Trappin At It's Finest

Текст песни Ray Vicks & Boo Rossini - Trappin At It's Finest

[Intro: Boo Rossini]
Yeah, separate boys from the men nigga
Go right in

[Verse 1: Boo Rossini]
Suicide nigga when I ride by
Hit your bitch nigga, that's a drive-by
My lil niggas wild, call 'em live wire
Hold your breath, kill yourself
Let no man separate what we create
Your dawg fucked up, put some' on his plate
Your dawg locked down, put some' on his books
And if you're tryna eat I'll show you how to cook
Suicide them Ghost doors, Mardi Gras standin' on the floor
Operate for that cocaine and the plug say he gettin' 'em off the boat
Suicide, nigga OD, from a project called OP
When the Colo flip OG, wrap four bricks, that's four deep
Suicide, straight headshot
Partner got the pistol in his dreadlocks
Got a stripper bitch, got ass shots
And that pussy ain't got no padlock
Suicide that killer pussy
Don't play with mine, I'll kill a pussy
Camouflage, layin' in the bushes
Alibi, I was in some pussy
[Chorus: Ray Vicks]
We hit the club and stand on couches, we ain't got no fuckin' manners
Poppin' bottles, blowin' money, for my brothers in the slammer
Bad bitch all on my dick, but I got some high standards
I got money but I'm humble, I'm nothin' like these rappers
This is trappin' at its finest, real niggas, real diamonds
Bad bitches in designer, no D, I'm still shinin'
This is trappin' at its finest nigga (we gettin' money nigga), yeah
This is trappin' at its finest nigga (we gettin' money nigga), yeah

[Verse 2: Ray Vicks]
Dealin' with that dealin', my lil nigga made a killing
Did a six month run, say it's all, caught a ticket
He got snatched by the knocks, he servin' twenty upstate
My trap jumpin', doin' numbers, move twenty a day
These niggas rappin' 'bout them blocks, but they numbers be fake
In videos they flash cash, but that money be fake
I went from blocks to that basement, to sellin' bales of that loud
I hit the club with a dub, and I threw twelve in the crowd
Up the road with them killers, I never lost my position
When DOC set me free, I went and counted a ticket
Never flex on my brothers, see we flex with each other
We got money and muscle, I fuck with gangsters and hustlers

[Chorus: Ray Vicks]
We hit the club and stand on couches, we ain't got no fuckin' manners
Poppin' bottles, blowin' money, for my brothers in the slammer
Bad bitch all on my dick, but I got some high standards
I got money but I'm humble, I'm nothin' like these rappers
This is trappin' at its finest, real niggas, real diamonds
Bad bitches in designer, no D, I'm still shinin'
This is trappin' at its finest nigga (we gettin' money nigga), yeah
This is trappin' at its finest nigga (we gettin' money nigga), yeah