In "NO NEW FRENS," bleood and kllhhr trade verses that turn isolation into a weapon, opening with a cold mantra about killing idols and accepting that everyone dies alone. The mood shifts quickly into flexing, where money, guns, and foreign flings become proof of survival rather than connection. The repeated image of Dior jeans stuffed with cash, called lettuce, treats wealth as something raw and consumable, while the title itself refuses new bonds entirely. Beneath the bravado, the song carries a guarded energy, choosing self-reliance and spectacle over trust.
NO NEW FRENS Lyrics by bleood
(Feat. kllhhr)
K-Y-I
Kill your idol
You niggas bleed how you bleed
Cry how you cry
Can’t none of them niggas escape death
Y’all gon’ die how you die
No bullshit (I am— ooh-ooh)
I’m done playin’ games, nigga, I’m done
Ain’t no— ain’t no liquor, but I’m a drinker (E-eugh)
B-bands, I’m tryna get up
Nigga know— nigga know my ex ho was Elsa (Blegh, blegh)
Wrist too cold, gettin’ hoes, Hugh Hefner— ner
This ho tryna get flipped, Tech Deck her
Brand-new FRT on Galil— Galil— Galil—
We havin’— havin’ hella paper, letters— letters (Ooh)
Dior jeans filled up with lettuce
Dior— Dior— Dior fi-filled up with lettuce— fi-filled up with lettuce (Oh)
Dior jeans— filled up with le—
Dior jeans— Dior jeans fi-filled up with lettuce— fi-filled up with lettuce (Oh)
White Huracan with the red top, no Mario
I was in EU with slime fuckin’ foreign hoes (What?)
I was in EU with slime fuckin’ foreign hoes (What?)
One black ho, one white ho, Oreo (Oh)
AR-15 on me take souls, no Ichigo
Fi-fire on me, but my wrist cold, no Todoroki (Yeah, yeah)
Fifty-one P’s came through, gotta keep smokin’
Forty-eight, got a podcast like Seth Rogen
Ne-need me a tatted up freak ho, emo
You’ve been fuckin’ on the opps’ hoes, not stole one (Ooh)
Freak ho tryna talk to me like Cheeto
yu-yung vocaloid, keep xen in the fur coat (Yeah, yeah)
I sit there in the park, come suck me up, ho
In the— in the trap with witches sippin’ drank, totin’ Dracos
Quagmire in the cup, cream soda Faygo
Quagmire in the cup, cream soda Faygo
Cream soda Fay— so Fay—
Cream soda, c-cream soda—
Cream— cream— cream so-so—
This ho tryna get flipped, Tech Deck her
Brand-new FRT on Galil
Yeah, we havin’ hella paper, letters— letters (Ooh)
Dior jeans filled up with lettuce
Dior— Dior— Dior fi-filled up with lettuce— fi-filled up with lettuce (Oh)
Dior jeans filled up with lettuce
Dior jeans— Dior jeans fi-filled up with lettuce— fi-filled up with lettuce (Oh)
Yeah, we havin’ hella paper, letters— letters
Dior jeans filled up with letters
Dior— Dior— Dior fi-filled up with lettuce— fi-filled up with lettuce
Dior jeans filled up with lettuce
Dior jeans— Dior jeans fi-filled up with lettuce, fi-filled up with lettuce (Let’s go)
(Wait— wait, what is— what is—)
