i can't feel my face (feat. Nechie)

I can't feel my face

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

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

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

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

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