Trippie Redd's Freestyle
This next verse, these bars
Yeah, uh
I just realized that I'm a rich nigga
My mama and papa never made six figures
By 2019, I'll be at seven figures
This my moment of clarity, let me tell it jigga
I gave up liquor, I gave up smoking
Knowing that the green from being sober is way more potent
Now people poking noses in my business
Pinocchio and they lying, trying hard to figure out
Which ho I'm strokin' to use they lotion
I don't fuck no bitches, I got a wife now
Young nigga, grown rich nigga lifestyle
I could line every rapper up right now
And fade 'em with the bars to make every one of 'em lie down
Sleep, Poké Flute couldn't wake 'em up
Poke a stick at they body
Now po-po about to bring the cuffs
Oh no, I'm 'bout to do a bid
Oh shit, they 'bout to free the kid
Killin' bad rappers is legal across the nation, bitch
Die, die, die, die, die and I say it with passion
Half these people talkin' shit don't say shit
When you leave the Internet
And you happen to see 'em in passin'
It's just harder to see them outside of the actin'
It's more harder to see them outside of the laughin'
When they only with they friends and sayin' that your album trash
When right before they looked you in your face
And told you you were snappin'
They the ones that stab your back in when they catch you lackin'
They the ones that shouldn't have been in the womb instead of napkin
Capitalizin' off of these niggas lackin', what the fuck happened?
Niggas turned to kingpins, Twitter fingers they get to tappin'
Must've pushed the key under the tab, all your words is cappin'
Bitch, I am the captain, bitch, I am the chief
Bitch, I am the priest when I wake, bitch, you are deceased
Bitch, you are control, alt, delete, bitch, be gone for me
Bitch, you need to think before you speak
Bitch, you Candace Owens
Bitch, you panic knowing I don't need no XL stamp to excel
I just got 20 bands and transportation in a XL
To make em throw their hands and scream my lyrics
Meanwhile, people talkin'
Got me askin' "Where you at?" without a Nextel
No, for real, where you at? The internet still?
No, for real, where you at? Your mama crib still?
No for real, where you at?
My comment section usin' cracked iPhone 5Ss to hate my blessin's
Wildin', click your page
All I see is, "This profile page is private"
With a profile picture of Michael Jordan's face cryin'
Probably 'cause I'm ballin' like I'm Lebron and you retired
While a nigga still chasin' them rings like Blac Chyna
No major labels, keepin' up with niggas on major labels
When I sign, the label's keepin' up with me, you won't be able
Eatin' at my table, you ain't cool enough and that's the lingo
Now I put the classmates that used to laugh up on my payroll
Ho, I think I'm better than Cole, better than Dot
Fuck a tweet, bitch I'm just as good as Biggie and Pac
R.I.P., this my Kodak, Lil Xan, and Yachty talk
Akademiks cover him, Adam 22 with the shots
Y'all ain't got No Jumpers, double entendre, double entendre
You ain't catch it? Well, that's yo problem
Now listen, this ain't no dissin', this ain't no hate
But keep it real, this is the Freshmen I didn't make?
In other words, all of you rappers is just steak
When you fallin' off the bone of them charts, I'm eatin' your plate
You can't put me in a class when I'm busy teachin' 'em lessons
So next year, don't even hit me to be a Freshmen
I'm gon' fuck it up, too many bodies, too many stretchers
Better buckle up, too much gas and I'm in a Tesla
Testa Rossa in my future, they sleepin'
I got the rooster, they seated
I got the booster, I'm seein' over these losers
Please book me, Lollapalooza, I'm blowin', it's like a tuba
I'd blow his head with a Ruger if he hot and can't cool up
I'm blowin' like I'm a cougar's jaws, who's involved?
