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Credits
AUSFÜHRENDE KÜNSTLER:INNEN
NLE Choppa
Stimme und Gesang
Javar Rockamore
Programmierung
Keyz
Programmierung
Stonii
Programmierung
Rodney O & Joe Cooley
Sampling-Künstler:in
KOMPOSITION UND LIEDTEXT
Bobby Reese
Songwriter:in
Bryson Potts
Songwriter:in
Jeffrey Page
Songwriter:in
Joe Cooley
Songwriter:in
Jordan Houston
Songwriter:in
Patrick Houston
Songwriter:in
Paul Beauregard
Songwriter:in
Theodore Thomas
Songwriter:in
Rodney O
Songwriter:in
PRODUKTION UND TECHNIK
Tiernan Cranny
Mischtechnikerassistent:in
Chris Athens
Mastering-Ingenieur:in
Aaron Mattes
Mischtechniker:in
Javar Rockamore
Produzent:in
Keyz
Produzent:in
Stonii
Produzent:in
Timon Adams
Aufnahmeingenieur:in
Lyrics
Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh (T-t-t-t-t-think we found a loophole)
Mmm, uh, mmm, mmm
Fuck up in my trap
Who the fuck up in my trap?
Who the fuck up in my trap?
Who the fuck up in my trap?
Who the fuck is in my trap, man
Who the fuck, ayy (Ayy)
Who the fuck outside my trap?
Say you wanna cop a gram
Bitch, you better cop a pint, or an ounce, or a hail
He said he ain't tryna cop, rob his ass, strip him down
We gon' take his car, have him on the bus, the Greyhound
You don't have to be accurate when you got a 100 rounds
Bullets hit the back of his neck, put his face up in the ground
We got a 100 shots, I bet his body drop, I made a milli'
Servin' beef up in this bitch like Felix, shottas as we get to drop
Put one up in the head before I do that dirt, ain't got a cop
The choppa bullets rip the dread's bloods, leakin' on the locks
We shot at shit, you know I'm General
We don't care where you at? Bitch, you know we finish you
They say, "Lil Choppa bring what?", all them niggas know it's you
So, don't you hop up in my car
'Cause you know it's murder fool, yeah, yeah
Catch me in the trap wit' two Dracos up in my lap
And I got fiends runnin' out that want the crack like Bobby Brown
I had a shootout, seen his body drop
I can't lie, that shit was really fun
I don't know about you, thug
But I really love my guns
You see this .26? It got a switch and it can hold a drum
Play a Glizzy automatic, yeah, you know it's red rum
Tryna sell Choppa a strap? Ayy, he gon' take your gun
He seen me out and tried to give me dabs, I slapped him wit' my palm
I blow exotic, dope, exotic, gas you know it keep me calm (Ye, ye, ye)
We never stoppin', crashin' out until we see the police come
He seen me, got to shakin', so I know that nigga scared of us
Left blood up on the scene, but I don't think the scene was red enough
We spinned again, and dropped his body while I use the same gun
He ain't make it to the doctor, bitch it's DOA up in this gun
Did the drill, changed the barrel, ain't no case up on this gun
I dropped the opp, I made him twirl, it's ballerinas with this gun
Who the fuck outside my trap?
Say you wanna cop a gram
Bitch, you better cop a pint, or an ounce, or a hail
He said he ain't tryna cop, rob his ass, strip him down
We gon' take his car, have him on the bus, the Greyhound
You don't have to be accurate when you got a 100 rounds
Bullets hit the back of his neck
Put his face up in the ground, yeah, yeah
Nigga, NLE the Top Shotta
I've been a problem but I seen him through the dogs, bitch (Who?)
Huh, yeah, you know we on that shotta shit
And it ain't no politics, bruh, you get jumped quick
(Who the fuck is? Who the fuck is?)
Uh, ain't no cap
(Who the fuck is? Who the fuck is?)
(Fuck is, who the fuck is?)
Writer(s): Javar Rockamore, Robert Reese, Theodore Thomas, Bryson Potts, Ron Montgomery
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