BabyTron - Still Rappin’ lyrics
BabyTron [James Edward Johnson IV] Ypsilanti, Michigan. U.S.
[BabyTron - Still Rappin’ lyrics]
(Marc Boomin, this you?) bitch
Yeah, huh, bitch (Boomin need extras)
I just dropped twenty-four songs
And I'm still rapping
Firework Faygo got a four
But I'm still active babyTron? Oh
I heard the labels throwing deals at him
Best scammer in the city, bitch
I'm Tronny Kilpatrick
You won't catch me riding
'round in traffic, this some limo tint
Up now, all that little shit
I don't trip on it
Up the stick and make doggy
Crouch on some limbo shit
Riding 'round with Teejay the sleazy
Mister Flip Your Whip
Or I could pull up with Ju the sleaze
He Mister Split Your Shit
That's your pops' watch
Ain't it? It don't fit your wrist
First you need to stop hating
Then come get your bitch
Got her eating balls on some
Hungry Hungry Hippo shit
In a class of my own
But I ain't special ed'
Do the dash in the Christian Loubies
Left the pedal red played it crazy
Told her give me pape' instead of head
Keep a demon on my side
For whatever the Devil send
Count up my blessings and I'm
Finna count these hundreds
Mozzarella on your taco shell
Killers bounty hunting
Playing with a punch, looking for glitches
I done found me something
You calling 'cause I got some pape'
Why you tryna hound me, cousin?
That's the trophies clanking
Guarantee my shot going in
Like when Kobe fading
Everybody tapped the fuck in
I just know we made it
(Ha ha, yeah, we going up, bitch)
One stick, one fit, boy, that's you
BabyTron the GOAT with this shit, boy
That's true
Talking 'bout you gon' take what? Boy
On who? Looking in the mirror like, "Damn
That boy the truth"
Zaza to the face, this Apricot Gelato
I ain't threw hands in five years
You finna box these hollows
Twenty Dracs in the 'Wood
The coupe like a box of frontos
Told the bitch, "Don't even suck it if
You not gon' swallow"
Cotton candy Faygo with a deuce of Hi Tech
On a world tour
Where the fuck I'm finna fly next?
(Like, Honolulu, or, shit) on a world tour
Grabbing iPhones and gift cards
2012 Pros out the door got my dick hard
Said he got a band for a verse, boy
That's six bars
Ask my whole high school class, bitch
I drip hard ask my whole high school class
They can't fuck with me
At this point, it's all hustle
Ain't no luck in me
If I hear it's up, boy
You ain't gon' wanna jump with me
Bitch, I just want the head
I ain't got a hump in me
Walked up into Hutch a ShittyBoy
Left a Tity Boi
Good drum on this it's a fifty, boy
Oh, you got a hundred shots?
Better pray you hit me, boy
Yeah, I got it with it me, boy
Yeah, I got it with it me, boy
Huh, yeah, I got it with it me, boy
Ayy, bitch, ayy, huh, yeah, bitch, I
Got it with me, boy, huh
Yeah, huh, bitch (Boomin need extras)
I just dropped twenty-four songs
And I'm still rapping
Firework Faygo got a four
But I'm still active babyTron? Oh
I heard the labels throwing deals at him
Best scammer in the city, bitch
I'm Tronny Kilpatrick
You won't catch me riding
'round in traffic, this some limo tint
Up now, all that little shit
I don't trip on it
Up the stick and make doggy
Crouch on some limbo shit
Riding 'round with Teejay the sleazy
Mister Flip Your Whip
Or I could pull up with Ju the sleaze
He Mister Split Your Shit
That's your pops' watch
Ain't it? It don't fit your wrist
First you need to stop hating
Then come get your bitch
Got her eating balls on some
Hungry Hungry Hippo shit
In a class of my own
But I ain't special ed'
Do the dash in the Christian Loubies
Left the pedal red played it crazy
Told her give me pape' instead of head
Keep a demon on my side
For whatever the Devil send
Count up my blessings and I'm
Finna count these hundreds
Mozzarella on your taco shell
Killers bounty hunting
Playing with a punch, looking for glitches
I done found me something
You calling 'cause I got some pape'
Why you tryna hound me, cousin?
That's the trophies clanking
Guarantee my shot going in
Like when Kobe fading
Everybody tapped the fuck in
I just know we made it
(Ha ha, yeah, we going up, bitch)
One stick, one fit, boy, that's you
BabyTron the GOAT with this shit, boy
That's true
Talking 'bout you gon' take what? Boy
On who? Looking in the mirror like, "Damn
That boy the truth"
Zaza to the face, this Apricot Gelato
I ain't threw hands in five years
You finna box these hollows
Twenty Dracs in the 'Wood
The coupe like a box of frontos
Told the bitch, "Don't even suck it if
You not gon' swallow"
Cotton candy Faygo with a deuce of Hi Tech
On a world tour
Where the fuck I'm finna fly next?
(Like, Honolulu, or, shit) on a world tour
Grabbing iPhones and gift cards
2012 Pros out the door got my dick hard
Said he got a band for a verse, boy
That's six bars
Ask my whole high school class, bitch
I drip hard ask my whole high school class
They can't fuck with me
At this point, it's all hustle
Ain't no luck in me
If I hear it's up, boy
You ain't gon' wanna jump with me
Bitch, I just want the head
I ain't got a hump in me
Walked up into Hutch a ShittyBoy
Left a Tity Boi
Good drum on this it's a fifty, boy
Oh, you got a hundred shots?
Better pray you hit me, boy
Yeah, I got it with it me, boy
Yeah, I got it with it me, boy
Huh, yeah, I got it with it me, boy
Ayy, bitch, ayy, huh, yeah, bitch, I
Got it with me, boy, huh