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c4c4c4 - ceo trayle lyrics

[intro: ceo trayle]

c4c4c4
don d man (ay don this beat dumb)

[verse]
uh
sun drop, whip that, he can’t get his b*tch back (uh,uh)
track*hawk, sit back, came up off a zip pack
murder in his eyes so he not someone to look at
point of havin’ a father for forgiveness
and when that baby boy get grown gotta teach him the money bidness
you don’t know nun bout’ that mind yo business
last one to leave the trap, first one to make a entrance
focused on these b*tches, now these digits must be kiddin’ (kiddin’)
tried to be at california kitchen
trapped in this trap we ain’t closin’ uh uh uh
give me one mo’ summer
c4 boutta blow, i was ganging with osama
grady known for trauma, so that’s what they had took foe
cashapp the grim reaper, lurkin’ in a trench coat
i bench press like one thousand pounds then i went broke
and now who can you call on, when you need it? (h*llo)
and the help you said that you sent me i received that
b*tch, i be wearin’ p down to deal boots
and i ain’ got no deal, uh, so far lets see
c4 fell hard, but she said she fell too, ay
it was money over b*tches well before i had ran into you
ay, i got a couple shootas i might send them through, find his block and spin it too, sense his toes, find his door and split it too
rule number one with these b*tches i can neva choose
and i’m sick of countin’ money but ain’t no thera*flu (ain’t no thera*flu)

[outro]
ay, money mmm money ain’t no thera*flu, c4 count that money but ain’t no thera*flu
ay, ay these n*ggas always swear that they ahead of you

ay don this beat dumb
c4c4c4

- ceo trayle lyrics

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