[Lyrics]

I’m not old school, but I run on throwbacks.
No memory, no prayer—just blank chats.
Got Spotify dreams and a family tree
that don’t fit on a Canva template, see?

Ancestors logged in my cloud like data,
Swiping through signs like I’m reading tarot beta.
I light my phone, not candles.
Still—some nights, I feel handled.

Not deep—just documented.
Not wise—just well-formatted.
Culture’s not what I wear—it’s the why I wear it.
This drip got a surname, don’t you dare compare it.

No memory, no vibe.
No roots, no rise.
I’m culture remixed—
Still got ancestors in my side eyes.

Style don’t die, it shape-shifts.
I’m the update on your playlist.
Call me new—but I’m still traced
by names they forgot to say.

I bow to no altars, I build ’em in motion.
My rituals logged in my phone’s Notion.

My grandma wore gold, I wear grillz—
Different glow, same chills.

Culture ain’t content. It’s context.
And history ain’t heavy—it’s contact.

I don’t rock nostalgia for the aesthetic,
I carry past lives in my voice—authentic.

Style is memory—archived then remixed.
Ritual is motion—passed down, never fixed.

Tradition ain’t old, it’s optimized.
I auto-sync my bloodline.

No memory, no vibe.
No roots, no rise.
I’m culture remixed—
Still got ancestors in my side eyes.

I scroll through time like receipts.
I don’t need temples—just tight beats.
I’m not spiritual…
But the spirit?

They still replies.

No Memory No Vibe - Draft.mp3

[Lyrics]

I move just enough to feel it
not enough to fall apart
no trail, just rhythm
and I follow where it softens

Not every wave is mine to ride
some just rise so I can wait
I watch the tide without a clock
and trust the swell will find my pace

I don’t rush
I don’t arrive
I show up
when it feels alive

Some days I drift in silence
some days I light the sky
I rise and fall in rhythm
and leave without goodbye

I don’t rush
I don’t arrive
I show up
when it feels alive

I move without a reason
no signs, just shifts in air
some things arrive unspoken
and echo through the quiet

Eyes open — no vision,
just yesterday’s blur
and something I still carry.

Some nights, I don’t dream.
I float through static,
waiting for feeling to shape.

I don’t rush
I don’t arrive
I show up
when it feels alive

Still here
Still not done
Still here
Still becoming

Not every ending needs a door

Even when still, something stirs
Even when gone, something returns
I am motion without proof
I am rhythm without reason

I move just enough
but now it bends deeper
No trail
but the echo is louder

I don’t rush
I don’t arrive
I show up
when it feels alive

Some days I flood the air
some days I fade midline
I’m not here to be finished
just felt.

Mims

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