T.g.i.f. (Man On The Moon: The End Of Day 2009)

Текст песни Kid Cudi feat Chip Tha Ripper - T.g.i.f. (Man On The Moon: The End Of Day 2009)

Knock knock, Cudi, open up, it's Chip
Got a kush pack shells and some Henney we could sip
Keep a couple dollas, I don't give a penny to a bitch
But I'm wit a couple hoes who said they really wanna get

Acquainted with some niggas who ain't the average niggas
They just wanna see why all they girlfriends be wanting pictures
I be flyer then a hundred gnats, worth a hundred, hundred stacks
I ain't gonna stop shoppin' 'til I hit a hundred Saks

Polo that's a given, I ain't even gotta mention
Candy old-school put you niggas in detention
Slabbed niggas geeked up, tool in the clothes
I'm just a young fresh fly fool with some gold (fresh)

Ayy, ayy, what it do, my dude?
I'm living life, dawg, what about you? (fresh)
And I ain't even gotta tell a lie
My swag, my steez got a nigga sky-high (fresh)

So, um, watch my moves
From the shoes on the coupe
Be damned if a nigga ain't high to the roof (fresh)
Pimp tight, get it right, homie, more or less
I gotta thank God I'm fresh

Oh, I rearrange faces when I drop
I'm Super Duper Cudi, candy-paint the rag-top
Can't nobody even tell me I don't sip 'em when I lean
Forgive me to my fans, I'm country to deceased

Please, I stay up on my creep so to come up
Gotta look the part, superstar, no stunnas
I'ma say some shit that make you think I lost my mind
I'm the only nigga that could watch the sun and don't go blind

She fine as she wanna be, but she want a check, though
Dodging, bopping bitches like them hoes was working with the law
Back in Shaker bitches, trynna play me to the left
Now I pick the hoes I want and give my niggas what is left

I don't know if it's the name or the Bape gum bottoms
Keep 'em on salute, them 501's you can't knock 'em
Used to have the Honda with them thirty-day tags
That was in the past now I'm finna throw 'em on the Jag'

Ayy, ayy, what it do, my dude?
I'm living life, dawg, what about you?
And I ain't even gotta tell a lie
My swag, my steez got a nigga sky-high

So, um, watch my moves
From the shoes on the coupe
Be damned if a nigga ain't high to the roof
Pimp tight, get it right, homie, more or less
I gotta thank God I'm fresh

Oh, oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh (ayy, -ayy, ayy-ayy, ayy-ayy, ayy-ayy)
Oh-whoa (oh-whoa)
Oh, oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh (ayy, -ayy, ayy-ayy, ayy-ayy, ayy-ayy)
Oh-whoa (oh-whoa)
Oh, oh, oh, oh (uh-uh, oh)
(Ayy, -ayy, ayy-ayy, ayy-ayy, ayy-ayy)
Cleveland status (Cleveland status)