(Intro)
(Beat drops in: slow, ominous 808 slide, sparse hi-hats)
(Voice 1 - Aggressive Baritone)
Yeah... listen up.
This ain't a love song. This a court case.
(Verse 1 - Voice 1: The Eviction Notice)
She showed up with a suitcase and a sob story 'bout her ex.
Said the locks were changed, had nowhere to go next.
My dumb ass fell for the performance, let her get the key.
Now my fridge is empty and my living room's a flea TV.
Pays no bills, just orders Postmates on my card.
Leaves her makeup crusted on my bathroom sink, shit's hard.
Talks 'bout "vibes" and "energy" but brings no fuckin' light.
Just naps all day and wants to argue every goddamn night.
(Verse 2 - Voice 2: Gritty Southern Flow)
Ugh... yeah.
She say she "healin'" (yeah), she say she on a "journey" (on a journey).
But that journey seem to end right where my money be (my money).
No kiss, no hug, don't even wanna hold my hand (nah).
But got a demand list longer than I ever planned (damn).
Wants "emotional support" when she cry 'bout her old dude.
Wants a ride to her job interview in my new coupe.
But try to touch her leg? She freeze up like a glitch.
Says "I'm not ready yet," bitch, you livin' in my shit! (Ugh!)
(Bridge - Voice 1: The Audit)
So I started doin' math. No sex, no home-cooked meals.
Just electricity bills and Uber receipt deals.
I'm her emergency fund in a pair of sweatpants.
Her daytime sofa king in a broke-ass romance.
She calls it "trauma bonding," I call it gettin' played.
A tenant in my heart that never, ever paid.
(Verse 3 - Voice 2: Emotional Withdrawal)
I cut the Wi-Fi password off (yeah). I took the spare key back (key back).
Started eatin' out for every single meal, a fact (a fact).
Let the AC break in summer, told her "fans are in the closet."
Watchin' her get uncomfortable, I swear it felt prophetic.
She asked, "Where's the love?" I said, "Bitch, where's the rent?"
"You a squatter with a therapist's vocabulary, bent."
The audacity to look hurt when I changed the locks today.
You offered nothin' but a headache, now that headache gotta pay.
(Twist - Outro)
(Beat simplifies to just the kick drum)
(Voice 1, calmly, almost conversational)
The twist?
I learned it from my uncle. Saw her type before.
So I let her move in... 'cause I own the building, bitch.
That "lease" you never signed? Was a month-to-month sublet.
I been your landlord.
This whole time?
Yeah.
And you're three weeks late.
(Voice 2, as a distant, echoing ad-lib) Pack. Your. Shit.
(Sound of a door closing. Beat cuts abruptly.)
PrinceShawn
