Correction Lyrics TROLLZ (Alternate Edition) by 6ix9ine

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Lyrics

(Sad Pony)

Watch, mhm, Glock, mhm, c*cked, mhm, got it, mhm
You need that? I got it, this cash, my pockets
That's cash, one hundred, you need that? I got it
Need it, got it, cash, pockets
Bands on me, sticks on me
You need that? I got it, this cash, my pockets
That's cash, one hundred, you need that?

Yeah, she like how I throw them racks, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Keep on throwin' that cash, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Keep on throwin' that ass, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Benz truck in the back, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

I know you don't like me, you wanna fight me
You don't want no problems at your party, don't invite me
I don't worry 'bout you n***as, please stop talking 'bout me
Always talking 'bout me 'cause you looking for the clouty
6ix-nina, the 9ine-nina
Riding in a two-seater with two niñas
Baby got that Aquafina, it's cocaina
Smoking on that OG reefer, no TMZ-a
Forgiatos on a Benz truck, make her friends f**k
Told her she could get Chanel if she let my friends f**k
Stars shining in the Rolls Royce, it got wrecked up
Wait, hold up, nah, I still don't give a f**k
Vroom, vroom, G5, vroom, vroom, we high
You the type of n***a that I never wanna be like
You a type of b*t*h that will never get a reply
Hi, hater, bye, hater, vroom

Boomin' at your man, now we boomin' at his matas
Split his f**king wig, bust it open like piñata
He tryna put it en mi culo, real fat gato
When he eat it, I tell him to squeeze it like a taco
All my n***as out of town, movin' all that blanco
I ain't letting up on you b*t*hes say, "Uncle"
Still the baddest b*t*h, quarantining en mi casa
Talking all that sh*t, but you b*t*hes ain't saying caca
Uh, a flock of birds, waka
All my b*t*hes pretty, juicy booty, pretty knockers
Yeah, eat it, Cookie Monster (Ooh)
He a slave to this pu**y, call me master
Real wet, I said, "Slurp it like it's pasta"
They get nervous when it's Nicki on the roster (Rrr)
Somebody usher this n***a into a clinic
My flow's still sick, I ain't talkin' a pandemic
I write my own lyrics, a lot of these b*t*hes gimmicks
They study Nicki style, now all of them wan' mimic
Talkin' 'bout snitches when it's snitches in your camp
Never stand alone, you always itchin' for a stamp
Me, I'm still money, wrists light up like a lamp
They gon' have to send they best fighter for the champ

Watch, mhm, Glock, mhm, c*cked, mhm, got it, mhm
If he like, I throw it fast, real fast, fast, fast
He singin' my old song, yellin', "Ass, ass, ass"
They be speedin', tryna beat me, then they crash, crash, crash
Still a hundred like the number on my dash, dash, dash

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