Rick Ross - Trap House lyrics

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Rick Ross - Trap House lyrics

[Intro: Birdman] + (Ross) + {French} (You know my sneakers foreign, n***a) Yeah {what you heard~!} Bigger than life {SKRRT~! Cookin' up!} Big money poppin' boy {cookin' up!} Yeah {c-c-c-c-c-c-cookin' up!} [Hook: French Montana] (YEEEAH) They talking bout me in the trap house (what you heard) They asking bout me in the trap house (what you heard) They talking bout me in the trap house (what you heard) They asking bout me in the trap house (YEEEAH) What the business is, stay up out of mine (hah) What the business is, stay up out of mine (hah) They talking bout me in the trap house (what you heard) They asking bout me in the trap house (hah) [Interlude: French Montana] ...Trap house (hah) ...Trap house (hah) {Coke Boy, baby!} [French Montana] n***as mad that I went and got my visa (hah) Thirty on my wrist, had to roll my sleeve up (WHOOP) Damn right we rockin' (rockin'), damn right we coppin' (coppin') Fly cars we whippin' (whippin'), the f** boys be plottin' (plottin') Purple Jolly Ranchers (Ranchers), chain couple advances (bling) Wrist and watch blang (bling), blue and white like Kansas (hah) Right side turn wheel; talk kush, we burn fields (WHOOP) Swore I seen the devil on my first mill Had to k** the watch, n***a -- time served I'm talking +9,000 Watts+, n***a -- you ain't heard? [Hook] + [Interlude] [Rick Ross] You know my wardrobe foreign, n***a {M-M-M-Maybach Music} You know my watch foreign, n***a... I talk money, some say I speak foreign (HUH) Whip foreign, watch foreign, b**h foreign (HUH) Told her to dance, and that b**h kept going Cake, cake, cake, cake -- just throw it I'm a boss, motherf**er; pull up to the club Just to floss, motherf**er, on the salt, motherf**er Rich motherf**er, all the whips foreign Take your b**h, motherf**er; s** a dick, motherf**er I'm the sh**, motherf**er -- time to get up off the toilet This is it, motherf**er; thirty-six, motherf**er And you a b**h, motherf**er; all your b**hes know it Hit a lick, motherf**er; took a brick, motherf**er [Hook] [Birdman] Rich Gang, BLAAAT~! Hundred bricks, n***a, like a hundred chips Hundred whips, n***a, another hundred clips Overseas, n***a, on some hundred sh** Flip a hundred things, moving on a hundred whips All the mils counted, peep how it feels Up top, n***a, doing big deals Big chips, n***a, knowing how to k** On the field, n***a, do this sh** and do it real Another flip, n***a, stash the cash We do this, nothing but some money on me Another blast, n***a -- p**y Curve, swerve, hit 'em with that chopper on me Eleven hundred, flipped eleven hundred Coke Boys in this b**h, move eleven hundred Got them whole things in the sand Uptown, filthy rich, Rich Gang [Hook] [Outro: French Montana] Yeah, yeah The hardest part about the bid'ness Is minding your own - welcome to the room All the whisperin' stop; but you know? Nosey people get in the face, of real n***as gettin' money Ya feel me? They askin' 'bout me in the trap house E'ry block... Baby whattup? Rosay They talkin' 'bout us in the trap house...