[Intro: Trippie Redd]
TraphouseRyan
You ain't bool, uh
You ain't bool, uh
You ain't bool, uh
Yeah
TraphouseRyan tight as shit, my n***a

[Chorus: Trippie Redd]
Hold up, ayy, you can't bool with us, no-oh (Yeah)
(You can't, you can't, you can't bool, you can't, you can't bool)
Ayy, you can't bool with us, no-oh (Yeah)
(You can't bool, you can't bool, you ain't bool, you ain't bool)
Hold up, you can't bool with us, no-oh
(You can't bool with, you ain't, you ain't bool, you ain't, you ain't)
Uh, uh, you can't bool with us, no-oh
(You can't bool, you can't, you can't)

[Verse 1: Mozzy]
Oil in the Phantom, double digits in the blammer
Blickys over jammers, bitch I do that shit on camera
Cookie package when I'm landin', in Atlanta smokin' good
On the hood I came from nothin', n***as blew up off a jugg
All my uncle 'n 'em the plug, used to bag up fifty dubs
I'm addicted to these drugs, body itchin' off the mud
I'm outchere tweakin' with my thugs, n***as kill you over crumbs
Grab the cherry handkerchief, my jit fillin' up a drum
Fuck you talkin' 'bout it, Mozzy get it poppin' in these slums
Popular with these pistols, shottas pop you up for nothin'
Nookie hundreds I'm just thumbin', multiplyin' blue bundles
N***a promise not to fumble, get money, remain humble
[Chorus: Trippie Redd]
Hold up, ayy, you can't bool with us, no-oh (Yeah)
(You can't, you can't, you can't bool, you can't, you can't bool)
Ayy, you can't bool with us, no-oh (Yeah)
(You can't bool, you can't bool, you ain't bool, you ain't bool)
Hold up, you can't bool with us, no-oh
(You can't bool with, you ain't, you ain't bool, you ain't, you ain't)
Uh, uh, you can't bool with us, no-oh
(You can't bool, you can't, you can't)

[Verse 2: Chris King]
I be fuckin' up the highway, I been grindin' for some months
I be rollin' blunts and poppin' pills 'cause I do what I want
And I know your bitch been on my line but I will not confront
And she know that I been gettin' all of my shit from the jump
Ayy-oh-ayy-oh, tell you what the hood like baby
Make sure you roll my Backwoods tight baby
I be sippin' on the lean, act good now ready
Smokin' on the dope, that ayy-oh-ayy-oh
Hopin' that a bitch don't get out of pocket
Before a young n***a have to go and call up Rocket
He tell me mash on it, get to pimpin' and poppin'
And fuckin' up the penthouse, we was runnin' the lobby instead
All these n***as runnin' mad at your bread
Guillotine with these rapper's ass, off with they head
Everybody wanna win but everybody act scared
Don't be hittin' up my line, do you fuck with the feds?
I be sippin' on drink 'til I flatline, fishscale, the Benz back tied
These old rappers sound mad tired, her pussy wet, it get baptized, whoa
[Chorus: Trippie Redd & Chris King]
Hold up, ayy (Snotty), you can't bool with us, no-oh (Yeah)
(You can't, you can't, you can't bool, you can't, you can't bool)
Ayy, you can't bool with us, no-oh (Yeah)
(You can't bool, you can't bool, you ain't bool, you ain't bool)
Hold up, you can't bool with us, no-oh
(You can't bool with, you ain't, you ain't bool, you ain't, you ain't)
Uh, uh, you can't bool with us, no-oh
(You can't bool, you can't, you can't)

[Verse 3: YG]
You can't bool with us, you ain't bool enough
You ain't movin' nothin', you ain't shootin' nothin'
You ain't toolied up
Bitch I'm coogied up, my bitch bougie as fuck, fuck
She only doin' Uber Vista, XL Uber truck (Yeah)
JP fitted, be havin' Bar Town to Lenox
My video shoots be like Piru conventions
Can't bool, ain't no convincin', you don't know 'bout Missy's Kitchen
N***as' fingers wasn't twisted, n***as' pistols wasn't whistlin'
Never dough, you wasn't whippin', you was scared, you kept bitchin'
But now you want to bool to look bool, n***a, you trippin'
They see the diamonds glistin', they know we fuckin' bitches
They know we got the juice, whatever we say n***as gon' listen (Yeah)
T's, P's, and B's, oh my, come clean, we slidin' on God
Twenty on his head, n***a, why not? I'm the n***a with the bag on 400 block
T's, P's, and B's, oh my, come clean, we slidin' on God
Twenty on his head, n***a, why not? I'm the n***a with the bag on 400 block
[Chorus: Trippie Redd & Chris King]
Hold up, ayy (Snotty), you can't bool with us, no-oh (Yeah)
(You can't, you can't, you can't bool, you can't, you can't bool)
Ayy, you can't bool with us, no-oh (Yeah)
(You can't bool, you can't bool, you ain't bool, you ain't bool)
Hold up, you can't bool with us, no-oh
(You can't bool with, you ain't, you ain't bool, you ain't, you ain't)
Uh, uh, you can't bool with us, no-oh
(You can't bool, you can't, you can't)