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alright - trap dickey lyrics

[intro: trap d*ckey]
(loko, what it do, man?)
(imixnation for real)
uh, yeah, ayy

[verse 1: trap d*ckey]
man, this sh*t get ugly, just like bumper spars
curfew, we ones get to spinnin’ fresh right after dark
in the streets, we pick that switch, then get to hittin’ at the cars
if them l.a. boys come back outside, then you won’t see tomorrow
couple hunnid’ thousand up, they never thought i’d get this far
real street n*gga, i came from sellin’ mid in stolen cars
used to tote revolvers, .44 magnum, b*tch, i’m goin’ large
no duckin’ twos, this sh*t the truth, i barely worked a job
main bro let me drive his car
auntie died, now i’m a star
just catch these bodies and keep this money in the midst of war
for money, this sh*t get raw
uncle petey snortin’ raw
my n*gga lil’ jay died slidin’ crazy, was at the park
he ain’t ever seen a body, blood on ’em traumatized him
enemies be right beside ya’
bunch of haters right behind ya’
i could do this sh*t forever, broken watch, this sh*t is timeless
if they said i wasn’t the greatest, call him simba, he just lyin’
call him dead, ’cause he just lyin’
from my angle, he just tryin’
from the bottom, we was grindin’
mix the lean and call it science
catch him slippin’, perfect timin’
not a movie, can’t rewind it
go to jail and keep it silent
couple k!llers movin’ silent
.45 gon’ make him curl
draco gon’ shake the world
like dog said, feel like a god, my n*ggas run the world
auntie be smokin’ boy
uncle still be doin’ girl
real street n*ggas from the bottom, we in a different world
[verse 2: enphamus]
talm’bout he gon’ run off on me, hope he brought a wheelchair wit’ him
i cut b*tches off, i had to fit my line so i bought clippers
i call her “pickle bag,” ’cause up under her tongue, it smell like pickles
then he just tried to run off, they done gave his ass back, [?]
every n*gga that spoke on b, we gon’ whack his ass, that’s simple
talm’bout she don’t suck no d, bae, get out yo’ head, that’s mental
b*tch can’t put no [?] on me, i drew down and sn*tched her crystal
i like messy*ass b*tches, type hoe post me on her finsta
b*tch, this sh*t get hideous, just like crazy eyes
rip that rubber off, that sh*t wasn’t cuttin’ it, no gracin’ god
g6 got these foreign b*tches lit, talm’bout that asian high
got one eye in the trap and one in rap, i got a lazy eye
she postin’ me, talm’bout, “my man”
only seen her on the ‘gram
you know me, i send a hit for eighteen cents inside that can
sh*t, i’m like suge’, i’ll get a hoe wit’ h.i.v. to f*ck yo’ man
you see that b*tch? she got on vans, q5, give that b*tch a xan’
i f*ck wit’ the locs but all my n*ggas blazin’, like deandre ayton
pull up, shoot that rocket in yo’ bas*m*nt, we ain’t [?]
in the trap, so many f*ckin’ bags, look like we on vacation
i’m on this b*tch just like a hula*hoop, and threw her in rotation
i’m like r. kelly, if you ain’t poppin’ p*ssy, ain’t no conversation
speakin’ on his ass, i p*ss on b*tches too, like i’m on paper
ain’t no jumpin’ off no porch, when yo’ first home was a trailer
lazy susan, it be real hard tryna eat wit’ turnin’ tables
[outro: enphamus]
what i tell ya’?
ughhh

mansa musa

- trap dickey lyrics

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