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lirik lagu trippie drip - bandz

(verse)

i got bands in my pockets, b~tch, i’m bustin’ out the seams

red beam on the glock, turn his nightmare to a dream

sippin’ lean, feelin’ slow, but this choppa got a scream

i don’t do no talkin’, let that 30 intervene

i was thuggin’ in the cut, f~ck a class, i had a pole

told my mama pray for me, but i was tryna up the score

ain’t no love in these streets, b~tch, my heart turned cold

catch a opp lackin’ bad, he get smoked like a bowl

ridin’ ‘round with my k!llers, and we all got some felonies

ain’t no peace treatin’ sh~t, b~tch, we slide like the 70s
got your girl in my dms, tryna f~ck off the jealousy

but i’m married to this paper, blue strips is my legacy

i got shooters on payroll, got that check, now they eatin’

he was woofin’ on the ‘net, now his block out here grievin’

you ain’t ‘bout that action, boy, you cappin’ every weekend

i just made a hundred bands, and i ain’t even breathin’

(verse 2)

b~tch, i came up off a zip, now my wrist do the dash

every time i take a step, it’s a opp in the past

hollow tips in the mag, leave a f~ckboy gasped

say he real, but he fold — all that talk never last

in the trap with the gang, servin’ fiends through the back

mixin’ xans with the wock’, got me feelin’ detached

still posted on the 9, i ain’t never gon’ lack

if he slide, we gon’ slide, leave his whip lookin’ jacked

big bands in my jeans, make my pants sag low

b~tch, my gun got a switch, you can’t run from this smoke

diamonds hittin’ like they p~ssed, all my jewelry on glow

and i still got them shooters, they on go when i say go

⸻

(verse 3)

i got rich, now they hate, but they broke, that’s a fact

tryna beef over clout, but they ain’t built for the trap

he got hit, now he missin’, put his name on a hat

this ain’t nothin’ but a warning — next time, that’s a wrap

i don’t play with these lames, all my opps get exposed

hundred rounds in the drum, let it sing like it’s bose

lil’ freak on my line, tryna ride like a pro

but i just want the neck, then i’m back on the road

coupe matte black tint, ridin’ fast like i’m speed

in my city i’m a demon, they salute when they see

i got racks in my closet, i got guns where i sleep

tryna plot? you a goner — we don’t talk, we just creep

(verse 4)

i was raised in the jungle, where the feds don’t slide

either get it or you starve, b~tch, i hustle with pride

i ain’t never had a deal, but my wrist still glide

all this ice on my neck, got my opps tongue~tied

f~ck a diss, send a blitz, we don’t play with no words

all that cappin’ on the ’gram got his face on a shirt

tryna flex with that rental, boy, you still in the dirt

i make 10 off a flip, then i blow it like it’s cursed

- lirik lagu trippie drip

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