[Intro] You hear “Malfoy” — think tailored grace, silver trays, crystal glasses catching firelight through the haze. I hear locks click. Hear my father shift his tone. That quiet kind of fear that makes a child feel old. Different worlds, Pottah. [Verse 1] Raised where the marble floors reflected every flaw, where bloodline meant religion and affection came with laws. Pureblood politics poured slow with the wine, teach poison long enough and it starts sounding divine. Father wore pride like a blade beneath his sleeve, said, “A Malfoy bows to no one — understand me?” So I learned cold smiles, learned contempt by design, kept my panic hidden clean behind expensive ties. You had reckless friends flying high after dark. I had masked men speaking death inside the yard. You called it courage. I called it staying alive. That’s the difference, Pottah. Don’t look surprised. [Hook] You built boys like me — fed us fear till it tasted routine. Called it blood, called it class, called it legacy, then acted shocked when the hatred ran deep. Now you stare like I invented all this violence. Like I crawled from the dirt wrong from the start. I was sixteen, sleepless, shaking every night with somebody else’s war pressed into my arms. [Verse 2] Dark Lord dining down the hall, nobody breathed. Even servants moved careful carrying porcelain things. Saw Lucius pour whiskey with a trembling hand — first time in my life I watched my father look scared. That destroys something in a son. You understand? Thought power meant control. Thought cruelty meant command. Then I watched grown men avoid each other’s eyes inside a house built entirely on pride. Tell me, what exactly did you think I’d become? Raised knee-deep in paranoia since young. You praise pureblood names for centuries straight, then blame the children trained to weaponize hate. And Dumbledore— Climbed the tower ready to stain both hands red. Spent months rehearsing murder in my head. Then he looked at me — not angry. Not afraid. Just tired. Like he already knew I’d break. [Hook] You built boys like me — fed us fear till it tasted routine. Called it blood, called it class, called it legacy, then acted shocked when the hatred ran deep. Now you stare like I invented all this violence. Like I crawled from the dirt wrong from the start. I was sixteen, sleepless, shaking every night with somebody else’s war pressed into my arms. [Bridge / Doubletime] Say “Pottah” once — whole castle starts grinning. Golden-boy luck got the whole world spinning. Meanwhile fear had my heartbeat skipping, hands ice-cold while the walls stayed listening. Fear sweats. Fear lies. Fear learns how to look composed at dinners while dead-eyed monsters socialize. None of you lived that life. [Outro] After the war the manor felt hollow for months. No speeches. No glory. No absolution for us. Just my mother checking whether I still drew breath every time she passed the doorway late at night. And maybe that’s the part I hate most— Not that the house destroyed me. That some part of me still sounds exactly like it.
