Look… If you had… one shot… or one opportunity… To open every door you ever wanted… one moment… Would you capture it? Or just let it slip? Yo His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy There’s vomit on his sweater already, mom’s spaghetti He’s nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready to drops bombs, but he keeps on forgetting what he wrote down, the whole crowd goes so loud He opens his hands but the keys won’t come out He’s chokin, how? Everybody’s jokin now The clock’s run out, time’s up, over - BLAOW!