Trap Queen Freestyle - Intellectual

[Intro: Fetty Wap]

Remy Boyz, yeaahhhh

1738

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

Married to the money, introduced her to my stove

Showed her how to whip it, now she remixin' for low

She my trap queen, let her hit the bando

We be countin' up, watch how far them bands go

We just set a goal, talkin' matchin' Lambos

Got 50, 60 grand, 5 100 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

I just left the mall, I'm gettin' fly with my baby, yeaaahhh

And I can ride with my baby

I be in the kitchen cookin' pies with my baby, yeeaahhh

The Rollie rose gold

And the car, it needs help cause it's got suicide doors

And she keep the trap clean, cause she a trap queen

20 bands in some denim, we call 'em trap jeans

I'm like hey, wassup, hello, and then I'm like goodbye

When the pack be gettin' low, the plug on the way

He bringin' us another load

It's 64 a show and 750 for an O

And all my niggas hittas, they gon' let that pain go

They like "Gotti get money," I'm like, "How the fuck you know?"

Pull up in that Wraith, I gotta let that money show

My niggas in NY, they be fuckin' with the snow

My niggas in New Jersey, they know all about the blow

And I'm the trap king, nigga, plug goin' strong

The page is touchdown and my niggas goin' long

If you ain't gettin' money then you know your trap wrong

Old school flip, we call that shit a trap phone

And I get high with my baby

I just left the mall, I'm gettin' fly with my baby, yeaaahhh

And I can ride with my baby

I be in the kitchen cookin' pies with my baby, yeeaahhh