Lyrics Trap Queen & King - Fetty

Remy Boyz, yeaahhhh
1738

I'm like "hey, what's up, hello"
Seen yo pretty ass soon as you came in that 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
Got 50, 60 grand, 5 100 grams though
Man, I swear I love her how she work the damn pole
Hit the strip club, we be letting bands go
Everybody hating, we just call them fans though
In love with the money, I ain't never letting go

And I get high with my baby
I just left the mall, I'm gettin' fly with my baby, yeaaahhh
And I can ride with my baby
I be in the kitchen cookin' pies with my baby, yeeaahhh

I'm like "hey, what's up, hello"
I met you in the kitchen whippin' in a bando
And Imma need you to cook a baby
And when you cook that baby, I'mma buy you a Mercedes
Look at the thighs on her
Oh, I wanna ride on her
And we in a coupe goin' crazy
Go to Venezuela, that's a getaway vacation
She the trap queen, she cook it
I'm the trap king, I bring the cash
You a pussy, so I took your bag
If you get money with your baby say "yeaaahhh