Pour an 8th, that's a dirty Fanta
That's what I call a Tropicana
Take the blow, hold them at ransom
That's what I call a trap anthem
This is the real trap anthem
Fuck a bad bitch in a Phantom
Fuck a rich bitch in the bathroom
Eyy, this is the real trap anthem
Swagging on these hoes
Leave these bitches with the dogs
All my niggas in the room
And we finna fuck them all
Bout to hit a Marty Baller
Tell these bitches to bring the sauce
Pockets fat, Ricky Ross
Feelin' like I am the boss
Yeah I'm driving the Porsche
I could be flying a coupe
I could be flying the Honda
Nigga I'm swaggin' on you
Check how I rap in the booth
I'm letting the animal loose
I'm feelin' like I'm the nigga that could kill it
Just don't let it happen to you
I'm been in and out of the country
I've been chasing all the money
You know I came from nothing
And the bando still bunkin'
I keep the banana for monkeys
If I see 12 on the block then we runnin'
The trap is a jungle, no fumblin'
If I see fences, my nigga, I'm jumpin'
This the trap anthem
Migo's, A$AP propaganda
You know we handsome
Your pocket got cancer
Turn the Ritz to Airbnb
She a dirty dancer
We're fuckin' up that powder
Then fuck Mr. Arm & Hammer
Then make a movie
My nigga pulling up with Uzi's
So don't pursue me
I got more gold than Shaka Zulu
You cannot sue me
I pay my lawyer, he a Jew-y
They try to chew me
That balling nigga tried to do me
Said I influence, the children listen to my music
I told 'em prove it
Told me some shit and I refuse it
I'm in the kitchen whippin'
You might think I'm barbecuin'
(whippin,' whippin')