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Bool (feat. Chris King, YG & Mozzy)

Trippie Redd

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[Trippie Redd]
TraphouseRyan
Who they want?
Who they want?
Who they want?

Hold up, ayy, you can't bool with us, no-oh
Ayy, you can't bool with us, no-oh
Yeah, you can't bool with us, no-oh
Uh, uh, you can't bool with us, no-oh

[Mozzy]
Oil in the Fanta, double digits in the blammer
Blickys over jammers, bitch I do that shit on camera
Cookie package when I'm landin', in Atlanta smokin' good
On the hood I came from nothin', niggas blew up off a jugg
All my uncle 'n 'em the plug, used to bag up fifty dubs
I'm addicted to these drugs, body itchin' off the mud
I'm out here tweakin' with my thugs, niggas kill you over crumbs
Grab the cherry handkerchief, my jit fillin' up a drum
Fuck you talkin' 'bout it, Mozzy get it poppin' in these slums
Popular with these pistols, shottas pop you up for nothin'
Nookie hundreds I'm just thumbin', multiplyin' blue bundles
Nigga promise not to fumble, get money, remain humble

[Trippie Redd]
Hold up, ayy, you can't bool with us, no-oh
Ayy, you can't bool with us, no-oh
Yeah, you can't bool with us, no-oh
Uh, uh, you can't bool with us, no-oh

[Chris King]
I be fuckin' nigga our way, I be grindin', that's a must
I be rollin' blunts and poppin' pills 'cause I do what I want
And I know your bitch been on my line but I will not get front
And she know that I been gettin' all of my shit from the jump
Ayy-oh-ayy-oh, take you out the hood like veggie
Make sure you roll my Backwoods fat baby
Always sippin' on the lean, act good now ready
Smokin' on the dope, that ayy-oh-ayy-oh
Hopin' that a bitch don't get out of pocket
Before a young nigga have to go and call up Rocket
He tell me mash on it, get to pimpin' and poppin'
And fuckin' up the penthouse, we was runnin' the lobby instead
Oh you niggas runnin' out of your bread
Guillotine with these rapper's ass, off with they head
Everybody wanna win for it but everybody act scared
Don't be hittin' up my line, do you fuck with the feds?
I be sippin' on drink 'til I flatline, fishscale, the Benz back tied
These old rappers sound mad tired, her pussy wet, it get baptized, whoa

[Trippie Redd]
Hold up, snotty, you can't bool with us, no-oh
Ayy, you can't bool with us, no-oh
Yeah, you can't bool with us, no-oh
Uh, uh, you can't bool with us, no-oh

[YG]
You can't bool with us, you ain't bool enough
You ain't movin' nothin', you ain't shootin' nothin'
You ain't toolied up
Bitch I'm uchied up, my bitch bougie as fuck, fuck
She only doin' Uber Vista, XL Uber truck
JP fitted, be havin' Bar Town to Lenox
My video shoots be like Piru conventions
Can't bool, ain't no convincin', you don't know 'bout Missy's Kitchen
Niggas' fingers wasn't twisted, niggas' pistols wasn't whistlin'
Never dough, you wasn't whippin', you was scared, you kept bitchin'
But now you want to bool to look bool, nigga you trippin'
They see the diamonds glistin', they know we fuckin' bitches
They know we got the juice, whatever we say niggas gon' listen
T's, P's, and B's, oh my, come clean, we slidin' on God
Twenty on his head, nigga why not? I'm the nigga with the bag on 400 block
T's, P's, and B's, oh my, come clean, we slidin' on God
Twenty on his head, nigga why not? I'm the nigga with the bag on 400 block

[Trippie Redd]
Hold up, snotty, you can't bool with us, no-oh
Ayy, you can't bool with us, no-oh
Yeah, you can't bool with us, no-oh
Uh, uh, you can't bool with us, no-oh

Compositor Chris King/Mozzy/Trippie Redd/YG
Colaboración y revision:
  • João Prata

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