Menace & Chevy Jones — Traphouse (feat. 211 & Chevy Jones)

You are now rocking with the 704 DJ.
Day 1.
This is serious.
This is what I do, time nothing in the summer.
If it ain't about money, man, you ain't saying nothing.
And you may catch me OT trying to flip though.
You run up, say hello to my pistol.
I rock it up, chop it up, and try to move some.
I hit the stash, grab the bag, gotta do some.
And once I get it, I'ma flip it, stack it up, and some.
I'm 'bout my money, man, 'bout my money, man.
Plus 101, that you a double up a trap and a gun.
Go hard on these niggas, come second to none.
Treat rap like the dope game, got them all shook up.
The ice cream man, you can say I got the hook up.
Shit get rough, I'ma serve a nigga cook up.
Put that on the turf and I'll never blow the hood up.
Yeah, you know I bang what I bleed in.
Trap star, I'm the weed man, sweet man.
Cop in California, wrap it and I throw it.
Catch it out of town, touchdown, T Owens.
I talk big money, and I can back it up.
Bust it all the way down, then I bag it up.
Yeah, cashing in, pulling racks out.
Glass house, bunked in front of the trap house.
Hundred in the carpets just in case they rob.
Never clocks out, I stay on my job.
This is what I do, time nothing in the summer.
If it ain't about money, man, you ain't saying nothing.
And you may catch me OT trying to flip though.
You run up, say hello to my pistol.
I rock it up, chop it up, and try to move some.
I hit the stash, grab the bag, gotta do some.
And once I get it, I'ma flip it, stack it up, and some.
I'm 'bout my money, man, 'bout my money, man, yeah.
Shit, I'm 'bout my motherfucking paper.
I ain't saying shit if it ain't about paper.
A lot of niggas claim real, but they really haters.
Gangsta from my Philly, fitted to my chuck tapes.
Big chain on my neck, screaming out,
"Fuck haters." 28 on my truck when I'm on my hi-haters.
And all I do is get it, nigga, why hate us?
My whole clique ball in Blackwater the greatest, nigga.
Couldn't fade us in the motherfucking barbershop.
Catch you anywhere, get your bitch or you bored with shop.
I was hotter than a den on a Sunday.
Now I'm in Triple C's when I'm yelling out,
"Gunplay." And Monday it's the same old shit.
Same trap house, nothing moving but the bricks.
You better listen up, because this real shit.
So listen to things that'll get your ass hit the limits.
This is what I do, time nothing in the summer.
If it ain't about money, man, you ain't saying nothing.
And you may catch me OT trying to flip though.
You run up, say hello to my pistol.
I rock it up, chop it up, and try to move some.
I hit the stash, grab the bag, gotta do some.
And once I get it, I'ma flip it, stack it up, and some.
I'm 'bout my money, man.
'Bout my money, man.