we got choppers and flowers
if you scared go call the opps
cause we don't welcome no cowards
we keeps sticks and when we spray it's like a cinnamon shower
you'd think it's diesel in the trap
cause all we smoking is sour
i remember being broke i used to dream about power
now it's bitches in the trap and they do what i desire
they can tell i'm on my shit cause all i put out is fire
these bitches wearing hand me downs
while i'm wearing designer
and i bet your nigga know me
i'm on a mag that's why you bitches all sour
always keep a pretty strap because it match my attire
you ain't welcome in the trap if you ain't getting no money
broke ass niggas be so quick to try to take something from me
we ain't chefs up in this bitch
but bitch we stay with them onions
you know that we don't follow rules
do what we what we don't suffer
see them hollows hit the ammo
we don't bleed but we dumping
my bitches always with the shits
so don't think about jumping
got money all around the house
they know that we up to something
these hoes be acting all hard
but they soft as a muffin
i ain't wanna pull your card
but i know you be bluffing
we ain't in here baking cakes
bitches pounds in the oven
niggas love fake trapping you ain't getting no money
if we want it we gon' take it
run up on 'em they running
you ain't never bust no heat bitch i was raised in the jungle
mix the sugar with the trap they think that i'm up to something
got this shit all on my own ain't need nobody for nothing
and you don't even know how to hustle