Trapped Out lyrics

[Verse 1: Quilly]
Uh, f*ck it, I'm right in
Black out in the booth but in the streets, I get that white in
Ball like OKC, thunder and lightning
Get a rush from hustlin', every trap, I get excited
Hit it wit the Ice, Minnesota, n*gga, Viking
You know I'm on that yellow and that Purple like the Vikings
They gon' catch you slippin' out there wit your ass out
Rule 1: never fall asleep in the crack house
Killed em wit the "New Wave 4", now I'm rapped out
If you ever go to jail, stand tall and max out
Can't do nothin' bout the paper work, all the facts out
All my n*ggas' trapped out, all my b*tches trapped out
Them hoes come wit the money, don't worry bout em
All these b*tches in my phone, I don't care about em
I ball, I never said that was my b*tch playa
We in the car, mellow, you a bench playa
I Jeremy Lin up for the night but then I switch playa
Throw alley oops to my yougin', eat a di*k playa
I swear I never snitch playa, I'm doin' time for my dawgs
Mike vick, playa
These n*ggas' rats, I expose dudes, I put you in today's paper
Now you're old news
Pillow talkin' bout your man, that's what hoes do
I was wearing gucci belts in 02
My connect come through in a sled, bring that snow through
I could prolly moonwalk, b*tch, I'm so cool
True Religion, Billie Jeans, I dress so smooth
I tell Billie Jean to beat it, b*tch; Pro tools
You walk around wit a sh*t bag, you're bows out
Hit a n*gga wit that whistle till' he foul out
You be cuffin' hoes till' the trial out, you got them b*tches on lock
Let em wild out
I got the keys to your crib so now that's our house
No draws, free ball; balls out
I used to have butterfly jaws out
Now, I only got the butter and the soft out
Bagged up, 8:00 at some jawn's house
I swear to god, 10:30, I was all out
Real n*ggas' in the building, kick the frauds out
You wit a 100 n*ggas', Quilly bring them broads out
The block doin' numbers so the cops want us
She don't even got my number, I call from block numbers
Your b*tch thirsty, she a di*k drinker
She saw the pinky and gave me brain, she a big thinker
All my n*ggas' piff smokers, smokers cliffhangers
All b*tches bad, Stacey Dash and they're clueless
You know that I do this, True Religion like a Buddhist
I ain't bring no rappers wit me, just me and my shooters
Minus the auto-tune, can't you see that I'm the future?
I run the Pj's, the b*tches call me "Supa"
And, I got them b*tches in my crib; Mr. Cooper
Have my n*ggas' sittin' on your crib like a Roofer
And, I got them b*tches goin' crazy like a Roofie
My 7s sag, give em different flavors like a Coogi
If you play your role, you could get inside my movie
But, if you act Hollywood, then I'ma act Bouji