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THANK YOU TREESH GOD
ZyThaProphet
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Lyrics
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Thank you, Treesh God don't thank me later, thank me now
Thank you, Treesh God don't thank me later, thank me now
Thank you, Treesh God don't thank me later, thank me now
I'm a, I'm a real baller, they wish I'd run out of bounds
I got my Glock, this ain't gon' be no pound for pound
I just linked your Treesh, she wanna go to pound town
Yeah, yeah, okay
Live by the sword, your ass gon' die by the sword
I went to the deep end when they swam back to the shore
After we up the score, throw the hammer like I'm Thor
I record myself, I ain't finna keep tellin' a n***a to press record
Fuck I look like tellin' these n***as what age I jumped up off the porch
They want me to do a on the radar when I slide out to New York
Glock 40 make a fat-ass hole like it's Frank Gore
Tote a pistol broad day like it ain't nobody around
Walk up in designer store and spend ridiculous amounts
I just jammed up the money counter, now this bitch ain't tryna count
I think my favorite thing to do is to make all my haters frown
I told her, all you gotta do is bring a couple bank accounts
I'm gon' put you in some shit these other bitches can't pronounce
I told LuhRon I need some shit that got some bounce
I'm comin' trim, these n***as tryna take my sound
Thank you, Treesh God don't thank me later, thank me now
I'm a real baller, they wish I'd run out of bounds
I got my Glock, this ain't gon' be no pound for pound
I just linked your Treesh, she wanna go to pound town
This big body doin' a hundred, it's kinda gettin' hard to steer it
Whip this bitch like Fast and Furious, I want the trackie, not the Urus
And my bookie got a attitude, I tell her I ain't tryna hear it
How the hell you gon' get mad? Because these bitches know my lyrics
I got one foot up in the door, my other foot up in they ass
All these labels call my phone, cause I'm a top pick in the draft
I got pieces on pieces, you could come and do the math
And if your boyfriend wanna be like me, tell him, come and get some swag
I record myself, I ain't finna keep tellin' a n***a to press record
Fuck I look like tellin' these n***as what age I jumped up off the porch
They want me to do a on the radar when I slide out to New York
Glock 40, make a fat-ass hole like it's Frank Gore
Tote a pistol broad day like it ain't nobody around
Walk up in designer store and spend ridiculous amounts
I just jammed up the money counter, now this bitch ain't tryna count
I think my favorite thing to do is to make all my haters frown
Treesh Gang shit, y'all screaming out, man
You know what I'm saying
Y'all gonna have to get unc up to speed on what's going on
You know what I'm saying? Where the video at
It's like some Tip Drill, y'all remember Nelly
You know, what was it? Tip Drill
What's this Treesh Gang shit, man