Baked In The Trap

rap, Playful trap-country hybrid with female and male vocals trading lines; twangy plucks over dark, airy pads and a skittering, uptempo beat, Verses are dense, fast, and hectic, with double-time rap cadences and cheeky, explicit punchlines; hook opens wider with sing-rap harmonies and a simple, sticky melody, 808s hit hard under gritty, detuned bells; ad-libs pepper the gaps, Final chorus adds stacked call-and-response and extra high-hats for a manic, sugar-rush climax, female vocals, beats, country

[Intro]
Fresh tray
Hot pan
Flour on the counter
Twerkin’ to the fan (hey!)

[Verse 1]
She got brownie mix on her crop top
Gold whisk swingin’ like a ragtop
Spotify loud, hips on laptop
Timer on three, but we don’t stop

Chocolate chip drip on her French tip
Tongue on the spoon, that’s a field trip
He like “save me one”
She like “boy, you wish”

Fast hands in the bag, that’s a quick lick
White dust puff up when the bass hit
Grandma’s recipe, but she real thick
Apron say “kiss the cook,” so he risk it (mm)

[Chorus]
We bakin’ cookies in the trap house kitchen
Half for the block, other half for the sinnin’
Sugar on her lips, dough all in her denim
If you want a taste, better put some feelin’ in ’em

Yeah, we bakin’ cookies, got the whole place steamin’
Devil in the batter, Sunday-morning steeple dreamin’
She the snack, I’m the pan, we both overheatin’
If you take a bite, better know you ain’t leavin’ (uh)

[Verse 2]
He got one mitt on, other hand smack
Playful little pop on her flour-white back
She roll that dough like she roll that jack
Circle after circle, yeah, she bring it right back

Sprinkles on the sheet like a bankroll
She bend down low, that’s a cake roll
He like “let me clean that bowl”
She like “you ain’t even hit your goal”

Fast rap, fast whisk, that’s a speed bake
Dark swirl runnin’ through like a milkshake
She say “pull up late for the taste test”
He say “I’ma need that plate and the waitress”

[Bridge]
[Beat drops to airy pads, whispery ad-libs]
Turn that oven up
Turn that body down
Timer go ding
We don’t hear a sound

One more batch
One more round (one more)
Midnight tray
Sun come down

2440/7500

[Intro] Fresh tray Hot pan Flour on the counter Twerkin’ to the fan (hey!) [Verse 1] She got brownie mix on her crop top Gold whisk swingin’ like a ragtop Spotify loud, hips on laptop Timer on three, but we don’t stop Chocolate chip drip on her French tip Tongue on the spoon, that’s a field trip He like “save me one” She like “boy, you wish” Fast hands in the bag, that’s a quick lick White dust puff up when the bass hit Grandma’s recipe, but she real thick Apron say “kiss the cook,” so he risk it (mm) [Chorus] We bakin’ cookies in the trap house kitchen Half for the block, other half for the sinnin’ Sugar on her lips, dough all in her denim If you want a taste, better put some feelin’ in ’em Yeah, we bakin’ cookies, got the whole place steamin’ Devil in the batter, Sunday-morning steeple dreamin’ She the snack, I’m the pan, we both overheatin’ If you take a bite, better know you ain’t leavin’ (uh) [Verse 2] He got one mitt on, other hand smack Playful little pop on her flour-white back She roll that dough like she roll that jack Circle after circle, yeah, she bring it right back Sprinkles on the sheet like a bankroll She bend down low, that’s a cake roll He like “let me clean that bowl” She like “you ain’t even hit your goal” Fast rap, fast whisk, that’s a speed bake Dark swirl runnin’ through like a milkshake She say “pull up late for the taste test” He say “I’ma need that plate and the waitress” [Chorus] We bakin’ cookies in the trap house kitchen Half for the block, other half for the sinnin’ Sugar on her lips, dough all in her denim If you want a taste, better put some feelin’ in ’em Yeah, we bakin’ cookies, got the whole place steamin’ Devil in the batter, Sunday-morning steeple dreamin’ She the snack, I’m the pan, we both overheatin’ If you take a bite, better know you ain’t leavin’ (hey) [Bridge] [Beat drops to airy pads, whispery ad-libs] Turn that oven up Turn that body down Timer go ding We don’t hear a sound One more batch One more round (one more) Midnight tray Sun come down [Chorus] We bakin’ cookies in the trap house kitchen Half for the block, other half for the sinnin’ Sugar on her lips, dough all in her denim If you want a taste, better put some feelin’ in ’em Yeah, we bakin’ cookies, got the whole place steamin’ Devil in the batter, Sunday-morning steeple dreamin’ She the snack, I’m the pan, we both overheatin’ If you take a bite, better know you ain’t leavin’ (ooh)

0/500