Trap House (80 Gz)

[Chorus]

Chopper on the floor, pistol on the couch

Hood rich, so I never had a bank account (DJ motherfuckin' Rell)

Junkies goin' in, junkies goin' out

Made a hundred thou' in my trap house

Money kind of short, but we can work it out

Made a hundred thou' in my trap house

Bricks goin' in, bricks goin' out

Made a hundred thou' in my trap house (Trap-A-Holics)

[Verse]

I'm tired of sellin' bricks, I wanna go legit

I wonder, can I sell eleven mil' like 50 Cent?

'Cause platinum ain't enough, I got too many vices

I love to smoke weed, love to shoot dices

Say my lifestyle extravagant

I talk cash shit, bitches say I'm arrogant

Well, goddamn, Gucci cocky thеn

But at the same time, young hoеs be jockin' slim

"Gucci ain't shit," bitch, I beg your pardon?

I'm independent, but I'm ballin' like a major artist

I stay high like giraffe pussy

In my trap house smokin' Bubba—