Trap House Lyrics – Gucci Mane
Singer: Gucci Mane
Title: Trap House
In the trap house, in the trap house
Choppa on the floor, pistol on the coach
Hood rich so I never had a bank account
Junkies goin’ in, junkies goin’ out
Made a hundred thou’ in my trap house
Money kinda short but we can work it out
Made a hundred thou’ in my trap house
Bricks goin’ in, bricks goin’ out
Made a hundred thou’ in my trap house
I’m tired of sellin’ bricks, I wanna go legit
I wonder can I sell 11 mill’ like 50 Cent
‘Cause platinum ain’t enough, I got too many vices
I love to smoke weed, love to shoot dices
Say my life style extravagant
I talk cash sh#t, b#tches say I’m arrogant
Well, g#dd#mn Gucci cockin it
But at the same time young hoes be jockin’ slim
Gucci ain’t sh#t, b#tch, I beg your pardon
I’m independent but I’m ballin’ like a major artist
I stay high like giraffe, p#ss#
In my trap house, smokin’ rubber kushy
Choppa on the floor, pistol on the coach
Hood rich so I never had a bank account
Junkies goin’ in, junkies goin’ out
Made a hundred thou’ in my trap house
Money kinda short but we can work it out
Made a hundred thou’ in my trap house
Bricks goin’ in, bricks goin’ out
Made a hundred thou’ in my trap house
Jumped out the whip, everybody lookin’
Big clouds of smoke but ain’t nobody cookin’
I want his autograph ’cause I’m his biggest fan
Yellow Humvee with the yellow feet
Yellow diamonds the same color as cheddar cheese
And I’m smokin’ on that purple sh#t
They call me temp service ’cause I’ll work a b#tch
Money long like Shaq feet
Runnin’ dough like a sprinter at a track meet
I heard he got that soft white
Extended clips make them busters get they mind right
Choppa on the floor, pistol on the coach
Hood rich so I never had a bank account
Junkies goin’ in, junkies goin’ out
Made a hundred thou’ in my trap house
Money kinda short but we can work it out
Made a hundred thou’ in my trap house
Bricks goin’ in, bricks goin’ out
Made a hundred thou’ in my trap house
In my trap house watchin’ Sports Center
In the kitchen cookin’ but I ain’t cookin’ dinner
Splash it with the water, whip it, make it harder
17 for ’em the same number as Quincy Carter
Say I’m workin’ with wit a mill’ or better
Married to the game, me and [Incomprehensible] live together
Street smart n#gg#, never listen to the teacher
You can catch me in the bathroom smokin’ reefer
Prices low like Wal-Mart
Bricks on I-9, get your shoppin’ cart
Knee deep in the dope game
I’m not a farmer but I’m known to push them collard greens
Choppa on the floor, pistol on the coach
Hood rich so I never had a bank account
Junkies goin’ in, junkies goin’ out
Made a hundred thou’ in my trap house
Money kinda short but we can work it out
Made a hundred thou’ in my trap house
Bricks goin’ in, bricks goin’ out
Made a hundred thou’ in my trap house
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Lyrics Gucci Mane – Trap House
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