Untitled Song

I heard you got a new dude, cool, who? I ain't stressing that,

Bet he got some bootcut jeans and a messy tat.

Flexin' like you leveled up—where the

blessing at?

That ain't even pressure, that's depression in a second act.

You was talkin' hot, now you stuck in a

dead zone

Tryna double back, girl, you buggin', get your head blown.

Heard you in the club, all alone, playin’ "

Red bone,"

Tryna call my phone? Ain't no service in the friend zone.

Bitch, who? (Huh?) I don’t fuck wit' you.

That’s cute (Yup), you still stuck on who?

That’s too (Damn), bad, do what you do,

Just don’t come around actin' brand new.

I heard you cryin’ in the mirror, had a break down, huh?

Now you stalkin’ through my page, need a way out, huh?

Girl, you play victim, then play proud, huh?

You went from “I don’t need him” to “Wait, now, huh?”

Your new dude? Yeah, he’s built like a vape pen too,

No backbone, straight puff, weak a view.

Bet he hit it once, then he fake-choked through,

Told you "baby, you the best"—that was fake smoke too.

You stay huffin' on that pen, actin' tough with the mist,

But that cloud you blowin' got no substance in it.

Talkin’ big, but your lungs prolly black as your fit,

How you puffin’ all day, but can’t handle the hits?