Back to the previous page

Artist: French Montana f/ Birdman, Rick Ross
Album:  Excuse My French
Song:   Trap House
Typed by: Cedmaster3K

[Intro: Birdman] + (Ross) + {French}
(You know my sneakers foreign, nigga)
Yeah {what you heard~!}
Bigger than life {SKRRT~! Cookin' up!}
Big money poppin' boy {cookin' up!}
Yeah {c-c-c-c-c-c-cookin' up!}

[Chorus: French Montana]
(YEEEAH) They talkin' 'bout me in the trap house (what you heard)
They askin' 'bout me in the trap house (what you heard)
They talkin' 'bout me in the trap house (what you heard)
They askin' 'bout me in the trap house (YEEEAH)
What the bid'ness is? Stay up out of mine (hah)
What the bid'ness is? Stay up out of mine (hah)
They talkin' 'bout me in the trap house (what you heard?)
They askin' 'bout me in the trap house (hah)

[Interlude: French Montana]
...Trap house (hah)
...Trap house (hah)

[French Montana]
{Coke Boy, baby!} Niggas mad that I went and got my visa (hah)
Thirty on my wrist, had to roll my sleeve up (WHOOP)
Damn right we rockin' (rockin'), damn right we coppin' (coppin')
Fly cars we whippin' (whippin'), the fuck boys be plottin' (plottin')
Purple Jolly Ranchers (Ranchers), chain couple advances (bling)
Wrist and watch blang (bling), blue and white like Kansas (hah)
Right side turn wheel; talk kush, we burn fields (WHOOP)
Swore I seen the devil on my first mill
Had to kill the watch, nigga -- time served
I'm talking +9,000 Watts+, nigga -- you ain't heard?

[Chorus] + [Interlude]

[Rick Ross]
You know my wardrobe foreign, nigga {M-M-M-Maybach Music}
You know my watch foreign, nigga...

I talk money, some say I speak foreign (HUH)
Whip foreign, watch foreign, bitch foreign (HUH)
Told her to dance, and that bitch kept goin'
Cake, cake, cake, cake -- just throw it
I'm a boss, motherfucker; pull up to the club
Just to floss, motherfucker, on the salt, motherfucker
Rich motherfucker, all the whips foreign
Take your bitch, motherfucker; suck a dick, motherfucker
I'm the shit, motherfucker -- time to get up off the toilet
This is it, motherfucker; thirty-six, motherfucker
And you a bitch, motherfucker; all your bitches know it
Hit a lick, motherfucker; took a brick, motherfucker


Rich Gang, BLAAAT~!
Hundred bricks, nigga, like a hundred chips
Hundred whips, nigga, another hundred clips
Overseas, nigga, on some hundred shit
Flip a hundred things, moving on a hundred whips
All the mils counted, peep how it feels
Up top, nigga, doing big deals
Big chips, nigga, knowing how to kill
On the field, nigga, do this shit and do it real
Another flip, nigga, stash the cash
We do this, nothing but some money on me
Another blast, nigga -- pussy
Curve, swerve, hit 'em with that chopper on me
Eleven hundred, flipped eleven hundred
Coke Boys in this bitch, move eleven hundred
Got them whole things in the sand
Uptown, filthy rich, Rich Gang


[Outro: French Montana]
Yeah, yeah
The hardest part about the bid'ness
is mindin' your own - welcome to the room
All the whisperin' stop; but you know?
Nosey people get in the face, of real niggas gettin' money
Ya feel me? They askin' 'bout me in the trap house
E'ry block... Baby whattup? Rosay
They talkin' 'bout us in the trap house...