Entrapreneur Lyrics
Central CeeD’you know what?
The trap’s still running
It’s never turning off
It’s a different product, same hustle mentality
The only difference is
You pay taxes on the invest contra capital
We put the ‘trap’ in ‘entrapreneur’
We was flying up O with white, was building lines, now it’s clothing lines
I sell tees and my dawg sell T’s 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 supplies
Trap-trap house in the woods, where the bando’s haunted, it’s supernatural, poltergeist
Witnessed things that I wished I didn’t, like crackheads overdose then die
Bad B’s curving the kid back then, when I weren’t so lit, I was broke them times
Bitch, would you ride on the back of the bus? What about on the front of a stolen bike?
Soho, pitching coke to the gay men, I’ll serve anyone, I got an 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 cah they got ocean eyes
Set up a shop, then it’s open 24 hours, we don’t have a closing time
We put the ‘trap’ in ‘entrapreneur’
All of the time that we spent in the field
Would’ve thought that I got me a ballon d’or
I’m stacking now, dropping a bag in Dior
Went from a Toyota Yaris to Urus
I still got the same work rate as before (Work rate as before)
Two years that I ain’t been home
Seven hundred and thirty days on tour
It was Nokia ringtones, picking up phones, no private calls, now it’s microphones
I think that I’ve got bipolar disorder, the way that I’m going through highs and lows
Insta full up of IG models and back in the day, I would Skype these hoes
My girl try to hack my iCloud, when I log in, gotta hide my code
Tryna get in through face recognition when I was asleep, and my eyes were closed
Huh, if she ain’t got nothing 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 chances are slim of me dying old
I won’t lie, it’s me or dem, slime shit, I’ma wipe his nose
Unbanking packs and touching faeces, I was OT, you would find it gross
Now it’s 5-star hotels, Michelin star dining, I might raise a toast
New generation will die for clout, they’ll do anything for a viral post
We put the ‘trap’ in ‘entrapreneur’
All of the time that we spent in the field
Would’ve thought that I got me a ballon d’or
I’m stacking now, dropping a bag in Dior
Went from a Toyota Yaris to Urus
I still got the same work rate as before (Work rate as before)
Two years that I ain’t been home
Seven hundred and thirty days on tour