Lyrics

You don't love me

If you loved me, you wouldn't be calling me Tuesday

You'd be calling my name, Shanice, not fucking Tuesday

You call my phone, you're asking for Tuesday

What the fuck is that? Who is Tuesday?

You see, the problem started when my Tuesday bitch wanted a Friday slot

And I gave it to her

Now I got Friday beefing with Thursday

Tuesday's got beef with Wednesday, now it's all mad

My Monday chick

Supermodel, always comes through on some runway shit, uh

Got me, got me stalling like my car was in clutch

Probably would've locked her down

But she parties too much

Tuesday got more breast than Kentucky

Airhead, but she give the best sucky-sucky (yeah)

Wednesday got a man who plays man for Chelsea

Away games, she always FaceTimes me, taking selfies

Thursday's on the 'Gram looking rich and sexy

Got an AP on, but her fridge is empty

Uh (if I'm lyin', I'm dyin')

I told Friday what we could've had

But she just wanna take man for a sugar dad (fuckin' gold digger)

I spend my weekends with the fam (yeah)

So don't judge me like I'm speaking on the stand

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