T.G.I.F.

Lyrics for T.G.I.F.

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)