Trap Jumpin Lyrics

Yea I heard the rumors
Word around town they said "Q he ain't a shooter"
Don't make me walk down with the ruger
I got respect with the tec this shit produced by lex luger
How u gon disrespect the gangster
I might just shoot at your uber
Apply pressure to da pack
Nigga I ain't cooking noodles
Hang wit all pitbulls these niggas hang out wit poodles
Heard he flexin heard he stuntin so you know I gotta move em
Da folks say hol on the block I had to get it by myself
A lot a gas a lot of Molly I keep guns pace by my belt
If a nigga think he cool bet this bullet make him melt
Close mouths don't get fed told your bitch to help herself
Niggas outchea snitching on God I won't say nothing
Trap house jumping junkies keep on running
I done seen niggas switch up over a woman
Swerve em it ain't nothing the loyalty make it something
Shooters hopping out with the 40 on they hip
Everybody around me serving zips and maybe bricks
I don't you so don't f*cking around wit me
Who goin shoot first it might be a murder scene
Who gon shoot first I let these tec squirt
Ima expert at letting guns work
I gotta lotta money from my scale and my stove
If he ain't go to jail den da nigga prolly told
I done kick a couple niggas dope
But I won't tell a soul
Have these niggas talking ganster all these niggas ho's
Talking being (??) And selling drugs
I even robbed some stoves Niggas think Im lying nigga just go ask my folks
Put his lil ass out his misery
Run down with heavy artillery
Trappin out largo wit PBG
All dese keys ain't not symphony
I punish the p*ssy she fearing me
I hope out the jeep buss some 223's
Im f*cking they hoes so they envy me
The clippers real long like a centipede
Pop me a bottle more energy
Pouring the more my remedy
Berretta 45 that's my mini me
Bullet pull up in a finite
(???) be cooking got recipes
Heaven or hell your destiny
Wildin out ain't no checkin me
Ridin round with that check on me
Pull up on blocks like aye
They know I got that cake
Bitches on me cus they know I got that money
Straight drop molly turn you to a mummy
Came along way from trae 5's now I got onions
Now I got onions my trap be bunkin
My trap be ju-ju-ju-ju-jumpin my shit be jumpin
My phone be jumpin
Bitches on my line yea they straight gunkin
But I ont love em I just f*ck em
f*ck em

I just f*ckem
I just f*ck em? After we f*ck em what we do bro?
Nigga yea we duck em

I be wit lions you be with rats
Lil D gon get his ass
Q Da Fool really play with bats
You know the gang came to pop some tags
Send my young niggas on his ass
We get the drugs and the mask
If I go broke I put on the mask
Trust me I won't spear my last

GANG GANG GANGG GANG GANG

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