Mhm, mhm
Mhm, mhm (I can't feel my face)
Mhm, mhm, mm
Mhm, mhm, mhm
Still trim
Tell 'em they passed, they all him
Audemars wrist, they know it's him
I'll probably win an award (mhm)
Coupe with suicide doors (mhm)
Lil' bitty bitch don't know what's happenin'
I'm really rich, I don't do it for the 'Gram
Now I drop heat like a torch (mhm, mhm, mm)
She say the Lamb' got her, uh, she say the Lamb' got her car sick
I slow it down, I'm 'bout to take her to pound, I give her hard dick
Ain't playin' around, feel like I'm takin' the crown, tell 'em to park it
Stop in the city me and bae go and eat at Hibachi
Ice in your hand, certified GIA stone, jumpin' like a moshpit
Still got a chance, number one, platinum and gold, I made a profit
Travelin' the land, tryna get plugs to a plan, put it in a socket
Wunna internationally known doin' songs with Asake
Goin' back home off 10s, shit back at my home I'm sellin out the Roxy
Excuse my cologne, still pushin' it, really goin' on, I'm goin' with the process
Even though this shit deeper than music, I know it's a process
Mhm, mhm
Mhm, mhm, mm (I can't feel my face)
Mhm, mhm, mm (you let it came with a bad taste)
Mhm, mhm, mhm (bitch, if you fuck 'round and go out the sad way)
Still trim
Tell 'em they passed, they all him
Audemars wrist, they know it's him
I'll probably win an award (mhm)
Coupe with suicide doors (mhm)
Lil' bitty bitch don't know what's happenin'
I'm really rich, I don't do it for the 'Gram
Now I drop heat like a torch (mhm, mhm, mm)
Got a plug on the bricks, now he stepped on
You can tell by my neck that my check long
Any hood that I step, they respect home
Any day of the week, havin' stuff on
New convertible, still got the roof on
I put black and gray paint on a two-tone
Now she fuckin' and suckin' the gang, woah (oh)
Double R pushes (double R)
Hop out the suicide doors, I'm shovin' and pushin' (shovin' and)
Watch how the cameras flash, yeah, they pointin' and lookin' (pointin' and)
Look your bitch in the eyes (yeah), she cracked a smile, I know that she took it
Mhm, mhm
Mhm, mhm, mm (I can't feel my face)
Mhm, mhm, mm (yeah, we givin' you bad taste)
Mhm, mhm, mhm (bitch, fuck money, grind, sad way)
Still trim
Tell 'em they passed, they all him
Audemars wrist, they know it's him
I'll probably win an award (mhm)
Coupe with suicide doors (mhm)
Lil' bitty bitch don't know what's happenin'
I'm really rich, I don't do it for the 'Gram
Now I drop heat like a torch (mhm, mhm, mm)

Writer(s): Amman Moosa Nurani, Ceron Lee, Chandler Great, Luc Oskar Purcell Randmaa & Sergio Kitchens.