[Verse 1: Certified Trapper]
N***a hatin' on me 'cause I knocked his bitch
Wide grin with this auto fully Drac', you n***as not on shit
Spendin' all my credit card, n***a, I'm on my role model shit
Man, I just need some Wocky, fuck about a gold bottle, bitch
N***a hatin' on me 'cause I knocked his bitch
Wide grin with this auto fully Drac', you n***as not on shit
Spendin' all my credit card, n***a, I'm on my role model shit
Man, I just need some Wocky, fuck about a gold bottle, bitch
I just need some Wocky, fuck about a gold bottle, bitch
Ayy, you ain't even know I got smack, on my Rocco shit
Bitch, you ain't even know I got back, fuck a Pota', bitch
Fuck my whole career, I'll slide and then fry your shit
He ain't hurt nobody, that n***a not on shit
Yeah, I got the hoes on my body, bitch apocalypse
Smoke a n***a, call the fuckin' pack zotty
It ain't a time that I let shit stop me
I'll drink some Wocky, fuck about that gold bottle, bitch
On Explore pagе, lookin' at this old model bitch
Sneak dissin' me on thе issue, oh, that's a bitch
Brick after brick after brick, my El Chapo shit

[Verse 2: BLP Kosher]
Spin ASAP, rocky road on some Flacko shit
Trapper got a fully, that's a hungry hippopotamus
My eyes land on an opp, I'm fuckin' up the road, no Providence
I make the chopper twerk, bottoms up until it's bottomless
He an opp, I'll make him sit down, I watch the opposite
The opps airborne, I made 'em fly away, Lenny Kravitz
Ever since I started, it's been crunch time, Chris Travis
Tossed a gun inside the North Atlantic like I never had it
All they do is tell tales and tuck 'em too, Peter Rabbit
She named my D James, when she comes around, it harden
He bustin' out the whip, them boys rude, I beg your pardon
I'll put a bag on your head, you drive a hard bargain
Livin' life like la vida loca, I'm not Ricky Martin
She said, "Jit, you him," but I'm a dreidel, those are not the pronouns
Me and Mo recordin' in your city, we ain't signed to Motown
She gon' make it boom-de-clap-de-clap, she do the Hoedown Throwdown
Bitch, I feel like Kesha, yelling, "Timber," it's about to go down
This shit get deep, leave 'em purple, I want smoke up on the water
Finally, I got the drop and I'm about to meet my stalker
I'm in the trees, I'm makin' sure that they get low like Will's daughter
I dropped a bag in Boca, I don't know the value of a dollar
And she gon' make it clap like them beats from Milwaukee
I made a mill', you the feds, grab a walkie-talkie
It's spelled the same, for Pete's sake, I'm sippin' sake
They done kicked me out the Wharf, now I'm fuckin' up the Roxy
Salty-ass jit, that boy a saltine cracker
Omega-3 rifle up in the 37 Raptor
You could call it, "Kosher Certified," but I be with them smackers
Mix the song and bounce that shit real quick for me, I'm 'bout to send it back to Trapper