Description
Loud, with the crunch of nail polish and confidence you could spread on bread. This isn't about tenderness - it's about power over your own vibe. Every line seems to snap its fingers in time and wink at the mirror: ‘Well, baby, who's the original here?’ The air smells of club smoke, gloss glistens on the lips, and inside there's a sweet mixture of audacity and desire. This is the soundtrack for those who dance while the rest discuss ‘what's proper.’ When the beat slows down, only one thing remains - that feeling when you remember someone ‘in the camisole’ and smile, because even your thoughts are autotuned here.
Lyrics and translation
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