[Verse - Thurzday]
This ain’t no trap music, no illusion
Co-sign abusin’, false accusin'
Their innocence, never dust up their fingerprints
This that dark tints no lights--killin’ shit
Life membership, provoking with my penmanship
Venom spew, that Angelou, sink in the throat of hardship
Exhibit attitude, attitude, Los Angeles latitude, longitude
Jesus in my view, plug my religion-- solitude
[HOV?] in the lane, they gotta move
Don’t confuse these rap dudes with us few
My hand glued to the Bible, with cement nigga -- that hard truth
(Inglewood groove!) Your head chopped and screwed
Feelin’ and I’m knowing that we get it, got it going...
[Hook]
Feelin’ Good (Feelin’ good) Feelin’ good (Feelin’ great)
I feel great
Feelin’ Good (Feelin’ good), Feelin’ good (Feelin’ great)
How are you (I feel great )
Feelin’ Good (Feelin’ good), Feelin’ good (Feelin’ great)
How are you (I feel great )
Feelin’ Good (Feelin’ good), Feelin’ good (Feelin’ great)
(How are you) I feel great
It’s going baby, it’s going
It’s going baby, it’s going (Feelin’ and I’m...)
It’s going baby, it’s going
It’s going baby, it’s going (Feelin’ and I’m...)
It’s going baby, it’s going (Feelin’ and I’m knowing that we get it, got it going, going)
[Verse 2 - Thurzday]
This ain’t no trap music, it’s something new
My balls blue, Been waiting to bust on something
That gangstas and Fivers can rock to
Something to slap niggas acting too cool
Whoops upside they head
Got a Mr. Marcus facial for your hate
That’s growing like flatheads
Thoroughbred with strong genes, and kings and queens
Too sexy to shake a fake end
I guess I’m right, said Fred
No day can be in the red
This all for the profit, dough in the pocket
Flow I rock it, cop it, yo ears and hearts we lock it
That Bobby Brown for your auntie and mama that jock it
I’m money makin’ Rico stop it
Pull your skirt down, B
Only fam around me
Champion sound turn it up on ya street
Inglewood groove, yo head chopped up and screwed
Feelin’ and I’m knowing that we get it, got it going...
[Hook]
[Verse 3 - Thurzday]
This ain’t no trap music, but you should fuck with it
Won’t run your credit, it’s on me for free
Since my proof of worth, your love my paystub
I know you hungry, his a delicacy, go on and grub
Chef Boyar - dee - are, with a A-R
That’ll spray the officer, if I ever get laid off
Gotta be promoted to the top of the class
Captain of the prize ass, cash and gas
As I snatch for the the gold, bronze no go
So burned dough in my pockets, bro
Worked too hard for a pass on the metro
Need diamonds for my daughter, [Ilo?], ditto
And for the babies’ mamas, bangers for the Chevys, Hondas
Ratchet shaking, do-do mamas, calmer talk for the beauty parlors
Feelin’ good, feelin’ great, young dude, C-A state
Inglewood groove, your head chopped up and screwed
Feelin’ and I’m knowing that we get it, got it going