Will You Be My Trap Queen?

No.

The answer to that is no. I will not be your trap queen. While I do enjoy the musical stylings of Fetty Wap, it seems that his popularity has inspired a certain segment of the population to ask me and my friends to be their ‘trap queen,’ which, when asked, is probably something very ironic (seeing as it is mostly white middle class guys lobbying this proposition our way), but, hey, I’m from the Bay, so the answer is no. No, I will not commit felonies for you. No I will not risk prison time for ¬†you. No, I don’t think it’s cute that you’re appropriating drug dealer culture in order to seem cool in front of me and my friends, because, hey, guess what, I know some real ass trap queens, and…that shit is not pretty. It’s not even that cool, and I have to admit that when I have been asked this question non-ironically, by people who really do sell drugs, even then, it’s like…nah. I ain’t the one. If wanted to get it on some drug shit, I’d be doing it by now, and I don’t, and I sure as hell don’t need your ass to put me on. So, no, homeboy, I don’t wanna be your trap queen. I already hold my shit down in my own right, but if you wanna buy me some shit then we can be cool. But enough with this pretending you know shit about moving weight. Corny af.