Post Me Dead In The Trap

Lyrics

[Chorus] They like, "Neph, leave that street shit alone" Bitch, I got good licks and three different phones Talkin' all that Whaaa—get gone Nigga nervous, he don't know what type of time I'm on At the window, hand-in-hand, I get them hammers gone Get a 31 gone, no matter what kind of phone I done ran up 12,000 on Obama phone I got different bitches on my dick and hearing cold Yeah, I told her, "You ain't grindin', bitch, get out" You ain't at the round table, bitch, you gotta sit out She like, "Neph, my mama right here, don't pull them pills out" I'm like, "Girl, your auntiе right there, I got thesе deals out" Where Stewart and cars here, it's a pussy house They look like Backpack Boys—yeah, cookie house But it ain't no weed in this bitch, it's a cookie house 31 grand, perfect circle—it's a cookie house​ [Verse 1] Auntie like, "Where the hell you get that wrist from?" Switch on the Glock—they like, "Where you get that glick from?" They wanna fuck my bitch like Big Pun Broke boy ridin' with an ounce in a pound bag Nigga, I don't smoke no damn mid—this that za' pack Pulled up so damn fresh, they like, "Where your stylist at?" I can't trust my mama, 'cause I think that she might set me up I can't trust my brother, 'cause I think that he might set me up Jealousy—that's why the good die He won't take shit from nobody—he a good guy Bend the corner, jump out on the stain—that was good times All them damn war stories—boy tellin' good lies Auntie like, "Where that last batch?"—that's the good kind Bitch talkin' 'bout, "I'm the only one"—she tellin' good lies Drop a bitch off in that 4-0, Sport Plus You ain't spend no money on this hit—then shut the fuck up​ [Chorus] They like, "Neph, leave that street shit alone" Bitch, I got good licks and three different phones Talkin' all that Whaaa—get gone Nigga nervous, he don't know what type of time I'm on At the window, hand-in-hand, I get them hammers gone Get a 31 gone, no matter what kind of phone I done ran up 12,000 on an Obama phone I got different bitches on my dick and hearing cold Yeah, I told her, "You ain't grindin', bitch, get out" You ain't at the round table, bitch, you gotta sit out She like, "Neph, my mama right here, don't pull them pills out" I'm like, "Girl, your auntie right there, I got these deals out" Where Stewart and cars here, it's a pussy house They look like Backpack Boys—yeah, cookie house But it ain't no weed in this bitch, it's a cookie house 31 grand, perfect circle—it's a cookie house