Trap Queen

Album: Up Next (2014)
Charted: 8 2
  • Remy Boyz, yah
    1738, ay
    I'm like "hey, what's up, hello"
    Seen yo pretty ass soon as you came in the door
    I just wanna chill, got a sack for us to roll
    Married to the money, introduced her to my stove
    Showed her how to whip it, now she remixin' for low

    And I ain't gotta worry 'bout her going through my phone (Haan)
    And I ain't got a Backpage fucking with them hoes (Haan)
    I ain't gotta worry 'bout her popping up a show (Haan)
    Give a 36, put that bitch out on the road
    I'm in love with my baby (Haan)
    No Safaree, I menage with my baby (Yaah, Haan)
    Do it large with my baby (Haan)
    Mami do it Grande, Big Sean with my baby (Yaah, Haan)
    Going hard for my baby (Haan)
    When shit get hard, whip hard with my baby (Yaah)
    I'm in love with my baby (Haan)
    I'm a star in the Wraith, with the stars with my baby
    Talking Snoop Dogg, Juice and Gin
    Don Juan pimping king
    This is our year
    Talkin' Nas here, we represent
    Trap Queen, Dominican, tell her bring the bottles in
    I got ten, he got six, we gon' fuck from 6 to 10 (Haan)
    She fell in love with a dope dealer (Haan)
    Getting head in a Royce, Ghostface Killah (Haan)
    She fell in love with a dope dealer (Haan)
    Getting head in a Royce, Ghostface Killah (Haan)

    And I get high with my baby
    I just left the mall, I'm gettin' fly with my baby, yeah
    And I can ride with my baby
    I be in the kitchen cookin' pies with my baby, yeah
    And I can ride with my baby
    I just left the mall, I'm gettin' fly with my baby, yeah
    And I can ride with my baby
    I be in the kitchen cookin' pies

    I'm like "hey, what's up, hello"
    I hit the strip with my trap queen 'cause all we know is bands
    I just might snatch up a 'Rari and buy my boo a Lamb'
    I might just snatch her a necklace, drop a couple on a ring
    She ain't wantin' for nothin' because I got her everything
    It's big Zoo Wap from the bando, remind me where I can't go
    Remy Boyz got the stamp though
    Count up hella them bands though
    Boy how far can your bands go?
    Fetty Wap, I'm livin' 50 thousand K how I stand though
    If you checkin' for my pockets I'm like

    And I get high with my baby
    I just left the mall, I'm gettin' fly with my baby, yeah
    And I can ride with my baby
    I be in the kitchen cookin' pies with my baby, yeah
    And I can ride with my baby
    I just left the mall, I'm gettin' fly with my baby, yeah
    And I can ride with my baby
    I be in the kitchen cookin' pies

    I'm like "hey, what's up, hello"
    Seen yo pretty ass soon as you came in the door
    I just wanna chill, got a sack for us to roll
    Married to the money, introduced her to my stove
    Showed her how to whip it, now she remixin' for low
    She my trap queen, let her hit the bando
    We be countin' up, watch how far them bands go
    We just set a goal, talkin' matchin' Lambos
    56 a gram, 5 a hundred grams though
    Man, I swear I love her how she work the damn pole
    Hit the strip club, we be letting bands go
    Everybody hating, we just call them fans though
    In love with the money, I ain't never letting go

    I be smoking dope and you know Backwoods what I roll
    Remy Boy, Fetty eating shit up that's fasho
    I'll run in ya house, then I'll fuck your hoe
    Re-Re-Remy Boyz or nothin'
    Re-Re-Remy Boyz or nothin', yah

    Yeah, you hear my boy
    Soundin' like a zillion bucks on the track
    I got whatever on my boy, whatever
    Put your money where your mouth is
    Money on the wood make the game go good
    Money out of sight cause fights
    Put up or shut up, huh?
    Nitt Da Gritt, huh, RGF Productions
    SquadWriter/s: Willie Maxwell, Anton Matsulevich
    Publisher: Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, BMG Rights Management
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind
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