ShittyBoyz - Rat Trap lyrics
[ShittyBoyz - Rat Trap lyrics]
Huh
Fell asleep with my chain on
Woke up with a crooked neck
Life just like a game but you
Know you cannot hit reset
I'll pull my pants down, baby
You can do the rest
Number one rule with this shit
That you cannot confess
Tron just walked in high as hell
With his giggly-ass
I like all my hoes with deep
Throats and a jiggly ass
Talk shit till my breath stank
Where the Wrigley's at?
Profile fire, BIN punch, finna get me a jack
Five hunnid dollar BAPE hoodie
Straight out Loose Cannon
Comfy than a bitch in BOA
I'm in my Goose scamming
Crab legs, shrimp, and some steak
I don't do salmon flyer than a pelican
Can catch me on yo roof landing
Feel like Giannis for the bucks
I'm flying down the lane
I be hanging with gorillas and
They can't be tamed
I do know a couple freaks
But they can't be named
Why the fuck you hate the player?
I ain't make the game
Hopscotching in my Gucci sneakers
Thousand dollars scuffed
Bitch tried to give her heart to
Me but got her tonsils touched
Ship him to the Lord like UPS
He tryna box with us
Whole gang keeping torches
Looking like a mob with us
Hit the store, jam then I scram
I don't serve and swerve
Tryna stop the shine? Fuck around
And get the curtains burnt
Two seater with the boost in it
Finna skrrt the 'vert
Two big-ass lobster tails in my surf and turf
He don't ever shoot his strap
I don't think it work
Bitch, my chain really dance
I can make it twerk
Hmm, what you flashing in yo vids
Spent that on a shirt
She gon' fuck off the name
I ain't gotta flirt
She gon' fuck 'cause I'm a ShittyBoy, no
I don't flirt with hoes
In a red zone with Dee
It's feeling like it's first and gold
Think I met her at the strip
My bitch know how work the pole
Mastermind PUA pusher, I can work the Pros
Wockhardt, Japanese Fanta, bitch
The swig expensive
Touch bro? It's a headshot
You can't finish wrestling
High as hell on I94
I'm Mister Miss The Exit
In the deep, if it's bread
Where you think them fishes headed?
Put her in some Gucci flip flops
She wanna show her toes
You depressed and really mad at life? Shit
This how it goes are you a G League coach?
You ain't got no Pros
You need to look in the mirror
Asking where the hoes
Bag drag, jack grab, gang racing Scat Packs
Hundred hoes on me
My DM look like a rat trap instagram scams
Grannies asking for they cash back
I could throw a train in reverse
Wouldn't backtrack
Act rude, stack blues
Off the red and black Loubs
Fourteen hunnid dollar steps
Walk the fuck past you
Ruth Chris, Jay Ale's
I don't fuck with fast food
Pretty lil' bitch
Swear she shitting on my last two
Fell asleep with my chain on
Woke up with a crooked neck
Life just like a game but you
Know you cannot hit reset
I'll pull my pants down, baby
You can do the rest
Number one rule with this shit
That you cannot confess
Tron just walked in high as hell
With his giggly-ass
I like all my hoes with deep
Throats and a jiggly ass
Talk shit till my breath stank
Where the Wrigley's at?
Profile fire, BIN punch, finna get me a jack
Five hunnid dollar BAPE hoodie
Straight out Loose Cannon
Comfy than a bitch in BOA
I'm in my Goose scamming
Crab legs, shrimp, and some steak
I don't do salmon flyer than a pelican
Can catch me on yo roof landing
Feel like Giannis for the bucks
I'm flying down the lane
I be hanging with gorillas and
They can't be tamed
I do know a couple freaks
But they can't be named
Why the fuck you hate the player?
I ain't make the game
Hopscotching in my Gucci sneakers
Thousand dollars scuffed
Bitch tried to give her heart to
Me but got her tonsils touched
Ship him to the Lord like UPS
He tryna box with us
Whole gang keeping torches
Looking like a mob with us
Hit the store, jam then I scram
I don't serve and swerve
Tryna stop the shine? Fuck around
And get the curtains burnt
Two seater with the boost in it
Finna skrrt the 'vert
Two big-ass lobster tails in my surf and turf
He don't ever shoot his strap
I don't think it work
Bitch, my chain really dance
I can make it twerk
Hmm, what you flashing in yo vids
Spent that on a shirt
She gon' fuck off the name
I ain't gotta flirt
She gon' fuck 'cause I'm a ShittyBoy, no
I don't flirt with hoes
In a red zone with Dee
It's feeling like it's first and gold
Think I met her at the strip
My bitch know how work the pole
Mastermind PUA pusher, I can work the Pros
Wockhardt, Japanese Fanta, bitch
The swig expensive
Touch bro? It's a headshot
You can't finish wrestling
High as hell on I94
I'm Mister Miss The Exit
In the deep, if it's bread
Where you think them fishes headed?
Put her in some Gucci flip flops
She wanna show her toes
You depressed and really mad at life? Shit
This how it goes are you a G League coach?
You ain't got no Pros
You need to look in the mirror
Asking where the hoes
Bag drag, jack grab, gang racing Scat Packs
Hundred hoes on me
My DM look like a rat trap instagram scams
Grannies asking for they cash back
I could throw a train in reverse
Wouldn't backtrack
Act rude, stack blues
Off the red and black Loubs
Fourteen hunnid dollar steps
Walk the fuck past you
Ruth Chris, Jay Ale's
I don't fuck with fast food
Pretty lil' bitch
Swear she shitting on my last two