Doja Cat - Boss Btch (from Birds Of Prey: The Album) -

As the first man lunged, she didn't just move; she choreographed. A spin that ended in a heel to the jaw; a dip that sent a tray of champagne glasses flying into the face of a second. She was a blur of high-fashion violence, every hit landing with the precision of a metronome.

In three minutes, the room was a wreckage of broken mahogany and unconscious henchmen. Doja stood over the enforcer, who was now clutching his ribs on the Persian rug.

Doja sat at the velvet-drenched bar, her boots resting on a table that cost more than a mid-sized sedan. She wasn't here for the drinks. She was here because Roman Sionis’s lead enforcer had forgotten to say "please" when he’d tried to “requisition” her getaway car. Doja Cat - Boss Btch (from Birds of Prey: The Album)

“And you’ve got a lot of my leather upholstery on your pants,” Doja replied, her voice a silk-wrapped blade. “I’m not here for an apology. I’m here for the keys. And maybe the watch.”

Doja didn’t flinch. She leaned back against a marble pillar, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “I’m a bitch, I’m a boss,” she hummed, the lyrics a low-frequency threat. “I’m a shine and I’m a gloss.” As the first man lunged, she didn't just

She stood up, the chime of her jewelry cutting through the bass of the club. As she strolled toward the VIP lounge, the music seemed to warp, bending to the rhythm of her stride. When the heavy oak doors swung open, the room went silent.

“Next time,” she said, checking the time on her new accessory, “check the registration. I don't do carpools.” In three minutes, the room was a wreckage

The enforcer, a man built like a brick wall in a silk suit, looked up from his cards. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here, girlie.”