Verse 1

Pull up slow in the W223

Black on black, and it sit like a king

Soft close doors, hear that hush when they shut

Leather so fresh, but the streets still rough

Long hood gleam when the valet nod

I don’t need flex, it’s a move, not a job

Rear seat lounge, feet stretched back

Phone on mute, let the whole block stack

Pre-Chorus

Tell me who you know with this kind of glide

Cold chrome shine with a thunderous stride

Every turn heads, every step got weight

I don’t chase now, I arrive first place

Chorus

W223, that’s the one

W223, when I come