Kitchen - Woop, Hollywood

There’s way too many straps off in my kitchen

There’s way too many slides off in my kitchen

I had to move my stove out my kitchen

Just to keep these niggas out my kitchen

There’s way to many straps off in my livin' room

Birds everywhere smells like chicken fumes

I don’t think you pussy, boy you perfume

I just pull up on him, an let bullets vroom

I hit so many plates off in my trap spot

All I know is juug til' I cap out

All I know is get it til' the work gone

Nigga I been robbin' since them chirp phones

I reunite with gangsters at the jack spot

All white mollies got my block hot

4 in the mornin' and they still soft

All they know is 'Woop we need that ready rock'

Still in the kitchen water whippin'

700 ways that’s how we livin'

You can catch a hot one in the kitchen

I can’t let em' disrespect my kitchen

There’s way too many straps off in my kitchen

There’s way too many slides off in my kitchen

I had to move my stove out my kitchen

Just to keep these niggas out my kitchen

I’m exactly what the streets been missin'

Every time I talk they pay attention

Man don’t disrespect me in my kitchen

I swear you can catch one in the kitchen

A lot of water whippin' in the kitchen

A lot of niggas die behind them pigeons

Right wrist look like a bag of piffin

Left wrist look like I’m truly gettin' it

A lot of kush jars off in my cabinets

Real trap niggas be attached to bricks

Woop gang niggas got me jackin' shit

Molly on your bitch like its a mack and shit

Ain’t never hard to find, I’m where that curve at

That used to be where niggas sell them birds at

Now we scramblin' for that pack, like we ain’t hear of sacks

And niggas steady callin' for that purp bag

We still be takin' shit, that how we came up

Niggas hollin' Woop, we switched the name up

Niggas totin' pistols, gettin' flamed up

Just for trying to disrespect my kitchen cuh

Got too much work in my trap, too many straps in my kitchen

I smoke jars jars to the face, when FedEx bring shipments

True Religions got bands in em', Ziplocs got grams in em'

Chicken coop that’s a van

Wit birds stuffed and crammed in em'

I sell drugs where the killers be, and i really hang with robbers

And these belt blocks and mollies, all came from robbin'

High risk, high profit, just to live that high life

I’m cloud surfin on kush clouds, I’m really livin' that cloud life

Shoutout to my shooters, one time for my robbers

Big bank take little bank, so i fed his ass to my partners

Stay the fuck out my kitchen, keep your hands off my stove

And if you pull up with that sack, my whole team on go

I only deal with the plug, cuz the middle man trying to make some

I only deal with the plug, cuz in the end ima take some

Put the pounds in the trash can

Don’t fuck with my dishes

An if it ain’t bout business

Get the fuck out my kitchen