Lyrics

[Intro] Money What Relax [Hook] (x2) Trappin', trappin' with the Glock (Boow) Posted up on the block Baking soda with the pot Your baby mama she a pie Pull up on her in a drop (Skrr Skrr) I ain't fuck I got top Why you cuffing she a thot (What) Fucked that bitch on the spot (Yaa) [Verse 1] Why you cuffing you a lame, wanna fuck me for fame Wanna fuck grab my chain, fuck her to Gucci Mane Fuck that bitch like a dog, pass that bitch to my dog Fuck that bitch in the yard, pray to me like a god Pray to me like Messiah, smoking that Gas got that fire Selling that pack with my five, shoot a nigga he lying Rob me you is dying I ain't tripping I be flying Smoking that gas from my plug that white boy his name Ryan Getting that cash like I'm signed I don't need rap I could trap and a nigga survive [Hook] (x2) Trappin', trappin' with the Glock (Boow) Posted up on the block Baking soda with the pot Your baby mama she a pie Pull up on her in a drop (Skrr Skrr) I ain't fuck I got top Why you cuffing she a thot (What) Fucked that bitch on the spot (Yaa) [Verse 2] Talking money I got plenty, couple thousand for the Denim Couple thousand on my women Splashing on them when I'm winning Shoes tight I ain't tripping, if it ain't sealed I ain't sipping Sipping syrup eating chicken, foreign car I be whipping Diamond wet they be dripping, cocaine she be sniffing Shooting at them Scottie Pippen, never wife her I be pimping Look at my chain and my watch and my ring Rocking Raf Simmons, walking in the rain Fucking famous bitches, treat them the same If you don't get pussy you is a lame Foolish lil' nigga stay in your lane Make a nigga dissapear, David Blane [Hook] (x2) Trappin', trappin' with the Glock (Boow) Posted up on the block Baking soda with the pot Your baby mama she a pie Pull up on her in a drop (Skur Skur) I ain't fuck I got top Why you cuffing she a thot (What) Fucked that bitch on the spot (Yaa)