Lyrics Fetty Wap – Trap Queen (Remix)
Text:
Bridge:
I’m like hey, what’s up, hello
Seen yo pretty ass soon as you came in that door
I just wanna chill, got a sack for us to roll
Showed her how to whip it, now she remixing for low
She my trap queen, let her hit the bando
We be counting up, watch how far them bands go
We just set a goal, talking matching Lambos
Got 50, 60 grand, 500 grams though
Man, I swear I love her how she work the damn pole
Hit the strip club, we be letting bands go
Everybody hating, we just call them fans though
In love with the money, I ain’t never letting go
Chorus:
And I get high with my baby
I just left the mall, I’m getting fly with my baby, yeah
And I can ride with my baby
I be in the kitchen cooking pies with my baby, yeah
And I can ride with my baby
I just left the mall, I’m gettin’ fly with my baby, yeah
And I can ride with my baby
I be in the kitchen cooking pies with my baby
Verse 1 — Azealia:
She came whipping that cake for the hustle
Ey, she cooking that steak in the oven
Got by the side she can bake by the dozen
Give a shake to the bitches in front, it’s nothing
Lambo, bomb shell, miss who mix well
Fish scale, hopping out that V-12, this female
Queen flips, I’m on freak out
She sells seashells, hydro with that pyro
Getting money, getting it right though
That white flow
Light, though
Bobby got his eyes low
Ready for that pop, though
Is that so?
For that… flow
We got drugs, you got us
And I get high with my baby
I’m a be the one that will ride or die with ya baby
Yeah, and I’m a slide for ya baby
I just wanna get a number one with ya baby, yeah
Verse 2 — Gucci Mane:
Freshest nigga ever seen, pull up in a Limousine
Hit you with a magazine, now they play a violin
Took that bitch right from your team
I turned that bitch, she work for me
First they brought me 30 Gs
Next they brought me 30 keys
I risk my life for 30 bricks
I swear to God I’d do it again
Gucci mane the topping tree
Fuck I mean
I’m a keep my
Hit your spleen
Count my money with machine
Now you should know
Oh, now you should know
With a bad bitch and a grand national
It’s just politics, I’m taxing ya
You’re like a grilled cheese, nigga, I’m smashing ya
You just a daddy boy, nigga, so your dad beats ya
Macaroni, boy, you’re only blinding me
And I told the squad like every nigga signed to me
Chorus
Verse 3 — Quavo:
I’m like hey, what’s up, hello
I met you in the kitchen whipping in a bando
And I’m a need you to cook a baby
And when you cook that baby, I’m a buy you a Mercedes
Look at the thighs on her
Oh, I wanna ride on her
And we in a coupe going crazy
Go to Venezuela, that’s a getaway vacation
She the trap queen, she cook it
I’m the trap king, I bring the cash
You a pussy, so I took your bag
If you get money with your baby say yeah
Chorus