Not My Girls

[ Lyrics ]

Fake love, real claws.

Fake love, real claws.

Saw you two on the rooftop, laughing like it’s light,
champagne in her hand, your arm wrapped tight.
Same joke you told me when I was falling apart,
now she’s wearing my pain like a couture heart.
I nodded slow, didn’t flinch at the sight,
took a sip of my drink — warm, not right.
She caught my eye, gave that ‘so sorry’ fake glance,
I smiled back sweet, already in my own dance.

And the girls in the corners, they watching, they know,
some send me a nod, some just twist the knife slow.
One sent a DM like a sugar-coated blade:
‘We should collab soon… I’d never betray.’
I laughed, hit screenshot, then blocked her that fast —
ain’t no sisterhood built on ‘what I won’t do last.’

Not my girls, not my tribe,
don’t wear loyalty like a borrowed vibe.
You can pose in the light, kiss the air, play sweet,
but I see the grip underneath your feet.
Not my crew, not my church,
don’t need your love when it comes in a lurch.
You want in? Prove it with time, not a lie —
‘til then, you’re just ghosts passing by.

Remember when we cried on my bathroom floor?
Promised we’d rise and close every door.
Now you’re quoting my lines in your next interview,
but you didn’t text once when I lost my truth.
She sings ‘empowerment’ on a billion streams,
while mine got leaked in unseen extremes.
You call it support, I call it a steal —
love turned to leverage, real tight, real sealed.

And I don’t hate you — hate takes too much space,
I just don’t believe in your edited grace.
Your ‘sisterhood’ comes with a hidden receipt,
I’d rather stand solo than kneel at deceit.

Not my girls, not my tribe,
don’t wear loyalty like a borrowed vibe.
You can pose in the light, kiss the air, play sweet,
but I see the grip underneath your feet.
Not my crew, not my church,
don’t need your love when it comes in a lurch.
You want in? Prove it with time, not a lie —
‘til then, you’re just ghosts passing by.

I used to think we were stronger in packs,
that pain shared in echo would never come back.
But the quietest cuts? They came from the same,
the ones who knew all my triggers by name.
So I’m drawing the line in a shade called ‘mine’ —
no more borrowed trust, no more blood on the shrine.

Not my girls, not my tribe,
don’t wear loyalty like a borrowed vibe.
You can pose in the light, kiss the air, play sweet,
but I see the grip underneath your feet.
Not my crew, not my church,
don’t need your love when it comes in a lurch.
You want in? Prove it with time, not a lie —
‘til then, you’re just ghosts passing by.

Fake love, real claws… 
Not my girls… 
Not my girls…