Letra da música
Yo Sam, it's tragic, man, this ain't hate,
You’re so light, wind could carry your weight.
Voice soundin' like a squeaky balloon,
Girls run off when you walk in the room.
TJ and Atkin takin' all your dates,
While you sittin’ home dreamin’ of fate.
Tryna flex cash like that’s your plan,
But money can’t fix what a mirror can.
Five years lonely, call it a streak,
Tryna DM love, but your game’s too weak.
Used to beg girls just to braid your hair,
So you could pretend someone actually cared.
Your squad? More like girlfriend thieves,
You stay third wheel while they achieve.
Got a Lambo heart with a tricycle face,
And your voice makes silence feel like grace.
You’re ugly bitch, that’s a tragic mix,
No swag, no pull—just money tricks.
But keep flexing' like you top shelf,
'Cause no one loves you like you love yourself.
speaking of self, harming,
where's your kids stop XP farming,
need some weight that's so alarming,
you got dreams of been like Majin, boo,
got nightmares of been like you, G,
itadori,
man stop chatting to Tory,
wont have that till your forty.
what's it like been the side character,
got a girl now your boys having her,
sharing, that's caring,
all your exs pussys tearing,
but not from you from your boys,
not our fault we can get them moist.
Estilo de música
UK Drill, catchy, Male Voice, 80-120 BPM