Song Introduction
Che makes a bold entrance with his new single "Tuesday", a track that reimagines the iconic phrase made famous by iLoveMakonnen and Drake, but injects it with a raw, unfiltered energy that feels distinctly his own. Released in 2026, this song is a trap-heavy anthem that channels the chaotic spirit of late-night excess, drug-fueled escapism, and the relentless pursuit of status symbols. With its hypnotic repetition of the chorus and a stream-of-consciousness delivery, "Tuesday" captures a specific moment in contemporary hip-hop where bravado and vulnerability collide in a haze of codeine, diamonds, and empty rooms.
Lyrics
[Chorus]
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo)
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo)
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo)
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo, w—w—w—)
M-my plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (My plug, bitch)
M-my plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (Bitch, woo)
My plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (What you gon' do?)
My plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (Woo)
[Post-Chorus]
I fuck all these bitches in diamonds (With cash)
I-I fuck all these bitches in diamonds (Boom, bitch, yeah)
I'm off of some white girl like Miley, slatt (Like Miley)
Like Hannah Montana, like Miley (Woo, woo, woo)
Yeah, these bitches wanna grip on my private, woo (Boop-boop-boop)
I— I-I-I know that she just want some diamonds (Let's go, slatt)
I know that she just want some Prada, yeah (Phew-phew-phew)
This lean, not no piña colada (Lean, lean, woo)
Got too much, we havin' them thotties (Slatt, bitch)
Woo, I'm touchin' 'em, where they go potty
You— you run up the price, get demolished (Brr, bop)
Slatt, I boot up and turn to a monster, yeah (Woo)
I'm off a codeine, I won't lie (Slatt)
She— she prayin' to me, the Don Dada, okay
I'm givin' my haters a price (Boop, let's go)
They tie up ya granny and daughter (Yeah)
[Verse]
You don't wan' get put in a box (Slatt)
I'm puttin' my dick in her box (Yeah)
I get these hoes wetter than mops (Woo)
My bitch is gon' shoot at my opps (Doot-doot-doot-doot, slatt)
I don't say a word to a cop (No cap)
I don't say a word to my pops, woah (Uh-uh)
That roof on my whip takin' off (Skrrt, woo)
And now that roof goin' all out (Woo)
My— my room full of butt-naked bitches (Yeah)
They fuckin' CC for some digits
I pay them, they washin' my dishes (Slatt)
And even my mama my witness (Slatt)
When you was in the penitentiary, I was sendin' money down to pennies (Oh, woo)
Now, I say, "Fuck it, go Bentley" (Skrrt)
H-hundred K, blew it, I spent it (Blatt, slatt)
My niggas bad people, some villains (Woo)
They lettin' the dogs out the kennel (Woof)
Yeah, I'm a big pup, you a kitten (Yeah, let's go)
Don't play with no pussy, we kill 'em (Yeah)
I clear out, it smell like vanilla (Yeah)
Your bitch say I taste like vanilla (Woo)
Thotties, they all in my villa
Yeah, they up in my livin' room strippin' (Skrrt, woo)
[Chorus]
Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo)
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo)
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo)
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo, w—w—w—)
M-my plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (My plug, bitch)
M-my plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (Bitch, woo)
My plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (What you gon' do?)
My plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (Woo)
[Post-Chorus]
I fuck all these bitches in diamonds (With cash)
I-I fuck all these bitches in diamonds (Boom, bitch, yeah)
I'm off of some white girl like Miley, slatt (Like Miley)
Like Hannah Montana, like Miley (Woo, woo, woo)
Yeah, these bitches wanna grip on my private, woo (Boop-boop-boop)
I— I-I-I know that she just want some diamonds (Let's go, slatt)
I know that she just want some Prada, yeah (Phew-phew-phew)
This lean, not no piña colada (Lean, lean, woo)
Got too much, we havin' them thotties (Slatt, bitch)
Woo, I'm touchin' 'em, where they go potty
You— you run up the price, get demolished (Brr, bop)
Slatt, I boot up and turn to a monster, yeah (Woo)
I'm off a codeine, I won't lie (Slatt)
She— she prayin' to me, the Don Dada, okay
I'm givin' my haters a price (Boop, let's go)
They tie up ya granny and daughter (Yeah)
[Chorus]
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo)
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo)
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo)
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo, w—w—w—)
M-my plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (My plug, bitch)
M-my plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (Bitch, woo)
My plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (What you gon' do?)
My plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (Woo)
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo)
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo)
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo)
I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen (Woo)
M-m-m-m-my plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (My plug, bitch)
M-my plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (Bitch, woo)
My plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (What you gon' do?)
My plug, he ain't sellin' no molly (Woo)
Lyrics Meaning
At first glance, "Tuesday" reads like a standard trap anthem saturated with the familiar tropes of wealth, drugs, and sexual conquest. But beneath the surface-level bravado lies a fascinating psychological portrait of a narrator who is simultaneously intoxicated by his own success and quietly aware of its emptiness. The song operates in the tension between aspiration and reality, using the mundane weekday "Tuesday" as a symbolic backdrop for escapism that has become routine.
The chorus is built around a direct homage to iLoveMakonnen's viral hit, but Che twists it into something more desperate. The repetition of "I go up on a Tuesday, Makonnen" feels less like a celebration and more like a mantra, a compulsive need to assert vitality on a day that society has deemed unremarkable. The declaration that "my plug, he ain't sellin' no molly" suggests a scarcity that fuels anxiety, even as the narrator insists he is going up. The party is happening, but the supply is running thin.
The post-chorus is where the song's psychological complexity reveals itself. The narrator claims to "fuck all these bitches in diamonds," yet the image feels hollow. The reference to Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana is a clever double entendre, suggesting both cocaine ("white girl") and the duality of a constructed public persona. The line "This lean, not no piña colada" is a stark reminder that the euphoria is chemical, not tropical. When he says "I'm off a codeine, I won't lie," it is one of the rare moments of unvarnished honesty, a confession that the confidence is pharmacologically assisted.
The verse reveals the narrator's backstory and the contradictions that define him. He claims loyalty to the streets ("I don't say a word to a cop") while admitting he sent money to friends in prison down to the last penny. The boast "Hundred K, blew it, I spent it" sits uncomfortably next to the memory of financial struggle. The imagery of "my room full of butt-naked bitches" and women stripping in his living room is meant to signal power, but the detail that "they fuckin' CC for some digits" suggests transactional relationships where intimacy is exchanged for contact information. Even the claim that "your bitch say I taste like vanilla" feels like a bizarre, almost childlike attempt at sensuality that undercuts the tough-guy persona.
The most telling line is "She prayin' to me, the Don Dada." The narrator wants to be worshipped, to be a god figure to the women around him, yet the religious imagery feels borrowed and performative. He is giving his haters a price, but the real cost is his own disconnection from anything authentic. The threat to "tie up ya granny and daughter" is the kind of cartoonish violence that reveals insecurity rather than strength, a desperate attempt to maintain dominance in a world where he feels constantly under siege.
Conclusion
Che's "Tuesday" is a track that thrives on contradiction. It is a party anthem that sounds increasingly lonely the louder it gets. It is a wealth flex written by someone who remembers counting pennies to help a friend in prison. It is a song about going up that keeps returning to the ground. By borrowing the cultural cachet of Makonnen's original and filtering it through a lens of codeine-induced paranoia and status anxiety, Che creates something that feels both derivative and strangely personal. The repeated insistence that the plug is not selling molly becomes a metaphor for the song itself: the high is elusive, the supply is uncertain, and the party might be over sooner than anyone wants to admit. In the end, "Tuesday" is not about the day of the week. It is about the endless, exhausting cycle of trying to feel something on a day that was never meant to be special.
