T.G.I.F. lyrics

[Verse 1: King Chip]
Thank God I'm Fresh
Knock knock, Cudi, open up, it's Chip
Gotta kush pack shells and some Henney we could sip
Keep a couple dolla's on, give a penny to a b*tch
But I'm wit a couple ho's who said they really wanna get
Acquainted with some n*ggas who ain't the average n*ggas
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' till I hit a hundred sacks
Polo that's a given I ain't even gotta mention
Candy old-school put you n*ggas in detention
Slabbed n*ggas deeped-up tool in the clothes
I'm just a young fresh fly fool with some gold

[Chorus: Kid Cudi]
Ay-ay, 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 n*gga sky-high
So I'm, watchin' my moves
From the shoes on the coupe
Be damned if a n*gga ain't high to the roof
Pimp tight get it right, homie, more or less
I gotta thank God I'm fresh
[Verse 2: Kid Cudi]
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
But get me to my fans, I'm country to the seas
Please, I stay up on my creep so to come up
Gotta look the part superstar, no stunnas
I'ma say some sh*t that make you think I lost my mind
I'm the only n*gga that could watch the sun and don't go blind
She fine as she wanna be, but she wanna check, though
Dodging and popping pictures like them ho's was working with the law
Back in Shaker b*tches, trynna play me to the left
Now I pick the hoes that I want and give my n*ggas what is left
I don't know if it's the name or the Bape gum bottoms
Keep them on salute them 501's you can't knock 'em
Use to have the Honda with the thirty-day tags
That was in the past now I'm finna throw 'em on the Jag

[Chorus: Kid Cudi]
Ay-ay, 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 n*gga sky-high
So I'm, watchin' my moves
From the shoes on the coupe
Be damned if a n*gga ain't high to the roof
Pimp tight get it right, homie, more or less
I gotta thank God I'm fresh