letra de country trap (prod. by yung teddy) - cool carl
[verse 1: cool carl]
from atl to thomasten, you know we all country
but one thing that’s in common is we keep the trap bunkin’
some of us finished school but we wasn’t tryna learn nothin’
just a ign’ant -ss n-gg- throw his dirt out in the public
see ratchet mean real so i ain’t tryna keep it tighted
a bad att-tude n-gg-, f-ck you if you don’t like me
my b-tch get outta line, imma check that hoe like some nike’s
and tell ’em f-ck a blank gimme 6 months right here on right street
i try to keep it kosher, but that’s just the way that i’m ill
a bottle for my sorrows everyday just how i live
i drink away my problems and i smoke away my defects
in the hood i’m like the man but to the whites i’m just a reject
so imma set my bridges just like the face skin of regis
so you can kiss my -ss every time you tell me you see it
got a platinum rap written that’s way too faded to see it
you can find my country -ss on sight of the house pen
chorus:
all my life all i wanted was this
give a f-ck about the fame, more concerned with bein’ rich
smoke a lotta loud, couple hoes on my d-ck
so i’m truly satisfied with this country trap sh-t
(x2)
[verse 2: yung bubba]
my name is yung bubba, imma country writin trapper
i get ’em from outta town then i bust em from out the raptor
my wife’s a didder too so all you gotta do is ask her
everybody smokes weed, i even sent it to my pastor
the police kick my dust so i stash them things over yonder
cocaine, pills, even the marijuaner
sometimes i even ponder
will they come cut me like sushi
i ain’t a fat white redneck whose favorite rapper is gucci
30 on my teeth, got my denims lookin’ like brand new
chewin’ on tobacco then after i’d eat some cashews
workin’ up my wrist, got me stackin’ up outta h-lla cream
i got that from the colors but i don’t know what the h-ll it mean
but i ain’t never quit and i’m makin’ too much money
i got like 30 kids, what i look like some type of dummy
shout outs to young perry, he really gave me a chance
f-ck these overalls, i’m finna go buy me some gucci pants
chorus:
all my life all i wanted was this
give a f-ck about the fame, more concerned with bein’ rich
smoke a lotta loud, couple hoes on my d-ck
so i’m truly satisfied with this country trap sh-t
(x2)
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