Thank God For The Trap E

What you know about them nights, nigga? You know what I'm sayin'? Ridin' 'round to the neck. Mind steady out of check. Know what mean? And bitch, you better come correct, you know what I'm sayin'? Numbers. Ayy, ayy, ayy. Wrist dancin' like a motherfuckin' Jabberwocky, I told you that in 2015, right? Numbers. Ayy, ayy, ayy. I'm tired of this bullshit, I activate beast mode. I wake up early, the money I thug for It. I'm stayin' on my toes, the streets is Murkin'. I stand my ground, and bitch, I'm never nervous. Block hot, still got money to Make. Seven-point-six-two jumpin' out of the 'Kake. But I maneuver, 'cause nigga, I like money and Nice shit. My swag is priceless, my bag is Righteous. You mad I got the bitches, I'm havin' guap-alips. Your bag do not exist, you jawsin' and rappin' Shit. My drawers got horses on it, bitch, Stop playin' with me. Meet me at LV and Bring some bags with you. Don't check me, check your temperature. Head so good, she's a keeper. I just tossed the MAC on the whip. Nigga twin turbo, don't trip. I get money and I'm never on no fuck Boy shit. I make songs for the bad bitches And the real niggas. Thank God for the trap, I got rich off my life. I'm a real city nigga, let me show you How we rock. Healthy-ass nigga with a pocket full Of checks. Real street nigga slidin' 'round to the Neck. My life really him, bitch, I ain't gotta flex. My life really him, bitch, I ain't gotta flex. What I look like complainin'? I got it out the mud. I'm a real street nigga, it's just somethin' in My blood. When I slide through the town, nigga Push grand neck. Run into my nigga hustle on a Harley, Haulin' ass. Bitch, I'm 'bout the talkin', Got these hoes hopin'. Pussy still sellin', So these hoes still goin'. Ice man, ice man, left wrist frozen. Chop by the nightstand locked and it's loaded. These niggas is loafin', never touch a ticket. Larry, what you doin'? Bitch, I'm on a mission. These niggas is emotional And barely gettin' chicken. They hatin', so they get to talkin' on the Twitter. I'm not in competition, I like money and Bad bitches. Toolie with extension in the kitchen For Juan Rizz. Just in case a nigga try To jack me. It's the paint, but the rims gotta match me. I get money and I'm never on no fuck Boy shit. I make songs for the bad bitches And the real niggas. Thank God for the trap, I got rich off my life. I'm a real city nigga, let me show you How we rock. Healthy-ass nigga with a pocket full Of checks. Real street nigga slidin' 'round to the Neck. My life really him, bitch, I ain't gotta flex. My life really him, Bitch, I ain't gotta flex. Numbers. Yeah, yeah. Oh, oh. Yeah, yeah. Ah, ah, ah, ah. Shit. Ayy, ayy, ayy. Good job. Man. Suck to me. Man. Good job.