Trap Shit Lyrics – Gucci Mane
Singer: Gucci Mane
Title: Trap Shit
(Zaytoven)
Trap sh#t
Trap sh#t (Huh)
Trap sh#t
Trap sh#t
Sellin’ Vin Diesel, strong Cookie, that Keisha
Gucci poppin’ P’s like Georgia just made it legal (Wow)
Higher than an eagle, leanin’ like Beanie Sigel (I’m leanin’)
Flyer than a pilot, jean jacket by Diesel (Phew)
All-gold rocket, the socket matchin’ my Foamposite
You’s a nobody, she goin’, she f#ck with everybody (Go)
Lil’ ‘Crest boys in the hood, wanna see a dead body?
Four pockets stuffed and LaFlare, we bust at everybody
At Club Crucial, these hood b#tches, they love Crucial (Wow)
That’s my young shooter, recruit him to send some slugs through you
We search ’em ‘fore they come in the trap, might have a bug on ’em (Huh?)
He’s a walking dead man, don’t know it, he got a dub on him (Yeah)
Beat him with a bat, then f#ck it, pour kerosene on him
Everybody searchin’ for holmes, but we ain’t seen homie
Chainsaw massacre, call 1017 on ’em
Make it look drug-related, man, pour some lean on him
Everything I rap ’bout official, I’m from the streets, b#tch (Street)
Hundred thousand all my pockets, this ain’t no sweet lick (Sweet)
‘Nother 60K on my wrist, this a Patek, b#tch (This a Patek, b#tch)
All my hoes got fat asses, they all on fleek, b#tch (They all on fleek, b#tch)
All my b#tches wearin’ designer, I don’t want no cheap b#tch (I don’t want no cheap b#tch)
Draco with me everywhere I go, on the front seat, b#tch (On the front seat, b#tch)
Trap sh#t, n#gg#s know I’m ’bout it (Wow)
Trap sh#t, n#gg#s know I’m ’bout it (Yeah)
Fifty racks cash on me, that’s just today’s profit (Today’s profit)
4 Pockets Full, lil’ b#tch, I ain’t got no damn wallet (I ain’t got no wallet)
f#ck around and got in the game, I got the streets poppin’ (I got ’em poppin’)
p#ss# n#gg#s tellin’ on me, I know the feds watchin’ (I know they watchin’)
How the hell he gettin’ this money? I keep on buyin’ watches
Jackboys thinkin’ I’m sweet, I keep on buyin’ choppers
Lock me up, I’m gettin’ out tomorrow, I think I’m El Chapo
Bricks came 1017, I got some damn extras
Flexin’ on these n#gg#s on purpose, check out this damn necklace
Dropped eighty racks on a Charger, next day, I damn wrecked it (Skrrt)
Pull up with them sticks like the army, they say we young veterans
They won’t pull up in them apartments, they say we too treacherous
Everything I rap ’bout official, I’m from the streets, b#tch (Street)
Hundred thousand all my pockets, this ain’t no sweet lick (Sweet)
‘Nother 60K on my wrist, this a Patek, b#tch (This a Patek, b#tch)
All my hoes got fat asses, they all on fleek, b#tch (They all on fleek, b#tch)
All my b#tches wearin’ designer, I don’t want no cheap b#tch (I don’t want no cheap b#tch)
Draco with me everywhere I go, on the front seat, b#tch (On the front seat, b#tch)
Trap sh#t, n#gg#s know I’m ’bout it (Wow)
Trap sh#t, n#gg#s know I’m ’bout it (Yeah)
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Lyrics Gucci Mane – Trap Shit
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