Thank God For The Trap Chords by Larry June

[Ebm] _ She know [Abm] about them nights, nigga.
[Gb] _ [F] You know what I'm saying?
[Ebm] _ [Gb] Ride [Db] around to the [Abm] neck.
[Gb] Mind steady on the check.
You know what I mean?
_ [Ebm] _ _ And bitch, you better come [Gb] correct.
You know what I'm saying?
_ _ [Abm] Numbers.
[Ebm] _ Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay.
_ Rich dicks like a [Gb] motherfucking Trapper.
Walkie, I told you that in 2015, right?
_ _ _ [Abm] Numbers.
_ [Ebm]
I'm tired of this bullshit.
I activate Beast Mode.
I wake up early.
The money I thug for.
I'm staying on [Bbm] my toes.
The streets is [Ebm] smurfy.
I stand my ground.
[Gb] And bitch, I'm never [Bbm] nervous.
Block Hot Steel got money to [Ebm] make.
7.6 tools, but not any cake.
But I maneuver, cause nigga, I like money and nice shit.
My swag is priceless.
My bag is righteous.
You mad I [Gb] got this?
I'm having guapalicious.
Your bag do not exist.
You jargon and rap the shit.
My drugs got horses on it.
Bitch, stop playing with me.
Meet me at LV.
Bring some bad bitches.
Don't check [Ebm] me, check your temperature.
Head so good, she's a keeper.
I just tossed a mat on a whip.
Nigga, twin [Gb] turbo, don't trip.
I get money and I'm never on [Ebm] no fuckboy shit.
I make songs for [Gb] the bad bitches and the real niggas.
Thank God for the trap.
I got rich off [Abm] my life.
I'm a real city nigga.
Let me show you how [Gb] we rock.
We a healthy ass nigga with a pocket full of checks.
Real street nigga sliding around to the neck.
My life really him, bitch.
I ain't got to flex.
[Abm] My life really him, bitch.
I ain't got [Gb] to flex.
What I look like complaining?
I got it out the mud.
I'm [Ab] a real [Gb] street nigga.
It's just something in [Ebm] my blood.
When I slide through [Bbm] the town, nigga, push [Ebm] Grand Nasty.
Running to my nigga Hustler on the Harley.
[Bbm]
Bitch, I'm about to talk you.
[Ebm] Got these hoes hoping.
Pussy still selling.
Show these hoes still going.
Ice man, ice [Bb] man, left wrist frozen.
[N] Chops by the nightstand locked in and loaded.
These niggas is low, man.
Never touch the ticket.
Larry, what you doing?
Bitch, I'm on a mission.
These niggas is emotional.
I'm barely getting chicky.
They hate.
So they get to talking on the Twitter.
I'm not in competition.
I like money and bad bitches.
He's a toolie with extension in the kitchen for more ribs.
Just in case a nigga try to jack.
Hit the paint, but the rims got [Gb] a match.
I get money and I'm never on no fuck boy shit.
I make songs for the bad bitches and the real niggas.
Thank God for the trap.
I got rich all my life.
I'm a real [F] city nigga.
Let me show you how [Gb] we rock.
Healthy ass nigga with a pocket full of check.
Real street nigga slide around to the neck.
My life really him.
Bitch, I ain't got a flex.
My life really him.
Bitch, I ain't got [Ebm] a flex.
_ _ _ [Abm] Ay, ay, [Ebm] _ _ [Db] _
[Ebm] _ [Gb] _ _ [Abm] ay, [Ebm] ay.
Ay, _ [Ebm] _
_ _ _ _ [Fm] _ [Bbm] _ _ [Ebm] _
_ _ _ _ [Abm] _ [Ebm] _ _ [F]
ay, ay, [Ebm] _ _ _ _ _ [F] ay.
_ [Gb] _ _ _ [Ebm] _ _ _ _