Look alive.
Smile wide.
Gold don’t care
who bled inside.

I walk in crooked, but the pocket sit clean,
left foot late with a right-hand scheme.
Coat cut sharp, little limp, big grin,
let the brass hit once when I slip right in.
They see a flaw, I see a lever,
soft little wound with a silk-line tether.
I make it charming, make it clever,
make the whole room lean like we planned this together.
Old men laugh with their rings on ice,
wives look twice, then pretend they nice.
I kiss one hand, catch three tells,
watch one nephew get nervous by the champagne well.
I don’t chase power.
I let it flirt.
Let it brush my sleeve in a borrowed shirt.
By the time they toast to the bloodline now,
I got fingerprints under the borrowed crown.

Borrowed crown, but it fit when I tilted it.
Room got bright when I walked in wicked.
Gold so sweet, but the cut came quick.
Everybody dance while the floor turn slick.
Borrowed crown, borrowed crown.
Smile too clean when the knives go down.
If the room loves charm, let the room bow now.
I look good in a borrowed crown.

I can talk grief into changing seats,
make a widow laugh where the lilies sleep.
Not too loud.
Not too much.
Just a velvet word with a venom touch.
Say, “Dear heart,” then I deal the cards,
count the exits, clock the guards.
She sees sorrow with a polished edge,
I see a name I can move like a chessboard pledge.
That’s not romance.
That’s rhythm and timing.
Half truth sweet with a backbeat shining.
I keep one joke for the priest in black,
one clean lie for the cousin in the Cadillac.
Truth got shoes, but the rumor got wings,
and I teach that bird how to circle kings.
By breakfast, the blame got a brand-new sound,
and I’m two steps closer to the borrowed crown.

Borrowed crown, but it fit when I tilted it.
Room got bright when I walked in wicked.
Gold so sweet, but the cut came quick.
Everybody dance while the floor turn slick.
Borrowed crown, borrowed crown.
Smile too clean when the knives go down.
If the room loves charm, let the room bow now.
I look good in a borrowed crown.

Raise your glass.
Don’t look down.
There’s a red little thread where the toast went round.
Clap on two.
Step on four.
Nobody hears when the lock clicks more.
I took the insult, folded it neat,
put a crease in the pain, put a shine on the speech.
They called me crooked, so I learned how to curve
every straight little road to the place I deserve.
One for the brother with the soft-lit throat.
Two for the nephew with the sealed-up note.
Three for the bride with the pearl-white doubt.
Four for the room when the lights go out.
I don’t need thunder.
I don’t need rage.
I need one good smile and a well-timed stage.
Let the horn line laugh.
Let the bassline bounce.
I sell them the poison and call it a crown.

Borrowed crown, but it fit when I tilted it.
Room got bright when I walked in wicked.
Gold so sweet, but the cut came quick.
Everybody dance while the floor turn slick.
Borrowed crown, borrowed crown.
Smile too clean when the knives go down.
If the room loves charm, let the room bow now.
I look good in a borrowed crown.

Look alive.
Smile wide.
Gold don’t care
who bled inside.
Chair still warm.
Room still loud.
That’s the trick
with a borrowed crown.