Whose acoustics make his sonics look like he's infused with Nas
Mixed with Gucci, cross him without a cross light
And you gon' see the crossroads twice, rest in Peace Phife
You gon' see life, pass before you better be nice
'Cause I will body everybody
If I see sight of a nigga that don't even blink right
Shoutout YBN Cordae, IDK is my name
Hi, this Trippie verse, bye
Yeah, uh
I just realized that I'm a rich nigga
My mama and papa never made six figures
By 2019, I'll be at seven figures
This my moment of clarity, let me tell it jigga
I gave up liquor, I gave up smoking
Knowing that the green from being sober is way more potent
Now people poking noses in my business
Pinocchio and they lying, trying hard to figure out
Which ho I'm strokin' to use they lotion
I don't fuck no bitches, I got a wife now
Young nigga, grown rich nigga lifestyle
I could line every rapper up right now
And fade 'em with the bars to make every one of 'em lie down
Sleep, Poké Flute couldn't wake 'em up
Poke a stick at they body
Now po-po about to bring the cuffs
Oh no, I'm 'bout to do a bid
Oh shit, they 'bout to free the kid
Killin' bad rappers is legal across the nation, bitch
Die, die, die, die, die and I say it with passion
Half these people talkin' shit don't say shit
When you leave the Internet
And you happen to see 'em in passin'
It's just harder to see them outside of the actin'
It's more harder to see them outside of the laughin'
When they only with they friends and sayin' that your album trash
When right before they looked you in your face
And told you you were snappin'
They the ones that stab your back in when they catch you lackin'
They the ones that shouldn't have been in the womb instead of napkin
Capitalizin' off of these niggas lackin', what the fuck happened?
Niggas turned to kingpins, Twitter fingers they get to tappin'
Must've pushed the key under the tab, all your words is cappin'
Bitch, I am the captain, bitch, I am the chief
Bitch, I am the priest when I wake, bitch, you are deceased
Bitch, you are control, alt, delete, bitch, be gone for me
Bitch, you need to think before you speak
Bitch, you Candace Owens
Bitch, you panic knowing I don't need no XL stamp to excel
I just got 20 bands and transportation in a XL
To make em throw their hands and scream my lyrics
Meanwhile, people talkin'
Got me askin' "Where you at?" without a Nextel
No, for real, where you at? The internet still?
No, for real, where you at? Your mama crib still?
No for real, where you at?
My comment section usin' cracked iPhone 5Ss to hate my blessin's
Wildin', click your page
All I see is, "This profile page is private"
With a profile picture of Michael Jordan's face cryin'
Probably 'cause I'm ballin' like I'm Lebron and you retired
While a nigga still chasin' them rings like Blac Chyna
No major labels, keepin' up with niggas on major labels
When I sign, the label's keepin' up with me, you won't be able
Eatin' at my table, you ain't cool enough and that's the lingo
Now I put the classmates that used to laugh up on my payroll
Ho, I think I'm better than Cole, better than Dot
Fuck a tweet, bitch I'm just as good as Biggie and Pac
R.I.P., this my Kodak, Lil Xan, and Yachty talk
Akademiks cover him, Adam 22 with the shots
Y'all ain't got No Jumpers, double entendre, double entendre
You ain't catch it? Well, that's yo problem
Now listen, this ain't no dissin', this ain't no hate
But keep it real, this is the Freshmen I didn't make?
In other words, all of you rappers is just steak
When you fallin' off the bone of them charts, I'm eatin' your plate
You can't put me in a class when I'm busy teachin' 'em lessons
So next year, don't even hit me to be a Freshmen
I'm gon' fuck it up, too many bodies, too many stretchers
Better buckle up, too much gas and I'm in a Tesla
Testa Rossa in my future, they sleepin'
I got the rooster, they seated
I got the booster, I'm seein' over these losers
Please book me, Lollapalooza, I'm blowin', it's like a tuba
I'd blow his head with a Ruger if he hot and can't cool up
I'm blowin' like I'm a cougar's jaws, who's involved?
Whose acoustics make his sonics look like he's infused with Nas
Mixed with Gucci, cross him without a cross light
And you gon' see the crossroads twice, rest in Peace Phife
You gon' see life, pass before you better be nice
'Cause I will body everybody
If I see sight of a nigga that don't even blink right
Shoutout YBN Cordae, IDK is my name
Hi, this Trippie verse, bye
Credits
Writer(s): Levante Christopher Brandon Vinson, Jason Mills
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
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