"The Belt" lyrics

(Trapaholics, real trap shit)
(Whoo Kid)
(808 Mafia)
Yeah
Flocka

Belt to your ass like a baby, lil' bitch
This shit on the flow, don't you play with me, bitch
They sayin' boo like they bangin' this shit
When your big homie get the G-checkin' shit
I'm really that nigga, put respect on this shit
The spark be dismissin', he missin' you nigga
Be payin' the bangers and hangin' 'round the bling
On my double up, I bought that bitch a lil' pin
I'm a double O, you know how this shit gon' end (Real trap shit)
Put you on a plate, get you ate by your friends
Your favorite rapper, I raise them
Your favorite trapper, I raise them
What the fuck I look like hangin' 'round him?
What the fuck I look like claimin' that?
Y'all niggas make excuses for rats

How you in your hood with security?
That shit just don't make sense to me
.223s 'bout to fix in the trees
I'm always off these trees like falling leaves
These niggas P, just stand for peace
They bitches take the stamp for me
I advancing all my beef, I treat them all like they police
It's gon' take ten of y'all pussies just to make one of me
Still use my hands and feet, still whippin' shit to sleep
Still bustin' bottles in the club, Brick Squad surrounding me
Like I'm livin' in heaven league
I pray these niggas don't play with me

Belt to your ass like a baby, lil' bitch
This shit on the flow, don't you play with me, bitch
They sayin' boo like they bangin' this shit
When your big homie get the G-checkin' shit
I'm really that nigga, put respect on this shit
The spark be dismissin', he missin' you, nigga
Be payin' the bangers and hangin' 'round the bling
On my double up, I bought that bitch a lil' pin
I'm a double O, you know how this shit gon' end
Put you on a plate, get you ate by your friends
Your favorite rapper, I raise them
Your favorite trapper, I raise them
What the fuck I look like hangin' 'round him?
What the fuck I look like claimin' that?
Y'all niggas make excuses for rats

Old lame-ass niggas still bangin' on Westwood
Man as my niggas ain't hangin' in traps
Yelling Brick squad everywhere, I'm mad that they took that shit
Didn't get nothin' back but bullets with the tens
In all these plaques, built in the gap but the hood on the map
Show them insurance in trust so they don't get tapped
Put respect on my name, y'all owe me that
I'm one of ones for real that made it out
Nigga, let's toast to that
Nigga, fuck your dead eye, pints on they grave
Spit in your face, ain't no holdin' back
Beat your ass, stomp you out for poppin' shit, hope your lungs collapse
Pray to God the DJ stop the music
Crowd like, hold up, Trevor

Belt to your ass like a baby, lil' bitch
This shit on the flow, don't you play with me, bitch
They sayin' boo like they bangin' this shit
When your big homie get the G-checkin' shit
I'm really that nigga, put respect on this shit
The spark be dismissin', he missin' you, nigga
Be payin' the bangers and hangin' 'round the bling
On my double up, I bought that bitch a lil' pin
I'm a double O, you know how this shit gon' end
Put you on a plate, get you ate by your friends
No favorite rapper, I raise them
No favorite trapper, I raise them
What the fuck I look like hangin' 'round him?
What the fuck I look like claimin' that?

Y'all niggas make excuses for rats
Shout-out to the whole motherfuckin' 808
Shout-out to the whole Boomnati
Shout-out to the motherfuckin' Craydummies
Shout-out to the motherfuckin' Eardrummers
Sunny, I see you
Spence, I see you
Shout-out to the whole motherfuckin' Atlanta, nigga
Every goddamn DJ in the city
Every promoter in the motherfuckin' city