Foreign Song Lyrics

IDK – Trippie Redd’s Freestyle Lyrics

IDK – Trippie Redd’s Freestyle Lyrics

IDK – Trippie Redd’s Freestyle Lyrics

Trippie Redd’s Freestyle Lyrics by IDK

[Intro – JFK]
I can give you some people that were some of my personal favorites that didn’t make it. In a lyricist lane I do like- I’m a fan of IDK and uh…

[Verse – IDK]
This next verse, these bars
Yeah, uh
I just realized that I’m a rich nigga
My momma and poppa never made six figures
By 2019, I’ll be at seven figures
This my moment of clarity, let me tell it jigga
I gave up liquor, I gave up smoking
Knowing that the green from being sober is way more potent
Now people poking noses in my business
Pinocchio and they lying, trying hard to figure out
Which ho I’m stroking to use their lotion
I don’t fuck bitches, I got a wife now
Young nigga, grown rich nigga lifestyle
I could line every rapper up right now
And fade ’em with the bars to make every one of ’em lie down
Sleep, Poké Flute couldn’t wake ’em up
Poke a stick at they body
Now po-po about to bring the cuts
Oh no, I’m ’bout to do a bid

Oh shit, they ’bout to free the kid
Killing bad rappers is legal across the nation, bitch
Die, die, die, die, die
And I say it with passion
Half these people talking shit don’t say shit
When you leave the Internet
And you just happen to see ’em in passing
It’s just harder to see them outside of the acting
It’s more harder to see them outside of the laughing
When they only with they friends and saying that your album trash
When right before they looked you in your face
And told you you were snapping
They the ones that stab your back in when they catch you lacking
They the ones that shouldn’t have been in the womb instead of napping

Capitalizing off of these niggas lacking, what the fuck happened?
Niggas turned to kingpins, Twitter fingers they get to tapping
Must’ve pushed the key under the tab, all your words is capping
Bitch, I am the captain
Bitch, I am the chief
Bitch, I am the priest when I wake
Bitch, you are deceased
Bitch, you are control, alt, delete
Bitch, be gone for me
Bitch, you need to think before you speak
Bitch, you came to someone’s
Bitch, you panic knowing I don’t need no XL stamp to excel

I just got 20 bands and transportation in a XL
To make them throw their hands up and scream my lyrics
Meanwhile, people talking
Got me asking “Where you at?” without a Nextel
No, for real, where you at? The internet still?
No, for real, where you at? Your mama crib still?
No for real, where you at?
My comment section using cracked iPhone 5Ss to hate my blessings
Wilding, click your page
All I see is, “This profile page is private”
With a profile picture of Michael Jordan’s face crying

Probably ’cause I’m balling like I’m Lebron and you retired
While a nigga still chasing them rings like Blac Chyna
No major labels, keeping up with niggas on major labels
When I sign, the label’s keeping up with me, you won’t be able
Eating at my table, you ain’t cool enough and that’s the lingo
Now I put the classmates that used to laugh up on my payroll
Ho, I think I’m better than Cole, better than Dot
Fuck a tweet, bitch I’m just as good as Biggie and Pac
R.I.P., this my Kodak, Lil Xan, and Yachty talk
Akademiks cover him, Adam 22 with the shots
Y’all ain’t got No Jumpers
Double entendre, double entendre

You ain’t catch it? Well, that’s your problem
This ain’t no dissing, this ain’t no hate
But keep it real, this is the Freshmen I didn’t make?
In other words, all of you rappers is just steak
When you falling off the bone of them charts, I’m eating your plate
You can’t put me in a class when I’m busy teaching ’em lessons
So next year, don’t even hit me to be a Freshmen
I’m gon’ fuck it up
Too many bodies, too many stretchers
Better buckle up
Too much gas and I’m in a Tesla
Test the ‘Rosa in my future, they sleeping

I got the rooster, they seated
I got the booster, I’m seeing over these losers
Please book me, Lollapalooza
I’m blowing, it’s like a tuba
I’d blow his head with a Ruger if he hot and can’t cool up
I’m blowing like I’m a cougar’s jaws, who’s involved?
Whose acoustics make it sound like he’s infused with Nas
Mixed with Gucci, cross him without a cross light
And you gon’ see the cross roads twice
Rest in Peace Phife
You gon’ see life, pass before you better be nice
‘Cause I will body everybody
If I see sight of a nigga that don’t even blink right
Shoutout YBN Cordae, IDK is my name
Hi, this Trippie verse, bye

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