[Intro] Riddle: what opens doors but isn’t a key? A metaphor—if you’re careful—watch me. [Verse] I pick the lock with logic—no crowbar, Just a clean line angled like a signature scar. I’m dense with the sense—tense with intent— Every bar’s a compressed argument. Riddle: what’s “creative” when it’s copying trends? A mirror with friends. I don’t want that—so I twist language, Make it earn its place, not borrow advantage. [Pre-Chorus] Fast tongue, tight lung—don’t front— I’m sprinting syllables but I still want punch. [Chorus] Metaphor lockpick—click—door swings, Thoughts turn physical, the whole room sings. Solve it: what’s the key to being “smart”? Turning confusion into art. [Bridge] And if I trip, I keep it in— Because the stumble proves it’s skin. [Outro] Click—door—more— I’m out the metaphor, into the floor.
