streets

Yo, listen up—I’m spittin’ light, no shade in sight, Positivity’s the plug, keep the darkness outta sight. Streets tried to fold me, but I flipped the script, Turned potholes to runways, now I’m takin’ the trip. Ain’t no beef with the block, I bless every corner, Hustle clean, heart open—watch the hate get smaller. Yo, streets bleed red where the 45s bark, Shells hittin’ concrete like broken hearts. Pimpin’ on the corner, bitches slangin’ dreams— Lipstick on the barrel, mascara in the steam. Hustle got me scarred, knuckles cracked from fights, Gold chains swing heavy, but the weight’s all spite. Bullets on the pavement—brass confetti rain, Every step I take, I’m dodgin’ yesterday’s pain. Hard knocks? Nah, that’s just the soundtrack loop, Momma prayed for heaven, I just copped a new coupe. Prostitute queens with eyes like loaded clips— Sellin’ soul for twenties, still flashin’ fake lips. Gangsta code: trust no one, keep the hammer close, Love’s a sucker punch, so I ghost like smoke. From the trap to the grave, it’s the same damn grind— 45 in my waist, bullets in my mind. Yeah… that’s the life—raw, no filter, no grace, Just echoes of shots and a cold-ass face. Keep swingin’, keep slangin’, till the reaper calls— Hard knock down, but I still stand tall. trigger finger on lock. Murder in the air, smell the gun smoke thick, I wax ’em quick—leave ‘em leakin’ on the brick. Fuck your whole crew, snatch your bitches like trophies, Prostitute whores on their knees, beggin’ for groceries. I’m the reaper with a .9, no mercy, no pause, Your girl ridin’ shotgun, screamin’ my name through the gauze. Streets raised me savage—blood on the curb, Every scar’s a story, every kill’s a verb. I don’t talk peace, I talk lead—straight to the dome, Your homies scatter like roaches when I roam. Wax that fool, then wax his mama’s pride, Pimp her out for pennies while his body’s outside. No love in this game—just rage, just chrome, Tupac in my ear: “Thug life, nigga—get gone.” So bow down, bitch—I’m the storm you can’t flee,