(Intro – Fabolous)
Yo, I be telling em, once they get used to this
They gon have a hard time tryna find it somewhere else
It ain’t this real over there
(Verse 1 – Fabolous)
You think living my dream came over night, baby
Like I ain’t had chicken wings over rice, baby
I just need me somebody to blow the dice, baby
But do you take a bad bi**h over a nice lady?
Can’t say they ain’t worth it, just overpriced maybe
Can’t really tell if she ride, I drove it twice maybe
That ass do turn heads like poltergeist, baby
Know she put it in her mouth, that overbite crazy
I’m tryna chill but really I’m cold as ice, baby
You used to hear me in the streets like motorbikes, baby
I been staying to myself, the social life’s shady
Your own blood’ll watch you bleed, you know that like brazy
I outgrow people like baby clothes
I hate yes men and maybe hoes
Real s**t expose a friend that maybe foe
You day ones was plotting on you on the day before
Yeah, baby row for baby Joe
Johan getting big, gave his Rollie to baby bro
Yeah, we even hand-me-down different
You raising kings, you gotta hand em crowns different
Uh, Cartier Christmasses
It’s more toys in the driveway than the Christmas list
Everybody Gucci, we can smile today
This is what we hustle for, Trappy Holidays
(Chorus – Trey Songz)
Mexicano, working ni**a, trapaholic
Genius ni**a, something like I’m Aristotle
Hit the gas, baby, I’m talking full throttle
Beat the odds, the numbers wait, hold up
Took a ni**a bi**h, I’m so used to this
Got another whip, I’m so used to this
Ni**as telling lies, I’m so used to this
Feeling too fly for the goofy s**t
I be going dumb on the doofuses
Flicking my thumbs on the blue faces
She calling me daddy, who’s the kid?
Baby, that’s too bad, don’t know who’s it is
(Verse 2 – Trey Songz)
Money on the nightstand, 100s all folded
Still ain’t been to sleep, ni**as downstairs loaded
Lashes on the counter, makeup on the wash cloth
R&B thug, give a f**k about a pop star
Show a ni**a love, I’m just tryna get my rocks off
Coming for the bread, toes pop up like a Pop Tart
Bully got the 9 iron, I ain’t talking Top Gun
Say you got the keys, well my ni**as popping locks off
Shout out to my Gs cause they know that Trigga got charge
All my pu**y extra on the chicken like it’s hot sauce
See a ni**a dripping and what is it if it’s not sauce?
Tell the pigs we ain’t tryna listen, we will not talk
Getting bankrolls, pulling hoes and it’s my dogs
I am not the one to trade, you should try dog
One or two Ks, hit the dot, no topped off
One or two plays, hit the lot, now the top off
Skrrt, skrrt, skrrt like the young ni**a say
Uzi in the Vert charge that my young ni**a take
Take that charge for me, boy, take that charge for me
Talking to my chrome, I she say she talk to God for me
All the dirt I’m doing, I just pray that God love me
All the work I’m doing, yeah sometimes it’s hard for me
Twerk it all, booty solid, keep it hard for me
You know how we ball, Fab threw the lob for me
Got my own trap, don’t need you to ride for me
All these ni**as is my sons, I’ma let em shine for me
Drinking vino out the bottle while my baby whine for me
Vino out the bottle while my baby whine for me, yeah
(Repeat Chorus)
