[Chorus: Trouble]
Bussin!
They all bussin for Trouble-Trouble
OG's, young n***as, n***as younger than them
Bussin!
They all bussin for Trouble-Trouble

[Verse 1: Trouble]
One thing I'll never understand is
How could a man be afraid of another man
Who bleed the same as you and I can
It's just with me you'll see more n***as than a NFL huddle
Grandmas, uncles, aunties, sisters,cousins and brothers
And they all bussin for Trouble
Younnguns going off straight yam like y'all ready to cut you
With a machete - fuck you! And any other n***a
Who sneak dissin get yo people missin
Don't want no noboby to be scared
Just be prepared
The situation goons go get your dimes, tell em do as I say
I said betta scream my name, pussy den tuck ya chain
And it's a shame, cause you thought it was just my youngins dat shoot
Surprised to see trouble was jumpin too (BUSSIN)

[Verse 2: Yo Gotti]
Any n***a go against the king
Kill a n***a by any means
N***a try to run but couldn't duck the beam
CMG n***a dats the team
Gunpowder, shells jump out, hit the ground
Pussy ass rappers keep talkin den man down
Duct tape, what up trouble, 100
Man they rap about it but none of these n***as done it
The hood, I'm from it
And if I catch a murder one, I'm runnin
You snitchin, I'm comin
What's a n***a with some money without a team
Pussy ass n***a ain't no real n***a gene
Gunplay, every time I step out on the scene
Yellow tape, n***as shouldn'ta never crossed the king
Murder rate, risin its the highest you ever scene
Funeral, pinch yoself, bitch this not a dream
And all I'm doin is bussin
[Chorus: Trouble]
Bussin!
They all bussin for Trouble-Trouble
OG's, young n***as, n***as younger than them
Bussin!
They all bussin for Trouble-Trouble

[Verse 3: Waka Flocka Flame]
It ain't nothin to me
Shit I get it done
Try to run pump to ya back like Bobby Johnson son
Ok, these n***as talkin murda
I'm the type to hit they mama wit the fuckin burner
Beat a bitch and call me Ike Turner
I'm from the Grove we get stripes if we burn ya
I earn ya that mean DOA
When the fo's pull up, they gon say flock don't play
Bussin, on that grove man they bussin
Upperdale, rex road man they bussin
I'm from Clayco n***a squad give the say so n***a
You ain't bout no murda you talkin out ya A-hole n***a

[Chorus: Trouble]
Bussin!
They all bussin for Trouble-Trouble
OG's, young n***as, n***as younger than them
Bussin!
They all bussin for Trouble-Trouble
[Verse 4: Trae Tha Truth]
They all bussin for Trae (4x)
OG's, young n***as, n***as than them
They all bussin for Trae (4x)
OG's, young n***as, n***as than them
Bussin
I bet they all bussin for this asshole
When it come to Houston I'm the king of the streets
In the bottom where n***as cash is low
I'll put ya in a box if ya don't get low
Fuck with me that's where ya ass will go
Tec-9's, AKs and Mac 9's in the back of the trunk finna crash ya door
Yeah bitch I might ride, wrap ya ass up
Bitch I'm for real, beat ya ass up
Duct tape ya face, stain ya ass up
Put ya in the trunk, bang ya ass up
I don't do the talking, bitch I'm a army
Hood Navy Seal, bet you can't harm me
Lookin for me bitch I'm in the back of the tank on swangas
I bet a muthafucka won't bomb me
I'll be damn if they stoppin this
H-town to A-town I'm hood wit it
For the n***as like to trap or try to bang
Real talk you can tell em I'm good wit it
Bring ya ass to the bottom of the city, bet you ain't gon make it up out it
Every n***a I know represent the same shit I do
Doin they biz get ya ass the fuck out
[Chorus: Trouble]
Bussin!
They all bussin for Trouble-Trouble
OG's, young n***as, n***as younger than them
Bussin!
They all bussin for Trouble-Trouble