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fat trel - shhh (freestyle) lyrics

[intro: rick ross]
all i ever wanted was a kilo
till they my little n-gga with the rico
fat trel, maybach murda gang
mastermind, double m

[verse 1: fat trel]
n-gga tell me how you want it with a savage
it get crazy where i’m living it’s tragic
if you can take it from my pocket you can have it
you know i got a body bag in the trash
you know i got an old thot you can have
n-gga couldn’t f-ck my old b-tch
n-ggas couldn’t eat my old p-ssy
i’m in the kitchen i could tell you how the stove looking
n-gga all i really wanted was the pyrex
a couple hundred body sn-tchers in the projects
you know my plug stay connected like direct
i’m in miami my b-tches like “where lebron at?”
i finish f-cking her and finish like “where your mom at?”
in front the coppers i got choppers for the combat
couldn’t believe it my n-ggas say he was sellin’ grenades
keep bullsh-ttin’ and ima sit you where the bomb at
d.c. n-gga, sittin wrist whip dough
he ain’t know a chopper price get this low
see i cop em’ in atlanta bring em’ back to alabama avenue
and tell them n-ggas “come and get it let’s go”
fifty in the mac take em’ back to benning road
strippa b-tches in my kitchen with the semi’s on the floor
all i know i want him dead by tonight
with his head in his lap and his body at the light
purchase me some act and i’m a pour me some sprite
tell a b-tch keep counting till she get the count right
when a b-tch finish might purchase her a flight
might take her whole life
might f-ck her all night
right, you know i hate to say it twice
but you p-ssy -ss n-ggas ain’t bout that life
p-ssy -ss n-ggas ain’t bout that life
p-ssy -ss n-ggas ain’t bout that life

[hook]
talking ’bout you popping tags, n-gga you ain’t bought sh-t
talking bout a hunned bottles, n-gga you ain’t popped sh-t
all you talk nana clips, n-gga you ain’t shot sh-t
spending money on these hoes, n-gga you ain’t f-ck sh-t

[verse 2: tracy t]
my k!llas got shooters on shooters
my k!llas got shooters on shooters
my k!llas got shooters on shooters
bang bang bang bang bang bang
knock em down hundred rounds, lotta pounds, kilograms on the ave
how you want it? quarter thang, half thang, whole slab?
young atlanta n-gga pull a hammer on ya
pull up on a n-gga in a california
teach a lame how to flip a couple numbers
whole summer dope runners getting more commers
money got me geekin’, d-mn i need more
alejandro bringin’ in them truckloads
copy that, get racks, n-gga ten-four
choppa bullets just rip a n-gga head off
clip long as a little n-gga leg dawg
empty that and the barrel just smoke
closed casket, n-gga head open
peel the top back, yeah i’m in the foreign
wide body and it sittin’ on forgies
choppa kick like chuck norris
ralph lauren, my engine full of horses
aim game insane n-gga i’m a marksman
cocaine white y’all n-ggas flip porcelain
blow worth a fortune, million on the fortress
n-ggas totin’ ak’s like they glock 40’s

[verse 3: meek mill]
thirty in the clip catch the whole thing
feds know a n-gga by his whole name
shoot him in his head for his gold chain
you was running ball, we was sellin’ cocaine
talkin bout you buyin’ bricks, n-gga you ain’t got sh-t
we was sellin’ all them keys, we was like the locksmith
twenty-five hundred for the red bottoms
balmain five bands for the waist n-gga
i’m rollin’ through my city in a new rolls royce
cheif keef 300 for the wraith n-gga
a.k, s.k, h.k n-gga, three k’s like i hate n-ggas
and i’ll put you in your place n-gga
you got shoebox money i got a safe n-gga holdup

[verse 4: rick ross]
automatic pistol on a n-gga leather seat
see a bad b-tch she my jam of the week
all i ever wanted was a kilo
till they hit my little n-gga with the rico
b-tches lookin’ at me, keisha look at all this change
it’s the heart of war tour bus full of k’s
master p money i could pull up in a tank
c murda shooter know a pill on the way
still [?]
rich n-ggas coming through you broke n-ggas better move
at your front door got word you got work
3.5 for the key of the purp
now six figures for this fat n-ggas verse
all eyes on me as i’m walking through the church
prayin’ lord forgive me, 30 shots in the semi
i done paid all of my t-thes now it’s time to go and get it
my new plug don’t f-ck with the cut
my new b-tch gettin’ f-cked in the b-tt
ridin’ by the [?] see me sitting in the trunk
n-ggas say they coming threw but they see me strapped up, what
n-gga runnin’ in your house for the brown bag
feds wanna know how much in the brown bag
n-gga swinging that stick for the brown bag
your b-tch even saw my number on the brown bag
all i ever wanted was kilo
till they hit my lil’ woe with the rico
sippin’ on purp n-ggas still got a pint
still moving work n-gga ooh what night
ooh what a night, ooh what a night
post a picture of that p-ssy get 200 likes
200 likes all that b-tch getting from me is them 200 likes

- fat trel lyrics

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