Trap Boomin lyrics

[Intro: Gucci Mane]
My trap beating harder than a bass drum(x3)

[Verse 1: Gucci Mane]
These b*tches eating pills like they jolly ranchers
She took a pill then turned into a belly dancer
I'm cooking up this dope with 2 f*cking bowls
I need an extra hand, I needs 3 extra stoves
I can make you dance, do an avalanche
It's your final chance, get your wedding bands
I keep that white girl like a white man
East Atlanta zone 6 you in trap land
My money got a vert, my sh*t jump out the gym
b*tches damn near break their neck, just too look at him
She don't really like me but she love my rims
Yellow Lamborghini same color my butter Tims

[Chorus: Gucci Mane]
My trap boomin' hard, b*tch I swear to God
My trap boomin' hard, b*tch I swear to God
My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom
My goons countin' money in the living room
My trap boomin' hard, b*tch I swear to God
My trap boomin' hard, b*tch I swear to God
My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom
My goons countin' money in the living room
[Verse 2: Rick Ross]
AR's and choppers ain't no ho n*ggas gonna stop us
Yo ol lady so proper look at that pus*y she poppin
I pull out the Rolls and make that top go to droppin
When I pull out my money
Even these ho n*ggas watchin
When I hit a lick it I bought a wingstop (Twenty of em)
I sprinkle lemon pepper in that re-rock
I took my time I had to build a fortress
Straight flossin and my closet look like Walter's
Step out the Benz, I got my Gucci skully on
Shout out my n*gga Gucci, know it money long
Got my bond money, I got my lawyer fee
Shout out the Brick Squad, my shoes are quarter key

[Chorus: Gucci Mane]
My trap boomin' hard, b*tch I swear to God
My trap boomin' hard, b*tch I swear to God
My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom
My goons countin' money in the living room
My trap boomin' hard, b*tch I swear to God
My trap boomin' hard, b*tch I swear to God
My trap boomin' harder than your trap boom
My goons countin' money in the living room