Trouble – Uh Huh Lyrics

Uh Huh Lyrics By Trouble Ft. 2 Chainz

[Intro: Young Scooter] (ATL Jacob, ATL Jacob)

[Chorus: Trouble] Quarter mil’ on ice, we call that bling-bling, uh-huh
Runnin’ up these racks on all you green beans, uh-huh
Foreigns in the bricks look like a dream team, uh-huh
Rich, still on your list, I told you one thing, uh-huh
Spoil my bit*h, let’s get lit, type of sh*t I’m on my own
Teach my clique, know the hit, type of sh*t I’m on
Take some, Troub, let’s get lit, type of sh*t I’m on
Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

 

[Verse 1: Trouble] Yeah, [?][0:36] go dumb, [?] fully numb
Yeah, still totin’ that gun like he on the run
Run, run, run [?] run, [?] run
Yeah, might chase your boyfriend ’bout you, B!tch, [?] Yeah, I drop that d**k, she said, “You hell with it”
I bought her Chanel shoes to match Chanel with it (Chanel, Chanel)
She [?] snow in the ‘partment to never go tell niqqas (Never go tell)
I f**ked this lil’ ho and she sent her lil’ buddy to sell with us
You ain’t sh!t poppin’
You ain’t [?] Bit*h, what’s popin’?
This bit*h c*cky
Wrist get Follies
Lit like Scottie
Whoever gettin’ the pills in college, hmm (Skoob)

 

[Chorus: Trouble] Quarter mil’ on ice, we call that bling-bling, uh-huh
Runnin’ up these racks on all you green beans, uh-huh
Foreigns in the bricks look like a dream team, uh-huh
Rich, still on your list, I told you one thing, uh-huh
Spoil my bit*h, let’s get lit, type of sh*t I’m on my own
Teach my clique, know the hit, type of sh*t I’m on
Take some, Troub, let’s get lit, type of sh*t I’m on
Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh

 

[Verse 2: 2 Chainz] Cuban link on top of a Cuban link
‘Nother Cuban link, pu**y pink, bon appétit (Uh)
Come with me, you better not stink, I’ll find you a sink (Uh, uh)
You think you can fvck with this flow, lil’ ni**a, then load up a beat
Code of the streets, I live that sh!t, you feel that sh!t (You feel it)
They bring me whips, I don’t go to no dealership (Nah)
When I met the plug, tell me, where the f**k was you? (Was you?)
Partner had that dogfood, yabba-dabba-doo (Yabba-dabba-doo)
Big boy rider (Yeah), drip designer (Drip)
Draw down on him (Baow), I’ll outline him (Yeah)
Southside with me (South), the whole Al-Qaeda (Qaeda)
Sell a niqqa Donald (Tell him), Duct Tape flour ’em

 

[Chorus: Trouble] Quarter mil’ on ice, we call that bling-bling, uh-huh
Runnin’ up these racks on all you green beans, uh-huh
Foreigns in the bricks look like a dream team, uh-huh
Rich, still on your list, I told you one thing, uh-huh
Spoil my bit*h, let’s get lit, type of sh*t I’m on my own
Teach my clique, know the hit, type of sh*t I’m on
Take some, Troub, let’s get lit, type of sh*t I’m on
Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh