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Lyric provided by www.seekalyric.com |
Trapgold... I got twenty racks in my new jeans I got ten more in my blue jeans I walk in, I'm turnt up Pimp tight like I'm permed up I heard broke b*tches talkin' like they rollin' like us Man, these b*tches sound shermed up And these b*tches be mad at us Because these b*tches so down to f*ck Claim that sh*t, I can bang that sh*t F*ck me, f*ck a ten, I'ma train that b*tch I hope you ain't wife that b*tch Cause I know a couple homies that'll pipe that b*tch Lights out, put you in a night gown b*tch And your b*tch chose me because you walk out with My ass sick and my drinks mixed Say I'm sicker, say no sh*t (?) And all my flows they slow piff Closed case, I'm killin' sh*t Heard you flung, not feeling sh*t My brand right and I'm on one and these b*tches don't want none These b*tches don't want none (These b*tches don't want none) I shine right cause I grind, b*tches hate, I don't mind My heart tatted, I'm authentic it's clear to see it's my time [x4] |