[Verse 1] Trap Lord in my belly, free my nigga Really Elijah smoking that smelly, ménage is in the telly Blind bitch name Shelly, dick under her belly I met that bitch at a fashion show, she was rocking Margiela I was with [?] rocking all that Versace Might be in there sailing smoking that Beijing Ten stacks in my pocket, for no reason I got it Fuck around and hit Sin City, tell that bitch to pop it What’s up with you and Purrp? I ain’t into all of that gossip He brought the funk into my crew, you gotta ask Rocky about it All I know is A$AP riding in them Maybachs 40. cal, we spray that, when AK brratt you take nap Oh, Lord, that Hood Pope – oh, Lord, that Trap Lord Why they call you Trap Lord? Cause you a rap Lord to my casket I ain’t bowing to no time, Hood Pope on my gold shine My dirty niggas wanna tote nine, but we talk rhyme I tell ‘em hold up