Rick Ross - Trap Boomin lyrics

[Intro] My trap beating harder than a ba** drum(x3) [Verse 1:] These b**hes eating pills like they jolly ranchers She took a pill then turned into a belly dancer I'm cooking up this dope with 2 f**ing 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 sh** jump out the gym b**hes 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 bu*ter Tims [Hook:] My trap boomin' hard, b**h I swear to God My trap boomin' hard, b**h I swear to God My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom My goons countin' money in the living room My trap boomin' hard, b**h I swear to God My trap boomin' hard, b**h I swear to God My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom My goons countin' money in the living room [Verse 2:Rick Ross] AR's and choppers ain't no ho n***as gonna stop us Yo ol lady so proper look at that p**y she poppin I pull out the Rolls and make that top go to droppin When I pull out my money Even these ho n***as 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 n***a Gucci, know it money long Got my bond money, I got my lawyer fee Shout out the Brick Squad, my shoes are quarter key [Hook:] My trap boomin' hard, b**h I swear to God My trap boomin' hard, b**h I swear to God My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom My goons countin' money in the living room My trap boomin' hard, b**h I swear to God My trap boomin' hard, b**h I swear to God My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom My goons countin' money in the living room