DON’T TOUCH MY SHIT [INTRO — SPOKEN] Man… I need everybody to hear me real clear. This ain’t a hotel. This ain’t a storage unit. This ain’t a restaurant. And this damn sure ain’t your house. If I invite you through my front door, that means I invited you. Not your hands. Not your appetite. Not your overnight bag. Not your whole damn wardrobe. Respect my shit. ⸻ [VERSE 1] Why you walking out my house with a bag? Hold up… What the fuck you got in that bag? You came with nothing, now you leaving looking like you went shopping. And I’m standing at the door like— “Damn… I should’ve checked that shit.” Now I’m looking through the closet, looking through the drawers, counting everything I own like I work at the damn store. Where my shirt? Where my hoodie? Where my damn jeans? Why your ass got my clothes looking better than me? I didn’t say, “Take whatever you need.” I said, “Come over.” That’s a completely different fucking thing. ⸻ [PRE-CHORUS] Grown-ass people should know better. If it ain’t yours— DON’T TOUCH IT. If I didn’t offer it— DON’T TAKE IT. If you didn’t buy it— PUT IT BACK. And if you gotta ask yourself whether you should touch it… YOU ALREADY KNOW THE ANSWER. ⸻ [CHORUS] DON’T TOUCH MY SHIT! Keep your hands off mine. Don’t dig through my closet, don’t go through my drawers, don’t cross that line. DON’T TOUCH MY SHIT! Don’t reach inside my fridge. You ain’t gotta ask me what the fuck I’m eating just so you can eat it too, bitch. DON’T TOUCH MY SHIT! Respect where you stand. This is my house, my food, my clothes, my peace, my plan. If you can’t respect my boundaries— GET THE FUCK OUT MY HOUSE. ⸻ [VERSE 2] Now why you in my refrigerator? I hear that door open— “What you doing?” “Oh, nothing.” Nothing? Then why the fuck you standing in my refrigerator? You saw me pull out a plate and immediately— “Ooooh, what you eating?” Why? You wasn’t hungry five seconds ago. Now my damn leftovers got your attention? I bought the groceries. I cooked the food. If I wanted to feed you, I’d say— “Here, make yourself a plate.” Until then? Close. The. Refrigerator. ⸻ [VERSE 3] And another damn thing— Why the fuck are you still here? You came over at eight. It’s midnight. Now it’s two. Now it’s five in the morning. Sun coming through the window and your ass still sitting on my couch. I got shit to do. I got bills to pay. I got things to think about. Sometimes I just want to sit in my house with nobody talking. Nobody asking questions. Nobody touching shit. Nobody saying— “What you doing?” Every damn five minutes. So when I say, “Hey, I need you to head out…” Why you looking offended? Why you catching an attitude? Why you acting like I just evicted you from the fucking planet? GO HOME! ⸻ [HOOK — BUILDING] You got a home. I got a home. That’s why God made two addresses. You got your refrigerator. I got mine. You got your closet. I got mine. You got your bed. I got mine. So why the fuck you keep trying to turn my house into your second home? ⸻ [CHORUS — BIGGER] DON’T TOUCH MY SHIT! Don’t touch my clothes. Don’t touch my food. Don’t touch my drawers. Don’t touch my phone. Don’t touch my money. Don’t touch my stuff. And if I say— “Leave it alone!” That’s more than enough. DON’T TOUCH MY SHIT! This ain’t complicated. Respect is free. But apparently that’s something some of y’all never downloaded. ⸻ [VERSE 4] And stop asking for my clothes! “Can I borrow this?” “Can I wear that?” “Let me get that hoodie.” “Those shoes look nice.” “Can I keep this?” NO. Why you looking at me like I owe you my wardrobe? I bought this shit because I wanted it. Not because I was opening a fucking clothing rental business. And don’t hit me with— “I’ll bring it back.” That’s what everybody says. Then three months later I’m looking for my favorite shirt and your ass posting pictures in it. Now I’m scrolling Instagram like— “WAIT A MINUTE… THAT’S MY FUCKING SHIRT!” ⸻ [BRIDGE — QUIET, THEN EXPLOSIVE] I am tired. Tired of being nice and watching kindness turn into entitlement. Tired of opening my door and people thinking that means everything inside belongs to them. Tired of feeding people who never ask permission. Tired of lending things that never come home. Tired of people staying until my peace disappears. See— My home is my sanctuary. When I close that door, I should be able to breathe. I shouldn’t have to guard my refrigerator. I shouldn’t have to lock my closet. I shouldn’t have to count my clothes. I shouldn’t have to wonder what disappeared after you left. ⸻ [BREAKDOWN — SPOKEN / CROWD RESPONSE] Let me ask you something. Who raised you? WHO RAISED YOU? You walk into somebody else’s house— You ask. You wait. You respect. You don’t assume. You don’t take. You don’t dig. You don’t stay until sunrise. And you damn sure don’t walk out the door with a mystery bag! WHAT’S IN THE BAG?! ⸻ PoloEnergy
