"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 I-94, 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 I-94, 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
