[Intro] Hollow shells… Harmonicas… Pain got rhythm where I’m from. [Verse 1] Hollow shells on the ground like fallen teeth, harmonica crying through the smoke in the street. Somebody’s brother ain’t coming back home, somebody’s mother sitting by the phone. This ain’t no game, this ain’t no trophy, this shit turn loud boys into memories mostly. I seen revenge make a whole block bankrupt, everybody tough till the coffin get slammed shut. I used to talk wild because fear had me choking, used to laugh at death because my spirit was broken. Ain’t no peace in a pistol, just a pause in the pain, then the same damn storm come around again. I know boys who became what they hated most, walking through town like a breathing ghost. They got chains, they got cars, they got women, they got clout, but they eyes look dead when the music cut out. [Hook] Hollow shells and harmonicas, pain riding shotgun in all of us. 808s hit like trauma do, I’m still alive, but I’m wounded too. Hollow shells and harmonicas, Lord, put some healing in all of us. We been too damn numb, too damn lost, every street crown come with a cost. [Verse 2] I don’t want to hear “slide” no more, I want peace, want the youngins to age, want the funerals to cease. Want the block to know wealth without blood in the deal, want the boys to feel love without needing steel. But I know that’s hard when your stomach talk loud, and your role models either in prison or clouds. I know that’s hard when respect feel scarce, and you never had a man show you life could be fair. Still, somebody gotta say the quiet part clear, we are not invincible, we are injured by fear. We are not monsters, we are boys left bleeding, but being hurt don’t excuse more grieving. I’m talking to myself as much as I talk to y’all, because I had bloodlust when my back hit walls. But I’m choosing this mic, choosing truth, choosing scars, turning hollow shells into harmonica bars. [Bridge – shouted ad-libs] Pain made me! But it don’t own me! Mud raised me! But it won’t hold me! Gun smoke choked me! But I’m still breathing! Still standing! Still reaching! [Final Hook] Hollow shells and harmonicas, pain riding shotgun in all of us. 808s hit like trauma do, I’m still alive, but I’m wounded too. Hollow shells and harmonicas, Lord, put some healing in all of us. We been too damn numb, too damn lost, every street crown come with a cost. [Outro] Let that harmonica cry… Let the bass breathe… Ain’t no crown worth your soul.
