g a b 1 by Kektex01

Titre : « I’m Still Breathin’ (Radio Edit) »
[Graveyard G, voix rauque, cassée, presque chuchotée au début, comme s’il sortait d’un coma de 20 ans]
[Flow traînant, pauses longues, rires amers qui se transforment en toux, inflexions pleines de douleur et de défi]
[Verse 1]
I woke up again… damn.
One eye open, the other one died back in ’98
[petit rire sec] Still here.
Coffee black like the hole where my soul used to be
Roaches in the sink say good morning — that’s family
My daughter don’t call, my son locked down just like me
Mirror shows a ghost with a cracked smile, yellow teeth
Every wrinkle a war, every scar a betrayal
I walk these Marcy halls, kids stare: “Who the old head?”
I tell ’em: “Your future, lil’ [BIP]… run.”
[Voix qui monte légèrement, venimeuse]
I watched Biggie bleed out on Wilshire
Watched my mama fade slow on that hospital bed
Watched hope pack its bags and never look back
And you talk American Dream?
[long silence, puis presque craché] Get the [BIP] outta my face.
[Chorus – parlé, presque chanté sur une note basse et tremblante]
I don’t rap for fame no more
I rap so the rope don’t win tonight
Every bar is a blade cuttin’ the noose with my teeth
I’m still breathin’…
And that pisses y’all off.
[Verse 2]
Cops broke my ribs in ’93 for bein’ born the wrong shade
Still taste the blood when I say the pledge, man
Friends? Turned to ghosts or snitches
Money? Turned to debts that flip me the bird
My voice cracked like my dreams, like my spine
Like the last promise anybody ever kept me
I piss on your charts, I [BIP] on your streams
Spit blood in the mic and it still sounds cleaner than your hooks
[Voix qui baisse, presque murmure douloureux, comme une confession]
I’m the last page of a book nobody wants to finish
The period that refuses to die
Look me in my dead eyes and hear this:
[BIP] your mercy.
[BIP] your pity.
I’m still standin’ on this burning concrete
Like Jesus on the cross… but I ain’t askin’ for forgiveness.
[Outro – voix qui s’éteint lentement, rauque jusqu’à la gorge arrachée]
[râclements, toux, long soupir]
Still breathin’…
And that’s the worst thing I ever did to this world.
[petit rire brisé] Peace…
Or whatever.

2173/7500

Titre : « I’m Still Breathin’ (Radio Edit) » [Graveyard G, voix rauque, cassée, presque chuchotée au début, comme s’il sortait d’un coma de 20 ans] [Flow traînant, pauses longues, rires amers qui se transforment en toux, inflexions pleines de douleur et de défi] [Verse 1] I woke up again… damn. One eye open, the other one died back in ’98 [petit rire sec] Still here. Coffee black like the hole where my soul used to be Roaches in the sink say good morning — that’s family My daughter don’t call, my son locked down just like me Mirror shows a ghost with a cracked smile, yellow teeth Every wrinkle a war, every scar a betrayal I walk these Marcy halls, kids stare: “Who the old head?” I tell ’em: “Your future, lil’ [BIP]… run.” [Voix qui monte légèrement, venimeuse] I watched Biggie bleed out on Wilshire Watched my mama fade slow on that hospital bed Watched hope pack its bags and never look back And you talk American Dream? [long silence, puis presque craché] Get the [BIP] outta my face. [Chorus – parlé, presque chanté sur une note basse et tremblante] I don’t rap for fame no more I rap so the rope don’t win tonight Every bar is a blade cuttin’ the noose with my teeth I’m still breathin’… And that pisses y’all off. [Verse 2] Cops broke my ribs in ’93 for bein’ born the wrong shade Still taste the blood when I say the pledge, man Friends? Turned to ghosts or snitches Money? Turned to debts that flip me the bird My voice cracked like my dreams, like my spine Like the last promise anybody ever kept me I piss on your charts, I [BIP] on your streams Spit blood in the mic and it still sounds cleaner than your hooks [Voix qui baisse, presque murmure douloureux, comme une confession] I’m the last page of a book nobody wants to finish The period that refuses to die Look me in my dead eyes and hear this: [BIP] your mercy. [BIP] your pity. I’m still standin’ on this burning concrete Like Jesus on the cross… but I ain’t askin’ for forgiveness. [Outro – voix qui s’éteint lentement, rauque jusqu’à la gorge arrachée] [râclements, toux, long soupir] Still breathin’… And that’s the worst thing I ever did to this world. [petit rire brisé] Peace… Or whatever.

0/500