Don’t Tell Me (Trinidadian James) Lyrics – Nicholas Craven & Boldy James

Don’t Tell Me (Trinidadian James) Lyrics

[Intro]
Where we at?
Jack God
Let’s get it

[Verse 1]
How they mad what I became? Got a bag and I ain’t change
Lot of slander on my name, had to stand up for the gang
227, 50/50, lot of animals untamed
Choppin’ pieces off the bricky, Kung Fu Panda with the ‘caine
We kicked up a lot of dust, had to send shit up in flames
Fuck whoever ain’t with us, it’s whatever, that’s on Shane
I owe you, it’s only us, I’ma forever stay my clan
Shot the food out on the bus, shot the meth out on the train
Count blues out in my truck, it’s like a rest stop in my brain
If I shoot, you better duck and hold your head down when I aim
Put the press down on a lame, shot to the Chi’ and found a lane
Me and Swallie on the cray and then were fed bound with Dewayne
Turned a poodle to a mutt, lot of pets I had to train
I fought robberies with Russ, got off on murders with Jermaine
Now it’s forties in my buffs, thirty-pointers in my chain
Quick to turn a nigga hut into the currency exchange
Where we at with it?

[Chorus]
Two-way, deuce, siete
Rose duele look like a bouquet, invisible set
I flower set the presi’ from all this merch we pressin’
Yacht-Master too just to make a good first impression
The watch, it’s Mr. 227
All of these niggas snitchin’, shit, I’m like, “Who you tellin’?”
I don’t fuck with no snitches, so don’t tell me who tellin’
You tellin’ me who doin’ what, that’s the same thing as you snitchin’
Trinidad James

[Verse 2]
Came up from sellin’ drugs
Now a nigga shinin’ like the Michael Jackson glitter glove
Only built for busted cubanas, long live Montana
Duke and Bop, you know it’s on for life, never left me stranded
Second-hand smoke with them, I wouldn’t highly recommend
Can’t pull over with this, them bitches gotta catch me red-handed
They say, “James, he the realest, never claimed to be the richest”
Came through AP, was the freshest, never played a pair of Dickie’s
Safe to say we eat the most, this the heavyweight division
80K just for a tennis set, don’t play no racquetball
We killin’ everything, they play with us, we gon head-tap ’em all
Rob a nigga for four 9s hid in the attic wall
Don’t wanna hear ’bout none of your issue, ain’t no rats involved
Knew right from the gate he was gon’ trade ’cause I’m the jack of all
Pullin’ out a ace of spade in a flyin’ saucer
Burnin’ thunder with a bitch as thick as Summer Walker

[Chorus]
Two-way, deuce, siete
Rose duele look like a bouquet, invisible set
I flower set the presi’ from all this merch we pressin’
Yacht-Master too just to make a good first impression
The watch, it’s Mr. 227
All of these niggas snitchin’, shit, I’m like, “Who you tellin’?”
I don’t fuck with no snitches, so don’t tell me who tellin’
You tellin’ me who doin’ what, that’s the same thing as you snitchin’
Trinidad James