Gucci Mane Ft Li Rye & Sett – Trap Money Lyrics

Trap Money Lyrics by Gucci Mane Ft Li Rye & Sett

[Chorus: Sett]
I still got trap money (Trap), extortion and rap money (Rap), if I’m bein’ honest (I’m bein’ honest)
Murder and love, keep it three hundred, them members gon’ die ’bout that money (Gon’ die ’bout that bread)
Runnin’ with jackers (Jackers), certified smackers (Smackers), don’t get wrapped like mummy (Wrapped like mummy)
Addin’ ’em up (Addin’ ’em), lay in your bushes, nigga, Monday through Sunday (Monday through Sunday)
King Crook, you get slimed for nothin’
Mask down, Shiesty’ll be home ‘fore the summer (Free Shiesty)
Get up in line, you niggas be runners (Get up and run ’em)
Tryna book Crook, better come with some commas (Commas)
This shit better come up in bundles (In a bag)
Promotors be trippin’, they lie, we gon’ bump ’em
Send a blitz too fast, all they know is thump ’em (Get ’em touched)
Three hundred through his shit, I ain’t give him a number

[Verse 1: Li Rye]
My head was hard as a bitch, so I went and got me a glizzy and put it to work
Ain’t worried ’bout no nigga steppin’ on me, he play wrong in this bitch and I’m uppin’ it first
I don’t need no switch, I can go spin with this semi and make the bitch shoot like a burst
Headtap, leave that bitch in a hearse
Same nigga be tryna be friendly, still be gettin’ they ass taxed for a verse
Bitch, I’m Big 26, I hop out with a stick
Better stay out the way or get hit in the face
Ain’t no competition with these niggas
And I don’t take ’em serious, when they look at this shit like a race
Bad bitch gon’ eat the dick off the rip
All these blues on a nigga, might think I’m a Crip
Catch ’em lackin’, I’m uppin’ that bitch off the hip
Throwin’ fours ’til I die, nigga, shout out to Flip

[Chorus: Sett & Gucci Mane]
I still got trap money (Trap), extortion and rap money (Rap), if I’m bein’ honest (I’m bein’ honest)
Murder and love, keep it three hundred, them members gon’ die ’bout that money (Gon’ die ’bout that bread)
Runnin’ with jackers (Jackers), certified smackers (Smackers), don’t get wrapped like mummy (Wrapped like mummy)
Addin’ ’em up (Addin’ ’em), lay in your bushes, nigga, Monday through Sunday (Monday through Sunday)
King Crook, you get slimed for nothin’
Mask down, Shiesty’ll be home ‘fore the summer (Free Shiesty)
Get up in line, you niggas be runners (Get up and run ’em)
Tryna book Crook, better come with some commas (Commas)
This shit better come up in bundles (In a bag)
Promotors be trippin’, they lie, we gon’ bump ’em
Send a blitz too fast, all they know is thump ’em (Get ’em touched)
Three hundred through his shit, I ain’t give him a number (Go)

[Verse 2: Gucci Mane]
Record in New York, raised in Atlanta, but from Alabama (True)
From the 6 to the M, retired like a mobster and moved to Miami (Wow)
My bitch in a lemon, my jit in a Porsche, you can’t buy a Camry (Well, damn)
Mr. Davis, no Sammy, new all-white Bentley, yeah, that’s for the nanny (Granny)
So Icy the family, So Icy the gang, So Icy the mob (So Icy)
So Icy the label, this ain’t no facade, this shit like a job (We workin’)
When times were hard, we stole, we lied, we had to rob (Facts)
Mama tried to tell me right from wrong, my head was hard (Mama)

[Verse 3: Sett]
Potato on barrel, then hit your shit in
The spot you flexin’, my lil’ niggas run in (Run)
Crook shit, nigga, I done turned to a trend
Block hot, leave it runnin’, snatch it again (What?)
Murder and love, that’s what they spin (Off the murder)
Headtap, headtap, burn ’em again (Te amo)
Tryna boost the rate ’bout they man (Unconditional)
Opposition never win (Frrt-frrt-frrt, get ’em smacked)
Never payin’ (Frrt), Drac’, fully, F&N
Bend they block, nothin’ but fans (Bend ’em)
Tryna put somethin’ in the wind (In the air)
Hawk down, get your mans (HDG)
1017 on my back, I don’t bend (On my back)
Triple cross, for that 3, all in (That 3 on my chest, nigga)
Concrete, for the bricks, locked in
[Chorus: Sett]
I still got trap money, extortion and rap money, if I’m bein’ honest
Murder and love, keep it three hundred, them members gon’ die ’bout that money
Runnin’ with jackers, certified smackers, don’t get wrapped like mummy
Addin’ ’em up, lay in your bushes, nigga, Monday through Sunday
King Crook, you get slimed for nothin’
Mask down, Shiesty’ll be home ‘fore the summer
Get up in line, you niggas be runners
Tryna book Crook, better come with some commas
This shit better come up in bundles
Promotors be trippin’, they lie, we gon’ bump ’em
Send a blitz too fast, all they know is thump ’em
Three hundred through his shit, I ain’t give him a number