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i can't feel my face
Gunna; Nechie
Popularity ยท Low
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Lyrics
Original
Translation
Bilingual
I can't feel my face
ย
Still trim, sell 'em ain't past, they all him
Audemars wrist, they know it's him
I'll probably win an award
Coupe with suicide doors
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
ย
She say the Lamb' got her, uh, she say the Lamb' got her car sick
I stowed it down, I'm 'bout to take her to pound, I give her hard dick
I played around, feel like I'm takin' the crown, tell 'em to park it
Stop in and see me and bae go eatin' hibachi
I see her hand, certified Jah, ay, stone, jumpin' like a moshpit
Still got a chance, number one, platinum and gold, I made a profit
Travelin' in the lane, tryna get plugs to a play, put it in a socket
Wunna international, he know I'm doin' songs with Asake
Goin' back home on ten, shit, back at my home where I'm sellin' all the rocks at
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
ย
I can't feel my face
Yeah, we givin' you bad taste
Bitch, fuck money, grind, sad way
Still trim, tell 'em ain't past, they all him
Audemars wrist, they know it's him
I'll probably win an award
Coupe with suicide doors
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
ย
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, whoa (oh)
Double R push us (Double R)
Hop out the suicide doors, I'm shovin' and pushin' (shovin' that)
Watch how the cameras flash, yeah, they pointin' and lookin' (pointin' at)
Look your bitch in the eyes (yeah), she crack a smile, I know that she took it
ย
I can't feel my face
Yeah, we givin' you bad taste
Bitch, fuck money, grind, sad way
Still trim, tell 'em ain't past, they all him
Audemars wrist, they know it's him
I'll probably win an award
Coupe with suicide doors
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
ย