Door Closed

I used to rap with the door closed

Used to work at Party City, now I tour those

The flow sick like a sore throat

And we mean business every time, yeah, sport coat

It’s getting harder to reach me, everything peachy

Yeah I braid my hair like Khaleesi

I done did it by myself, ain’t nobody to teach me

Who you know that make it look this easy? (Huh?)

Man it’s the music from the soul, type to never grow old

Yeah the smile went platinum and the wrist went gold

Got a couple good stories that’ll never get told

I don’t want to die young but I ain’t tryna get old

Man, **** it, I’m bout to run up the budget

I love the game like I’m kissing and hugging, but not in public

Homie, this the one they been waiting on, damn

I ain’t met a rapper yet that doesn’t **** fans

Yeah this the one that’ll make you real good

I mean real good

Still friends with the kids in my yearbook

I ain’t shaking hands wit’ you ‘less the deals good

This time it’s personal, it’s so personal

If I don’t **** with you, you gone be the first to know

And they mad cause they don’t rock the city like I do

Every time I step out it’s “Hi, how are you?”

Well I’m good, thanks for asking

I got fans, that’s fantastic

These internet rappers so fake, they plastic

I just took the cards, I was down to learn magic

And if I do a deal with the Devil, I’ll come back with his head

They been waiting on my drop, dog, I feel like Zed

The old school with the new, I could sell a cassette

And we just tryna make music they won’t forget (Hold up)

Yeah, I used this the most

Y’all already know how this thing goes

Don’t make me clear my throat

If you’re drunk in Paris, just make sure they don’t

I got the same number since flip phones

Same friends since the Flintstones

And they like, the higher the fall, the higher the climb

I just came to give them Goosebumps, like R.L. Stine

I’m gone

Real one from my neck to my feet

I get played the way I’m blessing the beat

I’ma be around forever, the flows antique

And the album so fire, I don’t care if it leaks

I keep my real friends with me, seven days of the week

I wake up, write a song, eat dinner, repeat

I ain’t giving out my number, you can DM or tweet

You can hit me on the snaps, I don’t really do streaks

I heard these rappers getting signed, hope they keeping the receipt

Cause the label bout to drop them when they hear about me

I’m a little hot-headed, I ain’t got two cold feet

Oh-ee, who he, I ain’t never bought a beat

And all these other acts sounding fishy like tofu

Yeah, I like soul food, little bit of whole food

My favorite mix drink is tequila and pro tools

And God might forgive you dog, but I don’t do redos

It’s showtime