Trap Boomin (ft. Rick Ross)

Trap Boomin
My trap beating harder than a bass drum(x3)
These bitches eating pills like they jolly ranchers
She took a pill then turned into a belly dancer
I'm cooking up this dope with 2 fuc*** bowls
I need an extra hand, I needs 3 extra stoves
I can make you dance, do an avalanche
It's your final chance, get your wedding bands
I keep that white girl like a white man
East Atlanta zone 6 you in trap land
My money got a vert, my shit jump out the gym
Bitches damn near break their neck, just too look at him
She don't really like me but she love my rims
Yellow Lamborghini same color my butter Tims

My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God
My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God
My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom
My goons countin' money in the living room
My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God
My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God
My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom
My goons countin' money in the living room
AR's and choppers ain't no ho niggas gonna stop us
Yo ol lady so proper look at that pu*** she poppin
I pull out the Rolls and make that top go to droppin
When I pull out my money
Even these ho niggas watchin
When I hit a lick it I bought a wingstop (Twenty of em)
I sprinkle lemon pepper in that re-rock
I took my time I had to build a fortress
Straight flossin and my closet look like Walter's
Step out the Benz, I got my Gucci skully on
Shout out my Nigga Gucci, know it money long
Got my bond money, I got my lawyer fee
Shout out the Brick Squad, my shoes are quarter key

My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God
My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God
My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom
My goons countin' money in the living room
My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God
My trap boomin' hard, bitch I swear to God
My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom
My goons countin' money in the living room