In God
Be grateful
That He was there
Glory (Yeah)
I
You can hear it in the voice (Glory)
Ah-em, still get this shit off, though
Look
The money speakin
Fire top from a bitch that work at corporate sales
Chinchilla ushanka, we skiin
Breakin
I leave for tour and my niggas fuckin
Preachin
It
Knowin
They think they Orson Welles
Walk in Chanel, they like, "How the fuck you need more Chanel?"
I got these cats tuckin
I
The restaurant clears out, faint echoes of Lauryn Hill
I say, "We gotta talk about us," I feel like Jordan Peele
Could tell I
And now it
Things get quiet after me statin
Things get kinky after fifteen years of dominance
That October sky is lookin
The money is autonomous
Shout
And Jeremiah the watchdog, you niggas know what time it is
I
Hoes waitin
Savage got a green card straight out of the consulate
Where I go, you go, brother, we Yugoslavian
Formal is the dress code, dawg, so many checks owed
I feel Czechoslovakian, nigga, what the fuck?
Nah, I
I feel like if Mike switched out the glove for the pen, like
This shit just too enticing right now, you know?
Look
Diamonds do the silly dance, I raise up the wine glass
Metal detectors beepin
The numbers goin
The days are goin
Been talkin
Shania Twain, notepad, I
You tryna rob me
And it
Cause, nigga, that
Mob ties
I swear we like a bitch with fine sisters and fine cousins
The family all bad
I
I swear I
Long-kiss goodnight, PDA for my nemesis
Three hunnid acres, PGA on the premises
That
I
Like, don
You can hit me back whenever, or
Or don
It is what it is, I guess
Yeah, hm
Look
You young boys take some of that money and set it aside
Not havin
You niggas obsessed with me, and it
Handle beef so quiet, you think that I
Next thing you know, we tip-toein
Diss me so long ago, we making your memories fly
Conspiracy theories start floatin
I
Ayy, niggas lyin
We all gotta lay in the bed we make, but that couldn
You forced a lot of fake love when real ones stood in your face
That
I got you on camera bowin
Thank God, another USB to put in the safe
Thank God, at the crib, dippin
I swear that y
Not sayin
I
Pick any one of the Who
R.I.P. to the DJ from Houston, we loose screws
Helicopters, cop lights, and news crews
Niggas steady cryin
You prolly heard a lot about the boy, well, true, true, haha
(In God
(Be grateful)
(That He was there)