Fresh Out The Gate

1990s West Coast G-Funk, Old-School, 92 BPM, Laid-Back, Mellow, Smooth, 808 Sub-Harmonics

CUSTOM

SWBEATS @ SUNO • 2026 • 😎

(Smooth exhale)
Yeah.
Back on the pavement.
Fresh out the gate, but the gate’s still swinging.
SWBeats, roll the window down.
Let that Pacific breeze in.

Just stepped out the precinct, blue suit and a crisp white tee
Six months of gray walls, now I’m looking for some liberty
But the block is a magnet, pulling at my gravity
Recidivism calling, testing my depravity.
The rehabilitation was a myth, just a mental cage
I’m flipping through the chapters but I’m on the same page
Institutionalized mind, checking for the sirens’ glare
I’m breathing in the smog like it’s high-grade mountain air.
Spotted the homies on the corner by the liquor store
Same faces, same places, looking for a little more
Handshakes and heavy daps, welcome back to the grind
I’m home for fifteen minutes and I’m losing my mind.

The concrete is calling, the asphalt is hot
Trying to stay humble, but I’m back in the plot
The shadow of the tower follows everywhere I go
The faster that I run, the more the world feels slow.

Fresh out the gate, but I’m straight back in the cycle
Walking on the edge, feeling like a street disciple
From the cell to the curb, then the curb back to the cell
It’s a revolving door in this urban-scented hell.
Yeah, I’m out for the moment, breathing free for the day
But the lifestyle I lead never lets me stay away.

I’m back in the low-low, three-wheeling on the ten
Parole officer watching, but I’m clocking in again
Slangin’ on the outskirts, tryna get the paper-chase
Avoid the undercover and the blue-and-white chase.
My vocab’s elevated, but my actions are gutter
No stutters in my game, hear the truth that I utter
I’m a product of the system, a glitch in the design
Straight back to the hustle, yeah, I’m crossing the line.
Fresh kicks, fresh fit, but the soul is still weary
The vision of the future looking slightly more than blurry
One foot in the penthouse, one foot in the pen
I guess I’ll see the warden when the clock strikes ten.

Listen to the silence... it’s louder than the bars.
I’m looking at the sun, but I’m reaching for the stars.
The pavement is a mirror, showing who I used to be
But the shackles on my spirit won’t ever set me free.

Yeah.
It’s a trap, man.
The door never stops spinning.
Keep it rolling, SWBeats.
West Coast forever...
Even when you're behind the wire.

2653/7500

SWBEATS @ SUNO • 2026 • 😎 (Smooth exhale) Yeah. Back on the pavement. Fresh out the gate, but the gate’s still swinging. SWBeats, roll the window down. Let that Pacific breeze in. Just stepped out the precinct, blue suit and a crisp white tee Six months of gray walls, now I’m looking for some liberty But the block is a magnet, pulling at my gravity Recidivism calling, testing my depravity. The rehabilitation was a myth, just a mental cage I’m flipping through the chapters but I’m on the same page Institutionalized mind, checking for the sirens’ glare I’m breathing in the smog like it’s high-grade mountain air. Spotted the homies on the corner by the liquor store Same faces, same places, looking for a little more Handshakes and heavy daps, welcome back to the grind I’m home for fifteen minutes and I’m losing my mind. The concrete is calling, the asphalt is hot Trying to stay humble, but I’m back in the plot The shadow of the tower follows everywhere I go The faster that I run, the more the world feels slow. Fresh out the gate, but I’m straight back in the cycle Walking on the edge, feeling like a street disciple From the cell to the curb, then the curb back to the cell It’s a revolving door in this urban-scented hell. Yeah, I’m out for the moment, breathing free for the day But the lifestyle I lead never lets me stay away. I’m back in the low-low, three-wheeling on the ten Parole officer watching, but I’m clocking in again Slangin’ on the outskirts, tryna get the paper-chase Avoid the undercover and the blue-and-white chase. My vocab’s elevated, but my actions are gutter No stutters in my game, hear the truth that I utter I’m a product of the system, a glitch in the design Straight back to the hustle, yeah, I’m crossing the line. Fresh kicks, fresh fit, but the soul is still weary The vision of the future looking slightly more than blurry One foot in the penthouse, one foot in the pen I guess I’ll see the warden when the clock strikes ten. Listen to the silence... it’s louder than the bars. I’m looking at the sun, but I’m reaching for the stars. The pavement is a mirror, showing who I used to be But the shackles on my spirit won’t ever set me free. Fresh out the gate, but I’m straight back in the cycle Walking on the edge, feeling like a street disciple From the cell to the curb, then the curb back to the cell It’s a revolving door in this urban-scented hell. Yeah, I’m out for the moment, breathing free for the day But the lifestyle I lead never lets me stay away. Yeah. It’s a trap, man. The door never stops spinning. Keep it rolling, SWBeats. West Coast forever... Even when you're behind the wire.

0/500