(Aight) (Yeah) (C’mon) Brick glow on the block, Kinda tragic before it dropped. Lipstick smear on the cup, Nike keeps spinnin’—lies stack up. Tarmac coughs its broken tune, Storefronts hum, they fade too soon. We buy old habits we swore we’d quit, On cold stone where the weeds still sit. And I confess, under the drone, This fuck life still feels like home. Bus stop—shelter torn, Tired eyes—carrying storm. Cold fries left in the tray, Another tale—licked clean, blown away… 8” / “You good, less?” (All right) Project walls peeling, I seen it before, Receipts in her pocket, ink turned to gold. A buck short at the corner-store door, Don’t even ask—I’ve heard it before. Every step lifts steam off the street, Block dogs bark—they know that beat. Ain’t preaching, just killing time past midnight, Folded quiet under the hood-lamp light. Step on the block, stone under my kicks, Corner store hustle, fast cash, quick tricks. Storm rolling in—streets talk, no fix, Stuck in a bus jam, hand caught in the door mix. (Less “Yo, , man!) Project walls peeling, I seen it before, Receipts in her pocket, ink turned to gold. A buck short at the corner-store door, Don’t even ask—I’ve heard it before. Every step lifts steam off the street, Block dogs bark—they know that beat. Ain’t preaching, just killing time past midnight, Folded quiet under hood-lamp light.
