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lirik lagu ball movement – trl

[intro]
(ooh, sh*t, that’s a danny g beat)
phew
phew, phew, phew
(who the h*ll is carlo?)
ayy

[verse 1]
if you don’t f*ck with them, i don’t f*ck with you
don’t ask “who am i?”, who the f*ck is you?
b*tch, me and my n*ggas ball, we don’t f*ckin’ hoop
talkin’ crazy, lil’ n*gga, you ain’t bulletproof (bah, bah)
i got the bullet to prove it
boy, this sh*t real life, he thinkin’ it’s music
give that boy a lil’ fade, he lookin’ like boosie
we sippin’ act’, we on clips, this sh*t like a movie
she tryna make love, i told her f*ck me like a groupie
i pull my d*ck out and tell her blow it like a loosie
bring them sticks out, we got fns, no lucci
she put the wop on me ’cause i’m rockin’ all gucci
if anybody ask, b*tch, we all gucci
the opps see a trick, [?] try to [?] like what y’all doin’? huh
look at the score, n*gga, y’all losin’
f*ck the b*tch, pass her to bro, good ball movement

[verse 2: stanwill]
trippin’ in the rental, f*cked around, crashed the honda civic
ot settin’ plays up, had to pop a vitch
lil’ brodie work for faygo, he be poppin’ n*ggas
all i do is run a check up like a doctor visit
i ain’t got a blue check but my check blue, b*tch
thirty round f*ckers, every glockie got a pool stick
i don’t want no ghetto vibes, i only want a rude b*tch
four*nickel tucked, i ain’t worried ’bout your two cents
h*llcats, trackhawks, we gon’ fast pace it
hundred missed calls from your b*tch, i’ve been sack chasin’
7.62s, boy, these b*tches’ back breakin’
sbdsm, we number one, the opps last placin’
flashin’ benjies at her, got her jumpin’ out her panties
got a twenty ball in all dubs bustin’ out my f*nny
if it’s up then it’s stuck, put it on my granny
boy, i know you sick that your b*tch tryna f*ck on stanley
[verse 3]
nutted in an opp b*tch, i’m tryna join a family
sike, i’m lyin’, i’m tryna k!ll a broke ass baby daddy
n*gga ain’t got five the cent, y’all paid that for the addy
but let me hop up off that tip and show you how to stack it
b*tch, we them camp boys, come see us in traffic
i see y’all tryna be the camp, but this sh*t more than rappin’
he say we ran out of bags, it’s more in the attic
he say we ran out of bens, it’s more in the stashes
them n*ggas keep on dyin’, they runnin’ out of caskets
got his mama screaming, “why? why it had to happen?”
’cause your baby, he a b*tch, and i had to blast him
n*ggas was fans first ‘fore they ever was static
i’ll rather see me down before i get to rattin’
you will get up in that room and they ain’t gotta ask you
n*ggas over friendly, boy, n*ggas love chattin’
but it’s cool, we catch him out and we gon’ have to slatt him

[outro]
(but it’s cool, we catch him out and we gon’ have to slatt him)
(camp boys, camp guys, n*gga)
(what up, sh*ttyboyz?)

- trl

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