Trap Queen Songtext
von Fetty Wap

RGF productions
Remy Boyz, yah-ah
1738, ayy

I′m like "Hey, what's up? Hello"
Seen your pretty ass soon as you came in the door (yeah)
I just wanna chill, got a sack for us to roll (yeah)
Married to the money, introduced her to my stove
Showed her how to whip it, and now she remixing for low (yeah)

She my trap queen, let her hit the bando (yeah)
We be counting up, watch how far them bands go (yeah)
We just set a goal, talking matching Lambos
At 56 a gram, five a 100 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


And I get high with my baby (my baby)
I just left the mall, I'm getting fly with my baby, yeah
And I can ride with my baby (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 getting fly with my baby, yeah
And I can ride with my baby
I be in the kitchen cooking pies

I′m like, "Hey, what′s up? Hello"
I hit the strip with my trap queen, 'cause all we know is bands
I just might snatch up a ′Rari and buy my boo a Lamb'
I might just snatch her a necklace, drop a couple on a ring
She ain′t wanting for nothing because I got her everything

It's big ZooWap from the bando, remind me where I can′t go
Remy Boyz got the stamp though, count up hella them bands though
Boy, how far can your bands go? Fetty Wap, I'm living 50 thousand K
How I stand though, if you checking for my pockets, I'm like

And I get high with my baby (my baby)
I just left the mall, I′m getting fly with my baby, yeah
And I can ride with my baby (my baby)
I be in the kitchen cooking pies with my baby, yeah


And I can ride with my baby (my baby)
I just left the mall, I′m getting fly with my baby, yeah
And I can ride with my baby (my baby)
I be in the kitchen cooking pies

I'm like, "Hey, what′s up? Hello"
Seen your pretty ass soon as you came in the door (the door)
I just wanna chill, got a sack for us to roll (to roll)
Married to the money, introduced her to my stove (my stove)
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
56 a gram, five a 100 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

I be smoking dope, and you know Backwoods what I roll
Remy Boy, Fetty eating shit up, that′s fosho
I'll run in your house, then I′ll fuck your hoe
'Cause Remy Boyz or nothing, Re-Re-Remy BoyZ or nothing, yah

Yeah, you hear my boy
Sounding like a zillion bucks on a track
I got whatever on my boy, whatever
Put your money where your mouth is

Money on the wood make the game go good
Money out of sight cause fights
Put up or shut up, huh?
Nitt Da Gritt, huh, RGF Productions

Squad