Keys Open Doors (Live at NPR’s Tiny Desk)

[Chorus: Pusha T, Yoo Q!, Both]
Keys open doors (Come on)
Keys open doors (Come on)
Keys open doors (Bounce)
Keys- (Bounce, uh) Keys open doors (Uh, bounce)
Come on, let's go

[Verse 1: Pusha T, Clipse, Malice, Yoo Q!]
Yuugh, make your skin crawl
Press one button, let the wind fall
Who gon' stop us? Fuck the coppers, the mind of a kilo shopper
Seein' my life through the windshields of choppers
I ain't spent one rap dollar in three years, holla
Money's the leash, drag the bitch by a dog collar
Now, ho, follow
This is my ghetto story like Cham, Ice-P is the Don Dada
Open the Frigidaire, twenty-five to life in here
So much white you might think your holy Christ is near
Throw on your Louis V millionaires to kill the glare
Ice trays? Nada, all you'll see is pigeons paired
The realest shit I ever wrote, not Pac inspired
It's crack pot inspired, my real niggas quote
Bitch, never cook my coke, why?
Never trust a ho with your child
At you make-believe rappers, I smile, ha
Canal Streeting my style
Like you internet sharin' my files, you MySpace niggas
So kill the comparison (Uh)
I'm South Beach sippin' on Sarafin
Royalty check, nigga, I never been
Coke money clean through Merrill Lynch
Accountant just gasp at the smell of it, ah
Meet the dealer, ain't a bitch realer
So you ain't gotta question why Pusha don't feel you (Come on, y'all, yo)

[Chorus: Pusha T & Yoo Q!, Malice, Clipse & Yoo Q!, Yoo Q!]
Keys open doors (What), keys open doors (What)
Keys open doors, keys, keys open doors (Come on)
Keys open doors (What), keys open doors (What)
Keys open doors, keys, keys open doors
Keys open doors (What), keys open doors (What)
Keys open doors, keys, keys open doors (Keep it goin', keep it goin')
(Come on, let's go, let's go)
Keys open doors, keys, keys open doors

[Verse 2: Malice, Clipse, Pusha T, Pusha T & Yoo Q!]
Throw it on the scale, feed your goddamn 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 shit sell itself
I yell, "Re-up," 'til I'm locked like Mumia
And get it cross-state with the grace of Maria
Keep on toys, you gon' know us when you see us
Livin' street tales worthy of Don Divas
Keys in the floor, mistress in Dior
Bitch tell me she love me, but I know she's a whore
Shit could get ugly should she talk to the law
And that's just what I get, it's the Roses of War
Fuck the Bureau, rather be spending Euros
We get fed grapes, fuck hoes in plurals (Uh)
Just like heaven as I gaze at the mural
What a peace of mind when you cop you some Shapiros
Cheers to the future as we toast to life
I'm Prive-in' in Miami, I'm a socialite, nigga
The cars are big, the cribs are bigger (What else?)
The kids are happy, the perfect picture
Gemstar razor (Uh), the fruit of my labor (Uh)
And I walk with a glow, it's like the Lord's shown favor
These bitches fake like the hoes on Flavor
But I don't mind spendin', all it is is paper, yes

[Chorus: Pusha T & Yoo Q!, Malice, Clipse & Yoo Q!, Yoo Q!]
(One more time, go)
Keys open doors (What), keys open doors (What)
Keys open doors, keys, keys open doors
Keys open doors (What), keys open doors (What)
Keys open doors, keys, keys open doors
Keys open doors (What), keys open doors (What)
Keys open doors, keys, keys open doors
Keys open doors, keys, keys open doors

[Outro: Yoo Q!, NPR Music Team]
Tiny Desk, how we feelin' out there, man?
Woo, yeah
Okay, y'all ready to rock with the Clipse tonight?
Y'all ready to get to it today? (Yep)
A'ight, cool