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lirik lagu clipse - keys open doors

(chorus: pusha t)
kis open doors
kis open doors
kis open doors
kis, kis open doors

(verse 1: pusha t)
eeyuck!
make ya skin crawl
press one b-tton, let the wind fall
who gon’ stop us? f-ck the coppers! the mind of a kilo shopper
seein’ my life through the windshields of choppers
i ain’t spend one rap dollar in 3 years, holla!
money’s the least, drag a b-tch by her dog collar
now ho folla’, this is my +ghetto story+
like cham, ice-p is the don dotta
open the frigidaire, 25 to life in here
so much white you might think ya holy christ is near
throw on your louis v millionaires to kill the glare
ice trays? nada! all you see is pigeons paired
the realest sh-t i ever wrote, not pac inspired
its crack pot inspired, my real n-gg-z quote
b-tch never cook my c-ke! why? never trust a ho with your child
at you make believe rappers i smile! ha!
c-n-l streetin’ my style, like you internet sharing my files
you +my sp-ce+ n-gg-z!
so kill the comparison, i’m south beach sippin on sarafin
royalty check n-gg-, i never been! c-ke money clean through merill lynch
accountant just gasp at the smell of it! (gasp!)
meet the dealer, ain’t a b-tch realer
so you ain’t gotta question why pusha don’t feel ya!
now get the f-ck off!

(chorus: pusha t)
kis open doors
kis open doors
kis open doors
kis, kis open doors
kis open doors
kis open doors
kis open doors
kis, kis open doors
kis open doors
kis open doors
kis open doors
kis, kis open doors
(yeah)
(check it!)
kis open doors
kis, kis open doors

(verse 2: malice)
throw it on the scale, feed ya god d-mn self
get it how you live, we don’t ask for help (no)
word on the street is you gon love how it melt
and i don’t come with a pitch neither, the sh-t sell itself!
i yell re-up til i’m locked like ma-mia
and get it cross the state with the grace of maria
keep on toys, you gon know us when you see us
living street tales worthy of don divas
kis in the floor, mistress in dior
b-tch tell me she love me, but i know she’s a wh-r-
sh-t could get ugly, sh-t she talk to the lord
its just what i get, its the roses of war
f-ck the bureau! rather be spending euros
and get fed grapes, f-ck hoes in plurals
just like heaven as i gaze at the mural
what a piece of mind when you copy some shapiro’s
cheers to the future as we toast to life
i pre-? ing in miami, i’m a socialite, n-gg-!
the cars is big, the cribs is bigger
the kids are happy, the perfect picture
gem star razor, the fruit of my labor
and i walk with a glow, it’s like the lord’s shown favor
these b-tches fake like the hoes on +flavor+
but i don’t mind spending, all it is is paper! yes!

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