WHIGGA

It hits your ears like a strobe light in a dimly lit club: the glint of cash, red sights, and the smell of expensive smoke mixed with the fumes of “success.” Everything here is loud and ostentatious - the higher the stack of dollars, the more confident the voice. The world in the track revolves around numbers and shining shop windows, where each line is like checks thrown on the table.

But between the bragging and cold calculation, something almost funny slips through: a horoscope prediction that “says that the horoscope” - as if fate itself refuses to play by the rules. The result is a soundtrack for a party where luxury and irony sit side by side at the same table, and reality winks through the bright lights.