bout Q Da Fool
You ain't never been up in no shootouts
Nigga never stood up like a general
Another one gon' bite the dust
If he try to run, now I gotta bust
You a dick eater, can't hang with us
I'm off a Xan and some angel dust
I ain't tryna love a bitch I'm tryna bust a nut
Since I've been hanging with my dogs I can't hang with moodies
And if the trap get hot then the trap moving
I can't kick it with that hoe because that hoe be choosing
My bitches love me, say that I'm the man
I gotta be bitch, fuck is you saying?
Q Da Fool, he making love to them bands
You looking mad, I just laugh at your ass
OG Bob said I'm moving too fast
He was right, 'cause I let shawty crash
Ooh, since a young nigga
Ain't do nothing but look up to drug dealers
Once I got older, I didn't
My brother Max got me hip to a lick
OG Bob got me hip to a stick
Now a get it cracking bitch, like a Ritz
I ain't tripping bitch, I'm finna be rich
Pop a Molly watch designer I switch
I need some Gucci oven mitts
Damn, It's getting hot up in this bitch
Said "fuck it", I'ma give you the swag
Anyways, 'cause y'all stealing the swag
Ole rapping nigga, I ain't feeling yo ass
Ahh, yeah, uh, yeah, uh
Try run up, yo ass gon' end up in a wheelchair
Real trap nigga, this shit be too real
Streets fucked up, nigga, ain't shit fair
Comments (0)
The minimum comment length is 50 characters.
Information
Users of Guests are not allowed to comment this publication.
There are no comments yet. You can be the first!