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walking dead - trl lyrics

[verse 1: trl dub]
alright bet, 20 hoes in this b*tch you know i’m stepping with my scale
what you need, come and grab us, you know they coming through the mail
any n*gga play with dub, know they getting pressed for real
i don’t play no kid games, b*tch i’m really in the field
gang laying on the beef, he waiting on his first k!ll
when he call, suitin’ up, b*tch i’m ready for the drill
i got this drop from his hoe, yea i know where n*ggas live
i’ma pull up on ’em, give ’em 100 shots like i’m [?]
drop a four in my pop, i do that sh*t just for my health
n*gga bragging on some bodies, ain’t got nothing under his belt
lil ham ass n*ggas, [?] and put you on the shelf
if a n*gga mention my name, i’m responding with a sh*ll
[verse 2: trl drich]
and free my n*ggas doing fеd time, bro off the meds look likе one of them walking dead guys
hop in that fast thing, trackhawk or redeye
with my new b*tches, ain’t the same one from last time
we’ll pop up and blow, like a land mine
oh you don’t know? you better ask the last guy
we beef first quarter, you don’t see half time
i was chilling for too long, now it’s [?] time
ain’t no brakes, hit the gas, time to ride, get a [?]
you tried to [?], cut your hand, at sunrise, i pick up bands
i’m the plug, no middleman, this b*tch tugging on my pants
see me bust another band, she wanna f*ck me with her friend

[verse 3: trl mar]
aaaahhh, n*ggas wake up in the morning and just lie to people
b*tch i’m really walking dead, cause i got zombie in me
when i get on that [?], don’t stop a n*gga
who is you, [?] son, n*gga’s father figure
i get slimy, don’t let me around no n*ggas
i ain’t high, so my voice start sounding different
leave the talk for the birds, just flock on n*ggas
i ain’t feeling too well, i need a doctor visit
she was looking for an answer, i ain’t got a sentence
b*tch think cause she bad, she can take my chicken
if he try to take something, then take one with him
i got money on my mind, so my hands start itching
[verse 4: trl ace]
it be hate what they saying so i never listen
broke boy ain’t got no pape, he be penny pinching
the room small but its filled with all pretty b*tches
i ain’t want the whole house so i bought the kitchen
we putting za in the air this not a smoke shop
all eyes on me, i feel like pac
caught my attention throwing ass, and she won’t stop
she want ace to blow a bag, then she better not
put an extension on my gun, make it stand out
how many hoes in this room, lets do a headcount
just for playing with my name, you get chalked out
i’m getting money and you somewhere with your hand out

[verse 5: trl jt]
jt whipping bands out
police tried to flip me, i hopped out this b*tch and ran out
who the f*ck is yall, stop asking questions, you too fanned out
she gon’ pull her pants down, last n*gga reach for jt piece he caught a headshot
we gon’ bring them switches out, i’m gon put them k!llers on you
in the hood chillin, [?] i got ‘bout 50 on me
he can’t come here, he ain’t with us, campboy n*ggas only
muddy ass cup, already zooted, i can’t even pour it (n*gga)

- trl lyrics

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