Intro In a trailer rolling out of Amsterdam Came a ton of soft, sticky brown Twenty boxes, fifty kilos each Marked “North African Sweet Peach” A Polish driver with a greedy grin Twenty boxes — let the game begin ⸻ Verse 1 A heavy car and a heavy heart One spotter and the journey starts Every car looks like it’s undercover Heartbeat racing, prison means forever Cold as ice but my hands feel sweaty Gotta store the stash at a homie Every mile feels like a morbid thrill If the law comes, I know the deal Surrender… or kill ⸻ Pre-Chorus Everything is set in place Like the start of a race Six weeks ’til they come to collect If the money’s short, I know the verdict ⸻ Chorus One step from a deadly debt One mistake and a bullet in the head When the boss comes ’n collect You better have the damn bread You can’t call in sick — dead ⸻ Verse 2 Beginning smooth and dollars rained One week left, still 90K unpaid One hustler, got him before he fled No bread, blood and excuses instead His story ended, painted red Mine’s runnin’ out The reaper’s ahead Bread still missing, I’m soon dead ⸻ Pre-Chorus 2 With no choice left, I hit the bank All or nothing, gun in hand I rush the counter, straight to the vault No guts, no glory — no second thoughts I scream at a man, “Fill the bags quick” Three minutes later — gone, damn what a kick ⸻ Chorus One step from a deadly debt One mistake and a bullet in the head When the boss comes ’n collect You better have the damn bread You can’t call in sick — dead ⸻ Outro The Dutch mafia got happy I learned not to be sloppy If you don’t have the bread You’re dead The hustle’s gone I write songs instead Un dead
