I can't feel my face (ft. Nechie)

I can't feel my face
Mhm
I can't feel my face
Mhm
Still Trump, tell 'em ain't past they all him
All on my wrist they know it's him
I prolly win an award
Coupe with suicide doors
Lil bitty bitch, don't know who's him
I'm really rich, I'ont do for the 'gram
And I drop heat like a torch
Mhm
She said Atlanta got up
She said Atlanta got a cuss seat
I stowed it down, I'm 'bout to take it a pound
I give her hard dick
I playin' around, feel like I'm takin' the crown
Tell 'em to park it
Stop in and see me and bae goin' eat a Hibachi
I see her hand, certified JAH. Stone
Jump like a mosh pit
Still got a chance, number one platinum and gold
I made a profit
Travelin' in the lane, try to get the plug to a play
Put it in a socket
Wanted internationally known doing a song with a soccet
Goin' back home off 10 shit, back at my home off, sellin' at 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 its a process
Mhm
I can't feel my face
Givin' you a bad taste
Bitch, we pourin' it the last way
Still Trump, tell 'em ain't past they all him
All on my wrist they know it's him
I prolly win an award
Coupe with suicide doors
Lil bitty bitch, don't know who's him
I'm really rich, I'ont do for the 'gram
And I drop heat like a torch
Huh, I put my hands on a new lamb
Hang with gorillas, I'm Tarzan
I got my religion, just God damn
I might be ready to call
I just might ask for the punchin' and jabbin' the cat
Then I don't tap it no more
High dress code
I been out poppin' these best hoes
Put on that water with fresh toes
Hurtin' her pound on that case, huh
Body like Rubi Rose
I done had a few of these hoes
Truth be told, ain't they really new to me though
I promise you that
Flyin' in the vert then put you in the dirt
My niggas been tough since ten
No friends
Big steppin' in rain and sleet and snow on Timbs
Real trim
I tried to tell 'em I was beatin' on these niggas, but it is what it is
Ain't none of 'em
Heard he talkin' outside, but he tend to get quiet when I see him
It's a reason
Still Trump, tell 'em ain't past they all him
All on my wrist they know it's him
I prolly win an award
Coupe with suicide doors
Lil bitty bitch, don't know who's him
I'm really rich, I'ont do for the 'gram
And I drop heat like a torch
Mhm
En esta canción, Gunna y Nechie hacen alarde de su estilo de vida lujoso y exitoso. Hablan de su riqueza y estatus, mencionando premios y autos de lujo con puertas suicidas...