Post Me Dead In The Trap lyrics

[Hook]
They like, “Neph, leave that street sh*t alone”
b*tch, I got good licks and three different phones
Talkin’ all that Whaaa—get gone
n*gga nervous, he don’t know what type of time I’m on
At the window, hand-in-hand, I get them hammers gone
Get a 31 gone, no matter what kind of phone
I done ran up 12,000 on Obama phone
I got different b*tches on my di*k and hearing cold
Yeah, I told her, “You ain’t grindin’, b*tch, get out”
You ain’t at the round table, b*tch, you gotta sit out
She like, “Neph, my mama right here, don’t pull them pills out”
I’m like, “Girl, your auntiе right there, I got thesе deals out”
Where Stewart and cars here, it’s a pus*y house
They look like Backpack Boys—yeah, cookie house
But it ain’t no weed in this b*tch, it’s a cookie house
31 grand, perfect circle—it’s a cookie house​

[Verse 1]
Auntie like, “Where the hell you get that wrist from?”
Switch on the Glock—they like, “Where you get that glick from?”
They wanna f*ck my b*tch like Big Pun
Broke boy ridin’ with an ounce in a pound bag
n*gga, I don’t smoke no damn mid—this that za’ pack
Pulled up so damn fresh, they like, “Where your stylist at?”
I can’t trust my mama, ’cause I think that she might set me up
I can’t trust my brother, ’cause I think that he might set me up
Jealousy—that’s why the good die
He won’t take sh*t from nobody—he a good guy
Bend the corner, jump out on the stain—that was good times
All them damn war stories—boy tellin’ good lies
Auntie like, “Where that last batch?”—that’s the good kind
b*tch talkin’ ’bout, “I’m the only one”—she tellin’ good lies
Drop a b*tch off in that 4-0, Sport Plus
You ain’t spend no money on this hit—then shut the f*ck up​
[Hook]
They like, “Neph, leave that street sh*t alone”
b*tch, I got good licks and three different phones
Talkin’ all that Whaaa—get gone
n*gga nervous, he don’t know what type of time I’m on
At the window, hand-in-hand, I get them hammers gone
Get a 31 gone, no matter what kind of phone
I done ran up 12,000 on an Obama phone
I got different b*tches on my di*k and hearing cold
Yeah, I told her, “You ain’t grindin’, b*tch, get out”
You ain’t at the round table, b*tch, you gotta sit out
She like, “Neph, my mama right here, don’t pull them pills out”
I’m like, “Girl, your auntie right there, I got these deals out”
Where Stewart and cars here, it’s a pus*y house
They look like Backpack Boys—yeah, cookie house
But it ain’t no weed in this b*tch, it’s a cookie house
31 grand, perfect circle—it’s a cookie house