I dusted the mic where the old dust settled, Young SuAdE rose with a cold-cut mettle, Gifted but Twisted with the gold-rush rebels, Now the grown king grips what the old blood wrestled. Back then raw with the reckless rhythm, Pain in the pen with the pressure hidden, Now every breath gets measured different, Drummer-brain bars with precision written. I don’t spit fast just to sound fantastic, I split bars till the bounce turns elastic, Tongue-twist tight with the kick-snare magic, Every syllable sits where the drum pattern had it. Castle walls built from the wars I weathered, Crowns don’t fit till the calm gets centred, Young wolf ran where the rage got reckless, Grown man stands with a flame more tempered. I came back sharper, not chasing the spotlight, Night-shift mind with the rhyme-lock clockwork, Bright side dark with the mic held proper, Pen flick sparks when the page gets hotter. I’m alive in the rhythm, I rise in the timing, I ride every line like the lightning designed it, No crown on my head but the castle’s inside me, No mask on my face when the truth stands beside me. I’m alive in the rhythm, I rise in the timing, I ride every line like the lightning designed it, Young SuAdE was the spark in the wires, Now the grown king walks through fire. Mind moves militant, millisecond shifting, Wrist-flick scripture with the slick-split syllables clipping, Dense-text pressure make the breath stretch different, Gifted kid grown with the twisted gift lifted. Beat gets bent when the breath gets threaded, Each left-right line like the drum kit’s embedded, No loose landing, no dead-end sentence, Every end-word locks where the next line’s headed. I’ve been broke, bent, buried, rebuilt, Still kept ink in the cracks of the guilt, Still felt fire where the cold world chilled, Still turned pain into patterns and skill. Now it’s king-castle cadence, calm-state danger, Old-school soul with a grown-man nature, No fake image, no fame-chase flavour, Just pen-game pressure from a self-made maker. Tick-tock tongue with the timing tactical, Kick-drum lungs with the rhyme-mind radical, Backbone bars with the bassline practical, Whole track snaps when the flow turns animal. I’m alive in the rhythm, I rise in the timing, I ride every line like the lightning designed it, No crown on my head but the castle’s inside me, No mask on my face when the truth stands beside me. I’m alive in the rhythm, I rise in the timing, I ride every line like the lightning designed it, Young SuAdE was the spark in the wires, Now the grown king walks through fire. I used to chase signs in the smoke and the ceiling, Now I shape lines with control and feeling, Used to seek highs just to cope with healing, Now I stay grounded while the soul starts leaving. Still see stars in the cracks of the system, Still read scars like encrypted wisdom, Still bend bars through the rhythm within them, Still bring light through the Gifted But Twisted. Old ghosts grin when the bass gets vicious, Past-self sits in the back seat listening, He says “spit that sick till the whole room shifts,” I say “watch this kid, I evolved the mission.” Four-four locked with the eight-eight engine, Half-line pivots with the snare-line tension, Wordplay wired through the phrase-like fencing, Every bar built like a drum-fill lesson. No need to yell when the flow lands heavy, No need to prove what the pen made deadly, Calm voice cuts when the breath stays steady, King came home and the crown stayed ready. I’m alive in the rhythm, I rise in the timing, I ride every line like the lightning designed it, No crown on my head but the castle’s inside me, No mask on my face when the truth stands beside me. I’m alive in the rhythm, I rise in the timing, I ride every line like the lightning designed it, Young SuAdE was the spark in the wires, Now the grown king walks through fire.
