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thank god for the trap - larry june lyrics

[intro]
what you know about them nights, n*gga?
you know i’m sayin’? ridin’ ‘round to the neck
mind steady on a check, you know i mean?
and b*tch, you better come correct, you know i’m sayin’?
numbers, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy, ayy
wrist dancin’ like a motherf*ckin’ jabbawockeez
i told you that in 2015, right?
numbers

[verse 1]
i’m tired of this bullsh*t (d*mn), i activate beast mode (yeah)
i wake up early (man), the money i thug for (money i thug for)
i’m stayin’ on my toes, the streets is [?]
i stand my ground (man), and b*tch, i’m never nervous
block hot, still got money to make (money to make)
7.62’s jumpin’ outta the cake (ooh, outta the cake)
but i maneuver, ‘cause n*gga, i like money and nice sh*t (money and nice sh*t)
my swag is priceless (man), my bag is righteous
you mad i got the b*tch (d*mn), i’m havin’ guap*alich (yeah)
your bag do not exist (nah), you [?] and rappin’ sh*t (yeah)
my drawls got horses on it, b*tch, stop playin’ with me (playin’ with me)
meet me at lv (check), and bring some bands with you (bring some bands with you)
don’t check me, check your temperature
head’s so good, she’s a keeper (what’s hannin’?)
i just tossed the matte on the whip (on the whip)
n*gga, twin turbo, don’t trip (don’t trip)
[chorus]
i get money, and i’m never on no f*ck*boy sh*t (man)
i make songs for the bad b*tches and the real n*ggas
thank god for the trap, i got rich off my life (yeah)
i’m real city n*gga, let me show you how we rock, yeah
healthy ass n*gga with a pocket full of check (check)
real street n*gga, slidin’ ‘round to the neck (neck)
my life really him, b*tch, i ain’t gotta flex (flex)
my life really him, b*tch, i ain’t gotta flex (flex)

[verse 2]
what i look like complainin’? i got it out the mud
i’m a real street n*gga, it’s just somethin’ in my blood
when i slide through the town, n*gga push grand nash (nash)
run into my n*gga hustle on the harley hoggin’ ass
b*tch, i’m ‘bout a token, got these hoes hopin’ (hopin’)
p*ssy still sellin’, so these hoes still goin’ (goin’)
ice man, ice man, left wrist frozen (ooh, numbers)
chop by the nightstand, locked, and it’s loaded
these n*ggas is loafin’ (loafin’), never touched a ticket (never)
“larry, what you doin?” b*tch, i’m on a mission
these n*ggas is emotional and barely gettin’ chicken (chicken)
they hatin’ (man), so they get to talkin’ on the twitter (twitter)
i’m not in competition, i like money and bad b*tches (yeah)
tooly with extension in the kitchen for one reason (yeah)
just in case a n*gga try to jack (try to jack)
if the paint wet, the rims gotta match
[chorus]
i get money, and i’m never on no f*ck boy sh*t (man)
i make songs for the bad b*tches and the real n*ggas
thank god for the trap, i got rich off my life (yeah)
i’m real city n*gga, let me show you how we rock, yeah
healthy ass n*gga with a pocket full of check (check)
real street n*gga, slidin’ ‘round to the neck (neck)
my life really him, b*tch, i ain’t gotta flex (flex)
my life really him, b*tch, i ain’t gotta flex (numbers)

- larry june lyrics

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