Hanging out in Bars

Bars— I was an alcoholic in a bar, hangin’ out, Tryna drown demons in a shot glass drought. Bars— I was an inmate behind 'em, hangin’ out with the sinners, Trading war stories and gospel whispers with the beginners. Bars— Now I deliver 'em, From being delivered by the One who gave me bars to hang on. Bars— I spit verses like prison gates—locked but lyrical, Each rhyme a key, each truth empirical. Bars— I got scars that rhyme—tattooed testimony, Every line bleeds like a psalm in felony. Bars— I was barred from peace, barred from light, Till the Lord dropped bars that rewrote my fight. Bars— I used to freestyle pain in a cellblock cipher, Now I ghostwrite grace like a gospel lifer. Bars— My mama raised me on broken hymns and hard liquor, Now I raise bars like a pulpit preacher, quicker. Bars— I hang truth like scripture on scars, Every verse a resurrection from behind those bars. Bars— And that’s when the Devil said: “You barred for life,” But I flipped that sentence into a council-coded mic. Bars— Now I send for the ones who left me in the ditch, Delivering bars that baptize every snitch. Bars— I ain’t just hanging out—I’m hanging on, To the bars that built me when the world was gone.