Texty: Clipse. Hell Hath No Fury. Keys Open Doors.

[Chorus: Pusha T]
KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs, KIs open doors

[Verse 1: Pusha T]
EEYUCK!
Make ya 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 coppers
I ain't spend one rap dollar in 3 years, holla!
Money's the least, drag a bitch by her dog collar
Now ho folla', this is my +GHETTO STORY+
Like Cham, Ice-P is the Don Dotta
Open the Frigidaire, 25 to life in here
So much white you might think ya Holy Christ is near
Throw on your Louis V millionaires to kill the glare
Ice trays? Nada! All you see is pigeons paired
The realest shit I ever wrote, not Pac inspired
Its crack pot inspired, my real niggaz quote
Bitch never cook my coke! Why? Never trust a ho with your child
At you make believe rappers I smile! HA!
Canals treatin my style, like you internet sharing my files
You +My Space+ niggaz!
So kill the comparison, I'm South Beach sippin on Sara Fin'
Wellfy check nigga, I never been! Cook money clean through Maryland
Shit, countin just gasp at the smell of it! (Gasp!)
Meet the dealer, ain't a bitch realer
So you ain't gotta question why Pusha don't feel ya!
Now get the fuck off!

[Chorus: Pusha T]
KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs, KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs, KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs, KIs open doors
(Yeah)
(Check it!)
KIs open doors
KIs, KIs open doors

[Verse 2: Malice]
Throw it on the scale, feed ya God damn 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 Ma-Mia
And get it cross the state with the grace of Maria
Keep on toys, you gon know us when you see us
Living street tales worthy of Don Divas
KIs in the floor, mistress in Dior
Bitch tell me she love me, but I know she's a whore
Shit could get ugly, shit she talk to the Lord
Its just what I get, its the roses of war
Fuck the Bureau! Rather be spending Euros
And get fed grapes, fuck hoes in plurals
Just like Heaven as I gaze at the mural
What a piece of mind when you copy some Shapiro's
Cheers to the future as we toast to life
I pre-???ing in Miami, I'm a socialite, nigga!
The cars is big, the cribs is bigger
The kids are happy, the perfect picture
Gem Star razor, the fruit of my labor
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 spending, all it is is paper! Yes!

[Chorus: Pusha T]
KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs, KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs, KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs open doors
KIs, KIs open doors
...
...
KIs open doors
KIs, KIs, open doors