Can't Stop Won't Stop Songtext
von Meekz

Can't Stop Won't Stop Songtext

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
Send my youngin's to the O spot
Studio, the phone's off (Kway)
I gotta treat it like the coke spot
Smokin on mimosa
200K with no promoter (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

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