
Trap Or What Mark Too Sharp (Ft. Moneybagg Yo)
On this page, discover the full lyrics of the song "Trap Or What" by Mark Too Sharp (Ft. Moneybagg Yo). Lyrxo.com offers the most comprehensive and accurate lyrics, helping you connect with the music you love on a deeper level. Ideal for dedicated fans and anyone who appreciates quality music.

[Intro: Mark Too Sharp]
A closed mouth don't get fed nigga
You gon' trap or what?
I know you ain't scared
All NNG
[Verse 1: Mark Too Sharp]
Fresh out the bitch of the trap nigga
Wrap them packs like a mummy
Red bottoms with the blue hundreds
I started off with an onion
Look at me now, bitch I'm ballin'
Fuck on your bitch 'cause I was Spalding
I got that work and it's up for auction
Suction bag with the vacuum seal
I took your cell 'cause you was stallin'
I keep a stick like I'm golfing
You don't want no smoke turn your ass into ashes
Fuck on your bitch 'cause you baffled
Fuck on your bitch 'cause you lacking
Runnin' up the M's, left your ass in the past
You still runnin' in them old ass [?]
Got them walkin' in Givenchy, two-three, this a semi
Fly spur, that's a Bentley, ride-four, fuck a hemi
Louis V with the Fendi, got 'em hatin' in they feelings
Bunions on my feet from running, runnin' up them bands
Paper cuts from countin' money, I need a healing
Iced out my hands, I know the world is [?] land
A closed mouth don't get fed nigga
You gon' trap or what?
I know you ain't scared
All NNG
[Verse 1: Mark Too Sharp]
Fresh out the bitch of the trap nigga
Wrap them packs like a mummy
Red bottoms with the blue hundreds
I started off with an onion
Look at me now, bitch I'm ballin'
Fuck on your bitch 'cause I was Spalding
I got that work and it's up for auction
Suction bag with the vacuum seal
I took your cell 'cause you was stallin'
I keep a stick like I'm golfing
You don't want no smoke turn your ass into ashes
Fuck on your bitch 'cause you baffled
Fuck on your bitch 'cause you lacking
Runnin' up the M's, left your ass in the past
You still runnin' in them old ass [?]
Got them walkin' in Givenchy, two-three, this a semi
Fly spur, that's a Bentley, ride-four, fuck a hemi
Louis V with the Fendi, got 'em hatin' in they feelings
Bunions on my feet from running, runnin' up them bands
Paper cuts from countin' money, I need a healing
Iced out my hands, I know the world is [?] land
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