Weed smoke curlin’ like thoughts I don’t say out loud, Gun smoke metaphors, pressure make a grown man loud, I been breathin’ through the grind, lungs full of overtime, Clock punch scars in my hands, yeah I wear ’em like a sign, Second shift soldier, factory lights like interrogation, Plastic dreams get molded, tubes pressed from desperation, Action Technology nights, hum of machines keep time, While I’m stackin’ bars in my head like nickels, dimes, and crimes, Not felonies—thought crimes, kill beats in my sleep, Roll another blunt, watch the stress fold into the leaf, I ain’t glamorizin’ shit, this survival with cadence, Every line cocked back, click—language dangerous, Eyes red, mind sharp, paranoia poetic, I don’t wave flags, I wave flames, this flow’s kinetic, They want silence—I give ’em thunder in smoke form, Calm face, violent pen, this how legends get born. Verse 2 I been rollin’ problems up and burnin’ ‘em slow, Ash tray therapy, let the truth start to show, Gun smoke talk but the weapon is syntax, Every sentence got recoil, feel it snap back, I clock in broke, clock out mentally paid, Foreman don’t know I’m buildin’ an empire off rage, Plastic tubes on the line, but my words stay solid, Hollow points in a verse when the beat get crowded, I don’t fake flex, I flex endurance and pain, Still standin’ in the storm like “is this all you got?” rain, My lungs smell like rebellion and indica dreams, Eyes half-closed, mind wide like a split in the seams, Every inhale a confession, exhale’s a threat, I don’t speak softly, I whisper regret with my chest, They want polished and clean, I want truth with a pulse, I want grime on the mic, I want the booth to convulse. Verse 3 I done learned pressure don’t break you, it teaches, Plastic bends under heat—same law applies to people, Weed smoke halo, sinner thoughts on repeat, Gun smoke symbolism—every bar gotta bleed, I ain’t violent, I’m vivid, paint pictures with sparks, Every verse like a match in the middle of dark, Family fed off my backbone, spine made of grit, I don’t chase trends, I chase breath when the stress get thick, Second shift twilight, ghosts on the factory floor, Dreams clock in with me, clock out wantin’ more, I spit for the tired, the wired, the overworked souls, Who roll up hope just to feel like they still in control, This ain’t party rap, this survivalist poetry, Every line autobiographical warfare quotin’ me. Verse 4 Weed smoke linger like promises I ain’t break yet, Gun smoke echoes but the violence stays latex, Metaphors heavy, rubber gloves on my rage, Still leavin’ fingerprints all over the page, I don’t rap for approval, I vent through distortion, This beat get possessed every time I start talkin’, I been quiet too long, now the volume stuck high, Every bar’s a middle finger to the sleep in my eyes, If you feel this, it’s ‘cause you lived it, not heard it, This ain’t studio magic, this shift-earned and earned, bitch, No filter, no edits, no savin’ your ears, I bleed on the waveform, let the truth persevere.
