[Intro - Vogue Beat] [Call – Brass stab, siren riser, rubber bass drops in] Snap. (Snap.) Stomp. (Stomp.) Choir, you with me? Yeah. [Verse 1 – Runway strut, tight phrasing] I kept receipts in my mouth like rosary beads, Counting every “not yours” you preached on me. You stopped looking, thought I’d fold like fabric, Thought I’d fade to black and become background static. Cute. That theory died in the dark with the lights off. I didn’t disappear, I just learned to bite soft… then bite clean. Now I walk like a warning sign in designer sheen. [Pre-Chorus – Building, claps get sharper] See, I grew teeth where you left me to rot, Made a throne out of “maybe” and “you can’t” and “you’re not”. Now I’m the sermon, I’m the echo in the hall, And you’re the congregation up against the wall. [Chorus – Chantable hook, crowd stacks] SIT DOWN. STAY PUT. I’M NOT DONE. YOU’RE COOKED. You wanted small? I went too much, too loud, too lit. You wanted quiet? Hear this, I won’t ever un-exist. SIT DOWN. STAY PUT. AMEN, THAT’S WHAT. This is the sound of me taking my space back, High-fashion menace with a bassline heart attack. [Post-Chorus – Call/response, ballroom tags] Face… (Face!) Beat… (Beat!) Teeth… (Teeth!) Speak… (Speak!) Runway preacher, watch me teach. [Verse 2 – Rapping, feast energy, playful cruel] While you’re sitting there doing that guilty blink, Good. I like the way discomfort suits you, I think. I’m eating now, no fork, no shame, just hands, Taking back every inch you stole with your “plans”. Spotlight? Mine. Stage? Mine. Audacity to exist like a siren in silk? Mine. You want a bite? Nah, that was a test. You failed big time. [Switch-Up Break – Sleek trap/house, half-time then snap back] 808s like footsteps down a marble aisle, Hi-hats tick like a judge’s smile. I don’t chase. I replace. I don’t beg. I engrave. Your name in the dust where you tried to make me behave. [Build – Rapping , cinematic, brass stabs widen, crowd rising] Here’s where a nicer song would soften its jaw, Where I’d hand you forgiveness like a predictable flaw. But I’m not a “closure” boy. I’m a consequence track. I’m the “you touched the stove” and the flame licks back. I’ll keep being too much. Keep taking up air. Keep making the room remember I’m there. That’s the punishment: not pain, not blood, not a scene. Just me winning in front of you, glossy and mean. [Diva Kill-Switch Solo – low-to-belt, mic-grab, then detonates] (Low) You made me a ghost and got surprised I learned to haunt. You called it “attitude” when it was survival you can’t flaunt. (Sharper) Look at me. Really look. This is what cruelty cooks. (Belt, tearing open the beat) I’M THE SERMON AND THE SCAR, THE “OH FUCK” IN YOUR REAR VIEW, THE THING YOU CAN’T UNDO, THE PROOF YOU NEVER HEARD ME TILL I SHOOK THE WHOLE ROOM. YOU DON’T GET TO LEAVE MID-PRAYER, NOT WHEN I’M THE ONE UP HERE. AMEN, AMEN, BITE DOWN, WATCH ME WEAR YOUR SHAME LIKE A CROWN. [Final Chorus – Full chaos] SIT DOWN. STAY PUT. I’M STILL UP. YOU’RE SHOOK. You wanted grateful? I am. For the teeth. Thanks, babe. I use them when I speak. SIT DOWN. STAY PUT. AMEN, THAT’S WHAT. You wanted sorry? Sorry-sorry-sorry… there. Just syllables. Only air. The real sorry is you watching me ascend in your stare. [Outro – Dismissive, runway exit, bass tail] Okay. One more thing. You can go now. Doors work, remember? I’ve got another sermon to write. And you’re not in it. …Next.
