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trophies (freestyle) - quilly lyrics

[verse 1: quily]
you be chasing rappers for a feature, that’s some hoe sh-t
you remind me of my f-ckin’ tweaker, that’s some joe sh-t
quilly ballin, just sit in the bleachers
1350 for my sneakers, these ain’t jordans neither
i buy jordans for my son, he fresh as justin bieber
you n-gg-s’ 30 plus and still sneaker heads
87 uncle trappin til’ his beeper dead
in the kitchen, me and papi eatin’ pita bread
free my n-gg- filthy rich, hope i don’t see the feds
so called trappers turned to rappers cuz their phone slow
i’m a rapper who just trap and get his own dough
tryna steal my adlibs, get your own flow
own flow, i do this rap sh-t in my pj’s
woke up in my flip flops and hit the e way
money callin’, something foreign on my 3 way
strictly sk!lls, when i’m spittin, that’s the dj
i’m from uptown and i still be with my old team
counting brand new hundreds, spending old beans
hottest in the city n-gg-, that’s my old dreams
i’m bout to start sky diving, do some bold things
rocking kenneth cole things
flow hot from a cold block
now i’m walking in giuseppe and their low top
playing xbox one in the c-ke spot
i done turned haines street into o block
hoes wearing b-tters, n-gg-s’ wearing uggs now
n-gg-s’ is the new b-tches, b-tches thugs now
everybody that was sober, they’re on drugs now
let them tell it, every trapper got a plug now
and a brick, all the dirty n-gg-s’ wavy now, i started it
b-tches wanna have my baby now, ain’t that a b-tch
where was you when i was in the gym?
tryna get a birdie, couldn’t get above the rim
f-ck mike
all these youngins wanna be like me
alexander mcqueen, scars on my new tee
balmain jeans and they cost a g
if you believe your baby father, you’re a f-ckin flea
crab cakes at buddakan, do it for the thrills
she gon’ bust that p-ssy open, do it for some pills
for some pills, d-mn!

- quilly lyrics

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