Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Trophy Room, artist - Statik Selektah. Album song Lucky 7, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 06.07.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Duck Down, Showoff
Song language: English
The Trophy Room |
I’m on my Stan Phil, little stubborn to say the least |
Know I stand still, no budgin' and no crease |
Know the plan still, it’s turn 1 into 5 |
You literally see the double start to comin' alive |
Come alive like heart rates, followed by a car chase |
Chris Rock selfies with a top 5 arms race |
Moncler skullies pulled over like cover ups |
On the up and up, all the bottoms all Balmain |
So even a robbery is expensive |
Fly guy etiquette, my niggas get extensive |
Abide by peddle, a homage from off the benches |
And find mine buried in solemnly by the trenches |
Bed-Stuy's version of Nas, no mirage |
Freeze y’all on speed dials, the murder squads |
From where the arms echo like they hear the falsetto |
While I’m in here with a Mimi, forreal’ll hold a rod |
That’s like 3 lines in one couplet |
So that’s 312 like I’m callin' Cabrini |
Or 23 on the Ouija, predicted the rings |
And bein' fitted for rings is the only thing we in touch with |
Shit I’m just tryna fill a trophy room |
I’m just tryna fill a trophy room |
Until it’s no mothafuckin' room left |
Shit I’m just tryna fill a trophy room |
Everything just feels so perfect |
I’m on top of the world |
Top of the world |
On top of the world |
Closet full of kicks, the lot is full of whips |
Sippin' nothin' but the finest bottles of the Myx |
Tryna see it all 'fore I lie up in a ditch |
No takin' it with me, fuck depositing my chips |
They bite a nigga’s dick |
Cause when I get bored I take a model for a trip |
But go dine up in the Ritz |
Why would I hide it if I’m rich? |
I’ma show off |
Forreal, why you think Statik signed me to the clique? |
Fuck you, pay me, least I said it to 'em nicely |
Hate me, I reflect 'em, sendin' miss precisely |
We put them grands in Jacksons to the safe |
Cause of Washingtons, we spendin' them with wifey |
Remember that? |
Thought you seen the end of that |
But we carry tradition, what would be the sense in that? |
Take though from Ea$y, might as well send it back |
Got goons everywhere, where you gon' spend it at? |
I’m done with the scramblin', pack handlin' |
Shook the Ds like big titty bitch dancin' |
If I get my chance in, I’m advancin' |
For the clique, kill shit like Charles and get my mans in |
You heard? |
But I’m just tryna fill the trophy room |
Said I’m just tryna fill the trophy room |
'Til I can’t step foot up in that bitch, forreal |
I’m just tryna fill the trophy room |
Everything just feels so perfect |
I’m on top of the world |
Top of the world |
On top of the world |
This is beautiful, ain’t it? |
All these feelings of nostalgia ain’t new to you, ain’t it? |
I did this shit already, my niggas, viewing is tainted |
But watch I still kill it all through whatever arrangements |
Got a shot, long range, Danny Ainge 'em |
I can’t blame 'em, I transport the message like Jason Statham |
Sleep is minimal, perspiration, elevated |
Rippin' shit easy like perforation |
Soon they gon' hold for investigation |
More soul than your grandma cookin' |
I wonder, got 'em hooked like I know what you did |
Last summer, it’s a bummer tryna step to me |
Bein' black right now, stressin' me |
I’ll shoot the sheriff and the deputy |
Smokin' mad weed so this shit do not get the best of me |
Stirrin' up your mental currents, word, I got the recipe |
Herbs, you just speakin', man, I’m more show and prove |
No jewelry, stack my gold in my trophy room |
On top of the world |
It’s funny how things change |
When you came from nothin' |
Now the world knows your name |
It feels so good to be livin' this life |
Cause we worked so hard for what we want, right |
Everything just feels so perfect |
I’m on top of the world |
Top of the world |
On top of the world |
Bars! |
What’s goin' on? |
Drop the beat! |
I need a beat! |
Fuck it! |
No beat, acapella |
Lookin' at some Jordans, where’s the fuckin' Pippins? |
Age be comin' in the booth, you know I’m straight spittin' |
With the soundproof linens, comin' through, gettin' it |
Martha Stewart… shit am I rappin' like RiFF RAFF right now? |
Laughter |
Larry Bird shoes, goin' through ballin' |