Entrapreneur

Album: released as a single (2023)
Charted: 36
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  • Do you know what?
    The trap's still running, it's never turnin' off
    Different product, same hustle mentality
    The only difference is, you pay taxes on it and feds can't kick off your door
    (We put the trap in Entrapreneur)

    We was flyin' up O with white
    We was buildin' lines, now it's clothing lines
    I sell Tees and my darg tell Tees as well, but his ain't got no design
    One-eighty for the tracksuit, go somewhere else if it's overpriced
    New generation don't know how to trap
    'Cause they all getting high off their own supply
    Trap house in the woods where the bando's haunted
    It's supernatural poltergeist
    Witnessed things that I wish that I didn't, like crackheads overdose then die
    Bad Bs curvin' the kid back then when I weren't so lit, I was broke dem times
    Bitch, would you ride on the back of the bus?
    What about on the front of a stolen bike?
    Soho pitchin' Coke to the gay men, I'll serve anyone I got a open mind
    No complaints when it comes to the customer service, I pick up the phone polite
    See man fall in love with the white, Billie Eilish, cuh they got ocean eyes
    Set-up a shop, then it's open twenty-four hours, we don't have a closing time

    We put the trap in the Entrapreneur
    All of the time that we spent in the field, woulda thought that I got me Ballon d'Or
    I'm stackin', I'm droppin' a bag in Dior
    Went from a Toyota Yaris to a Urus, I still got the same work rate as before
    Two years that I ain't been home, seven-hundred and thirty days on tour

    It was Nokia ringtones, pickin' up phones
    No private calls, now it's microphones
    I think that I got bipolar disorder
    The way I'm going through highs and lows
    Insta' full up of IG models and back in the days
    I would Skype these hoes
    My girl try hack my iCloud, when I log in, gotta hide my code
    Tryna get in through face recognition
    When I was asleep, when my eyes were closed, huh
    If she ain't got nothin' to hide
    Might make her my wife, yeah, I might propose
    How many lies got told? Don't believe in the hype, it's false
    Bro died, he was still in his teens
    The chance is slim of me dyin' old
    I won't lie, it's me or them
    Slime shit, I'ma wipe his nose
    I'm bankin' packs and touchin' feces, I was OT, you would find it gross
    Now it's five-star hotels, Michelin-star dinin', I might rise a toast
    New generation would die for clout
    They'll do anything for a viral post

    We put the trap in the Entrapreneur
    All of the time we spent in the field, woulda thought that I got me Ballon d'Or
    I'm stackin', I'm droppin' a bag in Dior
    Went from a Toyota Yaris to Urus, I still got the same work rate as before
    Two years that I ain't been home, seven-hundred and thirty days on tour Writer/s: Caleb Edward Bryant, Christopher John Richardson, Oakley Caesar-Su
    Publisher: Songtrust Ave, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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