DameDot - Trakhawk

(Ooh, Rell, Are you in the mafia?)
(Am I in the what?)
(Whatever you wanna call it Organized crime)
(I'm in the waste management business
Everybody
Immediately assumes you're mobbed up
It's a stereotype)

I'm doin' two hundred in a Trackhawk
Bro just spilled a whole zip of
Weed when I stabbed off
We pull up with all sticks like
We play for the Blackhawks
Ordered two McDoubles
I told 'em hold the Mac Sauce
Cause I'ma put my own fetti in 'em
I don't leave 'em raw

I don't want no petty ass order
I'ma need 'em all
Her tit's don't sit up like I like
She gon' need a bra
Bro just pulled up in a Scat'
Askin' me where it's at
Say yo' shooter on that
We'll turn him to a pack
My bitch from the 'Raq on a flat
Quake and rock, twist her Act'
My drink man he on deck
You CashApp'ed her yo last
Why the fuck you send her that?
We know it's 'bout some pape'
If we ever interact
If I don't like the ice cubes
You know I send 'em back
She suck it on sight when she see me
I just sit back
My whole outfit cost a kick knack
Four AR clips together like a Kit Kat
I got a baller belly not a six pack
If you ever up on me, I need my lick back
If she ever see me
You won't get yo' bitch back
Took two of mine, we forever gettin' getback
Watch how you run up
Bro'll throw a nigga shit back
Yo mans lookin' broke, nigga, fix that
Bitch, who you fuckin'? What you
Drive? Where you live at?
I know I can't see where yo' waist
But where yo' wrist at?
He ain't seen his ho in a minute
Where his bitch at? I came by myself the
Barbecue a nigga kickback
I don't need no intro
You hoes know I been that
I see you got the Dweller, DameDot
Where you get that?
Bitch how many vendors do you
Got on yo' WhatsApp?
I hit the bitch hard from the back
Make her cuss at me
She suck my dick so good
I ain't even wanna fuck after
I was so in shock
I forgot to even CashApp her
I told all my niggas 'bout the
Shit and we laughed at her cup so muddy
A sixteen of trench
Got the shit from Lil' Cuddy
All blues in my pocket but
I'm ridin' with my bloody
Got a text from a bad bitch
She told me slut her
How is I'm a democrat when
I'm goin' to the republic?
I just spent ten bands for nothin'
Bro'll blow yo' bitch ass in public
Beat the case like Gucci
Make you niggas change the subject skrrt
I'm doin' two hundred in a Trackhawk
Nigga, tell the truth, you ain't fell back
You fell off
If I sell a thousand of these vezzos
I'm well off yeah, but you know me
I'ma need a thousand more
I'm only gon' be here for a
Minute then I'm out the door
Walk in the mansion, let her count the pros

I'm doin' two hundred in a Trackhawk
Bro just spilled a whole zip of
Weed when I stabbed off
We pull up with all sticks like
We play for the Blackhawks
Ordered two McDoubles
I told 'em hold the Mac Sauce
'Cause I'ma put my own fetti in 'em
I don't leave 'em raw

Written by:
TYRELL HUMPHREY

Publisher:
Lyrics © Songtrust Ave

Lyrics powered by Lyric Find