Gucci Jacket lyrics

[Intro]
Yung Lan on the track
How  you do that Cujo?
Figurez  made it
Yeah

[Chorus]
Trappin', cappin', super dabbin', bandin' out on Gucci jackets
Quater-pounder,  gun to pack, I stretched that sh*t like it's elastic
Boy,  you fake, I know you plastic, molly got her flabbergasted
Pull up with them .223 Russian AK's and automatics

[Post-Chorus]
pus*y  super soakin', splashin' water on her Gucci shirt (Oh my God)
[?] Smith & Wesson, packin' di*k inside the dirt (Oh my Lord)
Givenchy flavored drippin' on her Fear of God mini skirt (Yeah)
30. clip with forty Glocks and semi-automatic bursts

[Verse]
f*ck  all of that talkin' sh*t, you know lil' Melly shootin' first
Catch a n*gga slippin' and we bussin' at his ass on [?] (On [?])
.223's and MAC-11's, knock that boy right off the earth (The earth)
Yeah, that lil' boy a b*tch, get the percs
Yeah, that lil' boy a b*tch, get the percs (Get the percs)
Get a ho some molly, rockin', watch them b*tches smooch each other (Smooch each other)
Great young n*gga broke his pockets, shorter than some coochie cutters (Coochie cutter)
Mainly posin', pistol totin', keep a pocket full of Trojans (Full of Trojans)
pus*y soakin', buss it open, wetter than Pacific Ocean (Pacific Ocean)
Hit him wit' that F&N, now that boy body decomposin' (Mushroom)
Pop that pus*y for my clique and you might get some self promotion (Mhm)
Drako for all the commotion, up this b*tch wit' no emotion
Shorty got me overdosin', ride that di*k, a roller-coaster (Oh)
Roller-coaster that sh*t lil' b*tch (Lil' b*tch)
Pull up on him wit a stick (A stick)
Melly baby, hittin' licks (Them licks)
Run in yo' house wit' the sh*ts (The sh*ts)
Yeah, I ride wit' them young jits (Them jits)
You n*ggas be handin' out bricks? (Bricks)
You n*ggas shippin' them pounds? (Them pounds)
You n*ggas got Glocks wit' fifty rounds? (Rounds)
You got n*ggas, pull up, don't make a sound? (Lil' b*tch)
Get it, repeat, believe
He wanna [?] b*tch, I want Patek Philippe, yeah
I might just f*ck on a freak (Freak), I wanna get back to me
And I might get a jet-ski (Yeah)
b*tches so wet, need a jet-ski (Ski)
Yeah, that my b*tch bestie (Yes)
Hit that lil' b*tch with the SK (My b*tch)
Hit that lil' b*tch with the SK (The Glock)
Smoke his ass, just like a ashtray (Pssh)
Ooh, damn, ho (Damn, ho)
I swear to god I'm 'bout my fam' though (My fam' though)
Feel like [?], finna [?] a n*gga
Melly baby, tryna rap a n*gga (Huh)
I'ma scammer, I'ma robber and a motherf*ckin' trapper n*gga
No, I am not no trapper n*gga
And I think they just untapped a n*gga (Huh)
The feds in a young n*ggas phone (Phone)
These b*tches won't leave me alone ('Lone)
I think that she gone off Patrone
She gone off Patrone (Patrone)
What the f*ck goin' on? (On)
Let me get back inside my zone (My zone)
And tell that b*tch stop callin' my phone, yeah, my cellular
She eat the di*k up like a pizone, when she eat it up (Ooh-oh)
Go and suck it slow, I don't want that b*tch no mo'
Givenchy drippin' all over her sneakers (Huh)
Got molly and we whip it out the beaker (Out the beaker)
That's Melly jammin' through yo' f*ckin' speakers (Yeah it is)
My b*tch gon' set it out, no Queen Latifah (Yeah)
I'm smokin' now, I'm smokin' on that reefer (That loud)
You got it good, but I get the pound for cheaper (Okay)
We bust it down, we break the sh*t and then crumble it (Brumble it)
These n*ggas fallin', yeah, they crumblin'
[Chorus]
They trappin', cappin', super dabbin', bandin' out on Gucci jackets
Quater-pounder, gun to pack, I stretched that sh*t like it's elastic
Boy, you fake, I know you plastic, molly got her flabbergasted
Pull up with them .223 Russian AK's and automatics