Steppin’ in the night with a mind on fire, Dust on the needle make the soul rise higher. City in my headphones hums that grit, One bar in and I’m locked in the spit. Concrete corners where we mapped our dreams, Built ‘em from the whispers in the subway steam. Punchlines loaded in a rumblin’ chest, Every bar carved like I’m cuttin’ a crest. Pages in the backpack, fire in the vein, Tryna stay sharp in the wind and the rain. Legends in the crates taught the craft and the code, Now I’m steppin’ with the heat down a long, cold road. Feelin’ that pulse, feelin’ that snap, Heart stays steady on the boom and bap. I move with the clockwork grit, no slip, no quit, Every beat I hit feels tailor-fit. Dust on my hands from the paths I lit, Still I rise, still I ride with the clockwork grit. From the rooftop nights to the low-key blocks, I honed my flow by the hum of the locks. Old heads noddin’ say the cadence is tight— Swing in the phrasing like a streetlamp light. Mind stay sharp like a stylus bite, Crates full of gems keep the spark ignited. Every setback turned fuel for the script, Made a blueprint carved in the bones of the grit. Strip it all back, just the heartbeat thump, Just the rise of the breath in the city’s slump. When the world goes quiet and the lights all split, You can hear the soul talk — and it’s pure grit. Steppin’ in the night (“never stop… never quit…”) Steppin’ in the night (“never stop… never quit…”) Step into the dawn with the spirit I built, Walkin’ in the rhythm that’ll never tilt. One last spark as the stylus sits— World still turns on the clockwork grit.
0/500