Trap Boomin

Lyrics

[Intro: Gucci Mane] My trap beating harder than a bass drum(x3) [Verse 1: Gucci Mane] These bitches eating pills like they jolly ranchers She took a pill then turned into a belly dancer I'm cooking up this dope with 2 fucking bowls I need an extra hand, I needs 3 extra stoves I can make you dance, do an avalanche It's your final chance, get your wedding bands I keep that white girl like a white man East Atlanta zone 6 you in trap land My money got a vert, my shit jump out the gym Bitches damn near break their neck, just too look at him She don't really like me but she love my rims Yellow Lamborghini same color my butter Tims [Chorus: Gucci Mane] My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom My goons countin' money in the living room My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom My goons countin' money in the living room [Verse 2: Rick Ross] AR's and choppers ain't no ho niggas gonna stop us Yo ol lady so proper look at that pussy she poppin I pull out the Rolls and make that top go to droppin When I pull out my money Even these ho niggas watchin When I hit a lick it I bought a wingstop (Twenty of em) I sprinkle lemon pepper in that re-rock I took my time I had to build a fortress Straight flossin and my closet look like Walter's Step out the Benz, I got my Gucci skully on Shout out my Nigga Gucci, know it money long Got my bond money, I got my lawyer fee Shout out the Brick Squad, my shoes are quarter key [Chorus: Gucci Mane] My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom My goons countin' money in the living room My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom My goons countin' money in the living room