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Shout out MIKA, my bruh For the whole mob I ain't never had no job Always been my own boss I don't do no dead food, I do my own wash I don't need no dead food Yeah, I do my own wash My life Can't stop, won't stop (Never) Free the hitters social-ed locked Do it for the whole mob (Free the mandem) Body show, dome shot (Bow) Sticky if it goes off Tryna blow your nose off Hella trips to make the phone pop (Brrr) Yayo comin' so soft Can't stop, won't stop Flyin', better blow cops Fuck my old opps, I get it poppin' in the clothes shop Every couple week I get the phone gone, road's hot Need to hose off Smoke Cali, gettin' blowjobs I need a whole box for my own spot Remember waitin' for the drone drop Can't stop, won't stop SongtexteSend my youngin's to the O spot Studio, the phone's off (Kway) I gotta treat it like the coke spot Smokin on mimosa Two-hundred K with no prompter (Mad) Clout, blow me over Packs flippin' over, whippin' soda (Flip it) Ask your older Licks hit with a Jack Revolver If I back the toaster Have to ghost you flippin' joker (Trippin') Must be sniffin' coca Clock's tickin' over, packs tickin' over Got her doin' yoga, told her hold the super soaker (Hold that) If I get wrapped with this wap, then it's movie over (Movie done) Can't stop, won't stop ‘Less they like me like the grow shop (Haha) ‘Member time when I had no gwop But you'll never make my soul stop Energies are so strong ‘Member waitin' so long ‘Times it's best to prolong Sittin' in my cell, hiddin' zancos in roll-ons (Mad) I bet I make ‘em hear it like an old song (Feel it like an old song) Can't rest, can't rest, won't rest Believin' in the process Every day's a progress Slow steps, I need my own clothes next (Trust) I really need a grown check Funny nigga gassed off a Rolex Stackin' for a home? You need to go bed My young hitter gettin' active off a moped (Gang) They ain't new to cash My young niggas movin' mad Pop you for a Louis bag (Murder) All he ever wanted was some Gucci rags (Mad) Puttin' moves to plan Put in two .45s before we move to traps Now everybody shootin' straps (Pow) Well, where the shootings at? (Where they at?) Don't get too attached Roads'll have you doin' laps (Laps) Gettin' dots 'til I drop Turned me so rotten I can feel my soul rottin' Grew around fiends with no teeth but I'm dough gettin' (Money, man) Bally on me, ho gettin', dough makin' Probably snake your own brethren for some road-readys So hellish, so reckless Hit the studio with no effort, kill the whole session Light work Aus Songtexte Mania