Unlock the door. Stop it y'all, y'all acting like my sh*t isn't as raw as the n*gga who was Gothic before he met all of y'all. Well, I'm Gothic more before I decided to chomp on the floor. Hmm, would y'all understand what that metaphor meant? If not, metaphor heaven, yeah, it's sent. E-mail to the darkest b*tch in the biz, and for somehow Charles is the b*tch in the biz. Y'all should just listen to this. If I say "b*tch" that's the darkest sh*t you could get. n*ggas will never understand my parking sh*t, or my metaphor for parking, until they're all in the whip getting high, sparking a spliff and they realize the park is the darkest place you could ever drift in. Listen, I really mean it: Tori, you really need some p*nis. If not, you really need to say the kid's a genius. If not, don't listen to hip-hip and eat clit. f*cking sick of Starchasers. Y'all want to see Charles getting paper? Fine. Y'all n*ggas don't know what a star is to chase it. So y'all are still following the basics. Swallowing/following. f*ck a mistake, b*tch. Say what I want to say. Until then I'm the greatest. Hate it because, Dilla, this beat still break the pavement. God damn, it