Fetty Wap – Trap Queen

Trap Queen lyrics

Remy Boyz, yah-ah

Seventeen Thirtyeight, ayy

I’m like “Hey, what’s up? Hello”

Seen your pretty eyes soon as you came in the door

I just wanna chill, got a sack for us to roll

Married to the money, introduced her to my stove

Showed her how to whip it, now she remixin’ for low

She my trap queen, let her hit the bando

We be countin’ up, watch how far them bands go

We just set a goal, talkin’ matchin’ Lambos

At fiftysix a gram, five a hundred grams though

Man, I swear I love her, how she work the damn pole

Hit the strip club, we be lettin’ bands go

Everybody hatin’, we just call them fans, though

In love with the money, I ain’t never lettin’ go

And I get high with my baby, baby

I just left the mall, I’m gettin’ fly with my baby, yeah

And I can ride with my baby, baby

I be in the kitchen cookin’ pies with my baby, yeah

And I can ride with my baby, baby

I just left the mall, I’m gettin’ fly with my baby, yeah

And I can ride with my baby, baby

I be in the kitchen cookin’ pies

I’m like, “Hey, what’s up? Hello”

...With my trap queen, ’cause all we know is bands

I just might snatch up a ’Rari and buy my boo a Lamb’

I just might snatch her a necklace, drop a couple on a ring

She ain’t wantin’ for nothin’ because I got her everything

It’s big ZooWap from the bando

Remind me where I can’t go

Remy Boyz got the stamp though

Count up hella them bands though

Boy, how far can your bands go?

Fetty Wap, I’m livin’ fifty thousand K how I stand though

If you checkin’ for my pockets I’m like…

And I get high with my baby, baby

I just left the mall, I’m gettin’ fly with my baby, yeah

And I can ride with my baby, baby

I be in the kitchen cookin’ pies with my baby, yeah

And I can ride with my baby, baby

I just left the mall, I’m gettin’ fly with my baby, yeah

And I can ride with my baby, baby

I be in the kitchen cookin’ pies

I’m like, “Hey, what’s up? Hello”

Seen yo pretty eyes soon as you came in the door

I just wanna chill, got a sack for us to roll

Married to the money, introduced her to my stove

Showed her how to whip it, now she remixin’ for low

She my trap queen, let her hit the bando

We be countin’ up, watch how far them bands go

We just set a goal, talkin’ matchin’ Lambos

At fiftysix a gram, five a hundred grams though

Man, I swear I love her how she work the damn pole

Hit the strip club, we be lettin’ bands go

Everybody hatin’, we just call them fans though

In love with the money, I ain’t never lettin’ go

I be smokin’ dope and you know Backwoods what I roll

Remy Boy, Fetty eatin’ shit up, that’s fo’ sho

I’ll run in yo’ house

Then I’ll fuck yo’ ho

Re-Remy Boyz or nothin’

Re-Re-Remy Boyz or nothin’, yeah