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letra de woulda coulda shoulda - babytron & certified trapper

[intro: babytron]
nyah, nyah
huh, huh
hey
(meech)

[verse: babytron & certified trapper]
russian creams and natural leafs, i don’t smoke grape
zottarooni x the wax, i don’t smoke bape
i’ve been tryna catch this hat for like four days
i got boy and the girl, they want both ways
all this ice, i might cause a f-ckin’ snow day
think he f-ckin’ with us, then his name must be josé
it’s no way
bum-ass n-gga, i’m the brick man
i’ma c-ck it back, shoot it if my bl!ck jam
all i do is cl!ck one to call my f-ckin’ hitman
bust-down doo-doo t-rd, b-tch, i’m the sh-t man
pockets lookin’ stuffed, could fit another ten
yeah, them n-ggas cool, we don’t f-ck with them
you got lil’ boy chicken, this some f-ckin’ ham
you might catch me out in tokyo, just uppin’ yen
glock 32 shots, i might glitch a ten
all these f-ckin’ missed calls, think i’m servin’ meds
monkey on my hoodie, but i’m not the middle man
furry marnie vest, it’s lookin’ like a skittles bag
you see this glock with the switch, i’m finna get your ass
come through crawlin’ through your bushes, it’ll get like that
ooh, how this b-tch do the splits like that?
i think she want my kids, like why she kiss the d-ck like that?
all that f-ckin’ ass, why you sit like that?
spend fifty up in johnny, i’ll get right back
hittin’ all them l!cks, you gon’ die or get a kit like that
i just bit a fifteen, that b-tch bit right back
don’t try to rob me, you get k!lled like that
i’ma put it to his head and hit his hat
i’m the type to stand out while i’m sittin’ back
lamb’ trucks nowadays, we used to trip in tracks
i just f-cked your lil’ b-tch, here your kitten back
you ain’t got no real food, you just hittin’ ‘lac
ghost glockie, i ain’t never took a pistol class
everybody should’ve wore a mask, the whole kitchen smacked
the hoods, the juggs, the would’ves, the should’ves, the could’ves
we play a cold game, you could never f-ck with us
i be with the pushers, whole time, i was with some whoopers
all i gotta do is give it up to bin and he gon’ he gon’ cook ’em
i don’t even gotta pop the bean, i’ma whoop him
you can give me twenty, n-gga, ten, i’ma cook him
how the f-ck is he a rapper? who the f-ck gon’ book him?
throwin’ ooks behind the back, i’ma f-ck around, no-look ’em
unky got the babies in, who you think gon’ push ’em?
unky got the babies in, who you think gon’ whoop ’em?
5.56 hit his spinal cord, f-ck up his footin’
whippin’ fetty in the pot, it’s lookin’ like some pudding
hit that n-gga fetty with some wap, have that n-gga shooken (meech)
two glocks, switchy, ridin’ hot (hot)

- babytron certified trapper

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