Trap Star

Lyrics

[Intro: Slick Pulla & DJ Drama] All right what's happenin' nigga? It's Slick Pulla C.T.E, man y'all already know what it is, man What happenin' homie? You know what, stuntin' on a whole lotta niggas On a whole lotta shit, man But you know, it's one track ya homie didn't get on What he always wanted to spit his flame on, man *Cheah, Cheah, Cheah* Big shout out to the fourth ward Ughn Hughn For real! Shout out to the boulevard Gangta-Grillz-You-Bastards Yeah, yeah Gangta-Grillz [Verse: Slick Pulla] Got the clean old school, call it, 'Fruit Punch Fanta' Big 'shoes' on it, yeah, we runnin' Atlanta Keep hard 'candy', call us, 'Jolly Ranchers' We cuss 'twelve' out and shoot 'birds' at they cameras We trap stars, ballin' like Clyde and Kidd Take a 'elbow' of kush, and break it down in 'zips' Blow it all in the club, stay full of that shit The kid pimp his self, the way he check that grip (For real!) And I ain't Carmelo, but I play with them 'Nuggets' Got a scale on my lap — damn right I'm 'bunkin' Poetry and motion, the way the kid get paid Jumpin' like Greenbriar Mall on a hot day That 'Jiffy' cheffed up, that 'Glasshouse' ready Standin' like a food line, in front of the Chevy I got what they want — yeah, that 'good shit' Take a square, break it down to dollars, a fool flip This the 'voice box', C.T.E And if you want them good deals, get them shots from me Urban street to the West, you got to feel this Catch the lil' homie, 'yokin' wit' a bad bitch