Verse 1 — slow, heavy, blues‑trap cadence]
There’s a crack in my doorway where the cold air creeps,
Where the past keeps knocking even when I’m asleep.
I built this house on habits I should’ve buried deep,
Now the floorboards groan with the secrets they keep.
Attic full of echoes, rattlin’ the beams,
Old ghosts pacing like they’re stitching my seams.
I walk slow through the hall with the weight on my mind,
Every shadow in the corner got a face I recognize.
Two white stripes down the face — that’s mine,
A bluesman carved out on a razor‑thin line.
Porch boards hum like a bassline low,
And the night leans in like it’s ready to know.
---
[Hook — dark phonk, blues swing]
This that pitch black porch blues,
Heavy sub‑bass humming underneath my shoes.
Eerie synth creeping like it’s sliding from the roof,
808 kicks knocking steady with the pro.
I’m a storm in a bottle with a cracked‑glass spine,
Walking through the dark like it’s part of my design.
If the shadows wanna linger, I ain’t hard to find,
’Cause the porch light flicker still belongs to mine.
---
[Verse 2 — blues‑trap storytelling, no chopper flow]
I’m the wild one wildin’, but I’m calm in the storm,
Got a grin in aisle ten that’s trouble‑born.
Need that cold pack I think a muscles torn
They say I’m off the chain,
But I rise from the ashes like I’m built to reform.
Wanted the smoke but scared of the torch
Burned down good things I tried to understand,
Took hits to the pride, felt the slip of the sand.
But I bounce back quick with a steady right hand,
Ain’t perfect, but I’m rooted like the dirt in this land.
The mycelium connects me to everyone ÿĥ7
Women drift through like the wood‑grain walls,
Leave fingerprints faint, then they’re gone with the fall.
Bedroom’s a bunker where a An
