Trapmoney Freestyle, Pt. 1

I geek alot
Molly and acid and bongs with the pot
Don't tell the cops
We don't want none of them raiding our spot
Money go up like I'm watching the stocks
Lean with the wok, clean with the milly rock rock
Dreams of the mean drop top
I got my steeze on lock
Got the fiends sayin' "Nah please don't stop"

Bout to be all in my bag
Leaving this town, this shit been such a drag
Leaving it all in the past, If You wanna come You just gotta ask
I get the cheque and i run it up
I try to flex but i fuck it up
I'm in the cut, Bitch what's up?
No time for small i'm in a rushhh

On the paper chase
Laugh in a hater face
Smoking my cones with a Gatorade
Mess with the gang that's a federal case
Shootin' my shot then i fade away
Stay focused on the money never strayed away
Working till i get a milly then i might take a break
But till then yeah i'm really on my grind
Till then yeah i really got no time
But till then yeah i'm really on my grind
Till then yeah i really got no time

All these pounds got me feeling like a fucking heavyweight
I don't need no lawyer, i could beat about any case
How do i get my money? Yeah guess what many ways
I been up writing for so many nights and so many days
Guess i coulda been doing something worse anyways



Credits
Writer(s): Zed Williams
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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