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Ya Boy Ju - Strap (feat. Y.P.C.C) Lyrics



Ya Boy Ju - Strap (feat. Y.P.C.C) Lyrics




These pussy ass niggaz just talking shit
Wit a sledge hammer couldn't off a brick
Ye'aint built for this, so just miss me bitch
Wit all dat dope boy talk ain't moving shit
J's out here freebasing, cocaine white as shoe laces
Yeah we tote den tools, it ain't no secret, like free masons
None of these niggaz know my name, trigger finger need Lidocaine
Yeah we hustle rocks boy, round here we call dem dice games
Waiting on dem phone calls
Got bitches bagging up wit no bra
F*ckin wit my money, put yo hands up like it's roll call
Gotta baby K, wit a rubber grip
Glock 40 extended clip
With a crimson trace red laser on it, believe me boy i don't miss
I aint sane got screws loose, my bitch tote a deuce deuce
My shotgun riding shotty with a loud pack fat as bruce bruce
And if you trapped slippin in the trap
Just pray to god all they want is racks
Cuz if they put one in yo f*ckin hat
Its game game over aint no coming back

Don't get trapped slippin in the trap, boy without ya strap
You don't wanna end up leaning wit ya insides in ya lap
These some thug niggaz, trill niggaz well connected drug dealers
They don't give a f*ck, you best protect the ones you love
Don't get trapped slippin in the trap, boy without ya strap
You don't wanna end up leaning wit ya insides in ya lap
These some thug niggaz, trill niggaz well connected drug dealers
They don't give a f*ck, you best protect the ones you love nigga
[ Correct these Lyrics ]

[ Correct these Lyrics ]

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These pussy ass niggaz just talking shit
Wit a sledge hammer couldn't off a brick
Ye'aint built for this, so just miss me bitch
Wit all dat dope boy talk ain't moving shit
J's out here freebasing, cocaine white as shoe laces
Yeah we tote den tools, it ain't no secret, like free masons
None of these niggaz know my name, trigger finger need Lidocaine
Yeah we hustle rocks boy, round here we call dem dice games
Waiting on dem phone calls
Got bitches bagging up wit no bra
F*ckin wit my money, put yo hands up like it's roll call
Gotta baby K, wit a rubber grip
Glock 40 extended clip
With a crimson trace red laser on it, believe me boy i don't miss
I aint sane got screws loose, my bitch tote a deuce deuce
My shotgun riding shotty with a loud pack fat as bruce bruce
And if you trapped slippin in the trap
Just pray to god all they want is racks
Cuz if they put one in yo f*ckin hat
Its game game over aint no coming back

Don't get trapped slippin in the trap, boy without ya strap
You don't wanna end up leaning wit ya insides in ya lap
These some thug niggaz, trill niggaz well connected drug dealers
They don't give a f*ck, you best protect the ones you love
Don't get trapped slippin in the trap, boy without ya strap
You don't wanna end up leaning wit ya insides in ya lap
These some thug niggaz, trill niggaz well connected drug dealers
They don't give a f*ck, you best protect the ones you love nigga
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Bobby Robinson, Julius Cunningham, King Cunningham
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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