Who composed the song “Trap Money” by Gucci Mane?

The song “Trap Money” by Gucci Mane was composed by Aubrey Johnson, Daniel Johnson, Henry Zant, Kaimon Carwell, Radric Davis, Roderick Henderson.

Trap Money

Aubrey Johnson, Daniel Johnson, Henry Zant, Kaimon Carwell, Radric Davis, Roderick Henderson

I still got trap money (trap), extortion and rap money (rap)
If I'm bein' honest (I'm bein' honest)
Murder and love, keep it three hundred
Them members gon' die 'bout that money (gon' die 'bout that bread)
Runnin' with jackers (jackers), certified smacker (smacker)
Don't get wrapped like mummy (wrapped like mummy)
Addin' 'em up (addin' 'em)
Lay in your bushes, nigga, Monday through Sunday (Monday through Sunday)
King Crook, you a slime for nothin' (mask down)
Shiesty'll be home 'fore the summer (free Shiesty)
Get up in line, you niggas be runners (get up in line)
Tryna book Crook better come with some commas (commas)
This shit better come up in bundles (in a pack)
Promotors be trippin', they lie, we go bonkers
Send a blitz too fast, all they know is thumpin' (get 'em, three hundred)
Three hundred through this shit, I ain't givin' my number

My head was hard as a bitch, so I went and got me a glizzy and put it to work
Ain't worried 'bout no nigga steppin' on me, he play wrong in this bitch and I'm uppin' it first
I don't need no switch, I can go spin with this semi' and make that bitch shoot like a burst
Headtap leave that bitch in a hearse, same nigga be tryna be friendly
Still be gettin' they ass taxed for a verse
Bitch, I'm big 26, I hop out with a stick, better stay out the way or get hit in the face
Ain't no competition with these niggas and I don't take 'em serious
When they look it's still shit like a race
Bad bitch gon' eat the dick off the rip
All these blues on a nigga, might think I'm a Crip
Catch 'em lackin', I'm uppin' that bitch off the hip
Throwin' fours 'til I die, nigga, shoutout to Flip (shoutout to Flip)

Record in New York, raised in Atlanta, but from Alabama (true)
From the six to the M, red tie like a mobster and moved to Miami (wow)
My bitch in a limit, my jit in a Porsche, you can't buy a Cameron (well, damn)
Mr. Davis, no Samy, new all white Bentley, yeah, that's for the nanny (granny)
So Icy the family, So Icy the gang, So Icy the mob (oS Icy)
So Icy the label, this ain't no façade, this shit like a job (ew workin')
When times was hard, we stole, we lied, we had to rob (facts)
Mama tried to tell me right from wrong, my head was hard (mama)

Potatoes on barrels, dent your shit in (troll)
In the spot you flexin', my lil' niggas run in (Run)
Crook shit, nigga, I'll turn it to a trend (turn this shit up)
Block hot, leave it runnin', snatch it again (What?)
Murder and love, that's what they spin (off the murder)
Headtap, headtap, burn 'em again (te amo)
Tryna boost the rank 'bout they man (Unconditional)
Opposition never win (frrt-frrt-frrt, get 'em smacked)
Nothin' but pans (rfrt), Drac' fully, F&N
Bend they block, nothin' but fans (bend 'em)
Tryna put somethin' in the wind (in the air)
Hawk down, get your mans (HDG)
1017 on my back, I don't bend (on my back)
Triple cross, for that 3 all in (that 3 on my chest, nigga)
Concrete, for the bricks locked in

I still got trap money, extortion and rap money, if I'm bein' honest
Murder and love, keep it three hundred, them members gon' die 'bout that money
Runnin' with jackers, certified smacker, don't get wrapped like mummy
Addin' 'em up, lay in your bushes, nigga, Monday through Sunday
King Crook, you a slime for nothin' (mask down)
Shiesty'll be home 'fore the summer
Get up in line, you niggas be runners
Tryna book Crook better come with some commas (commas)
This shit better come up in bundles
Promotors be trippin', they lie, we go bonkers
Send a blitz too fast, all they know is thunder
Three hundred through this shit, I ain't givin' my number

Gucci Mane

Trap Money

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