Don’t Trip Lyrics by Kay Flock (feat. Dougie B & Chii Wvttz)
Tell brodie, “Don’t run, don’t trip,” like, every time I see the opps broad day
(Don’t trip, grrah, grrah)
Don’t try to run, you can get hit, like, call up bro Kay, got a beam on his grip
(Grrah, grrah)
We spin, two-tones in the whip, like, gotta stay safe, bro can’t get clipped
(Grrah-grrah, boom)
Bullet holes feel like jelly, trip like YGK, y’all ain’t never do shit
(Gang, gang, gang, gang)
They scream, “Don’t run” (Don’t run)
And they saw when I was comin’, I yelled, “Don’t trip” (Don’t trip)
I’ma click, don’t miss (Don’t miss)
Spinnin’ them tints, them shits get flipped (That shit get flipped)
C-Hii said, “What you gon’ do with the witness?” (What?)
N****, they gettin’ clipped (N****, they gettin’ clipped)
N****, we spinnin’ on feet, we don’t need no V, so once I boom, better dip (Better dip)
I could call Gotti or Notti or Scottie (Scottie or Notti)
I call Gotti for addys and thotties (Facts)
I know Notti gon’ flock so I keep him beside me (Uh-huh)
I know Scottie still movin’ too hotty (Grrah-grrah)
He be fiendin’ and itchin’ to catch him a body (Like, grrah)
We gon’ post up and smoke in your lobby
He said, “Kay bro, I’m good, got this knock right beside me”
Dougie B like D Brady, no Tommy
Like, bro in the field tryna catch him a homi’ (Grrah-grrah)
We spinnin’, we smokin’ on Lotti (Gang, gang)
Red beam, green beam, we movin’ oppy (Look)
Like Swervo gon’ flock at your mommy (Your mommy)
We smokin’ that Dummy, that Matt and that Lotti (That Lotti)
Like, spin through the eight, they don’t try me
They chattin’ on the ‘Book and they sayin’ they gon’ find me (Find me)
Like, you could get left in the lobby (In the lobby)
Baby, we can be Whitney and Bobby (Lotti)
Or we can get greedy like Keisha and Tommy (Keisha)
With or without you, I’m catchin’ a body (Bitch)
She wanna fuck, don’t touch, just mozz’ me (Baow, baow, baow)
And these demons keep talkin’ to me
They like, “Dougie walk up, you can’t dump out the V” (Don’t dump)
Spin through the eight, put that boy on a tee
Hollows hit his silly, pop him, make him geek
I told Dougie just chill, don’t dump out that V, like
Park up the whip, let’s go creep (Let’s go creep)
Why they runnin’? Only let off three (Like, grrah)
Spot his man, he right across the street (Grrah, grrah)
Hollows hit his body, make him geek (Geek, like)
Make him tweak, like
Hit him across the street
Don’t got the gun, that’s on bro, he get beat, like