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trap story - eastside reup lyrics

[intro]
ayy
ayy

[verse]
b*tch, you f*ckin’ with a boss, i don’t talk much (nah)
ho don’t bring me ’round her friends, i leave ’em starstruck
when they talkin’ ’bout some money, know they talkin’ us
ain’t talkin’ ’bout you ’cause your lil’ money ain’t big enough (nah, nah)
i hit the strip for laptops, see with her baby daddy
this n*gga muggin’, wonderin’ why he keep lookin’ at me
he better not look at joc too long, this n*gga trigger happy (trigger happy)
but let a n*gga play with me, you know them b*tches blastin’
plus i move how a boss move
this sh*t ain’t nothin’ to a boss, boo
plus, i know it’s big homie
he a spot worker, that’s his man’s work
run through the bag then post the money on the ‘gram first
and that’s the type of n*ggas you like
me and all my n*ggas turn around, this sh*t too nice
count it up and make a b*tch book the whole crew flights
head up to the jeweler, tell him get the whole crew iced
i’m plugged in, my baby, i can give a b*tch a new life
quick to tell a n*gga ain’t ’bout money, you can’t talk to me (nah)
i got loyal friends, they gon’ get that work off of me
plug hit my line, n*gga, get this work off of me
n*gga, is you throwin’ me them b*tches? you gon’ offer t?
hang around gorillas, nothin’ but apes at our parties, b
boy, don’t start with me, got that chopper in the car with me
fiends make my line ring, ring, i feel like cardi b
i’m that one n*gga in the field you gon’ hardly see
can’t believe you believe n*ggas, cappin’ for the ‘gram
i get that work and then i tax it, call me uncle sam
type of n*gga hit the party, pistol in my pants
right before i left up out the kitchen, i was mixin’ grams
make a b*tch go do the dishes, don’t forget the pants
b*tch, we in here cookin’ chickens, don’t forget the yams
type to turn three to six, i’m the f*cking man
i can show these lil’*ass n*ggas how to get some bands
b*tch, i came up sellin’ work out of town
rental car clean, put that work on the ‘hound (n*gga)
jumped off the porch, i can’t turn back now
ayy, play with your life, like mary j., it’s goin’ down
look at me now, ain’t expect me to turn around
had to cut some people off ’cause they ain’t wanna hold me down
i was whippin’ up a chicken sittin’ thinkin’ ’bout the times
yellin’ free all of my n*ggas, sick my n*ggas ain’t around

- eastside reup lyrics

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