[Intro] Vultures. Circle. Close. (yeah) [Hook] Vultures circle—low. Shoulder chip—show. Knuckles itch—go. Eyes don’t blink—cold. Pack moves—flow. Street hums—low. Talk big—bold. Still kids—sold. [Verse 1 — “-ack” scheme | hunger, scrap youth] Snapback. Backpack. Snack-pack—half-cracked. Back lot—blacktop—kickback. (clack) Click-clack. Glass crack. Cash lack—gut slack. Half truth—half laugh—bad math. Hand-me-down—hand clasp—lift stash. Dash past. Car back—bars stacked—fists clasp. Chalk map. Cut path. Flash badge—don’t ask. Bigger kids—big mouths—big act. We hang on the edges like teeth on a trash bag. Fence shake—jeans snag. Heart rate—whiplash. Coin flip—dead last. Eyes dry—skylash. Cheap talk. Cheap shots. Dream rot. Same blocks. We ain’t saints—just starved, raised sharp by the lock. [Pre-Hook] Short fuse. Long night. No rules. On sight. Loose screw. Wrong bite. New bruise. Old spite. [Hook] Vultures circle—low. Shoulder chip—show. Knuckles itch—go. Eyes don’t blink—cold. Pack moves—flow. Street hums—low. Talk big—bold. Still kids—sold. [Verse 2 — “-er / -ure” scheme | the scavenger creed] Vulture. Culture. Cut-up—rupture. Curb-store supper—pocket-lint treasure. Whisper. Laughter. Rumor—pasture. Under busted signage we posture like actors. Silver. Shiver. Liquor—quicker. Sip grows bitter—front grows thicker. Posture. Poster. Closer—fixture. Junkyard gospel—trash-born scripture. Thunder. Under. Hunger—pressure. Count each measure till warmth feels lesser. Mother calls. Number stalls. “Answer?” “Later.” We chase the glow the billboards manufacture. Bigger kids preach fame like it’s war, We just want a meal and a little bit more. [Bridge — “List / Pulse”] Step. Step. Step. (pace it) Check. Check. Check. (face it) Flex. Flex. Flex. (fake it) Wreck. Wreck. Wreck. (brace it) [Verse 3 — “-ate” scheme | thin blue heaven, fleeting grace] Late. Gate. Skate. Slide through—no plate. Wait. Fate. Crate. Carry that—dead weight. Hate. Bait. Straight. Pray soft over gas-station cupcakes. Phone light—bait. Showtime—stage. Low life?—don’t say “hate.” Say “spent,” say “can’t wait.” We carve out a heaven on a rooftop grate, Pizza steam for a halo, laugh till the sirens deflate. Dream blown—inflate. Game on—inflate. Real cost—deflate. But for a moment we’re gods on these rusted skates. [Hook] Vultures circle—low. Shoulder chip—show. Knuckles itch—go. Eyes don’t blink—cold. Pack moves—flow. Street hums—low. Talk big—bold. Still kids—sold. [Verse 4 — “-in / -een / -im” scheme | aimless, rust-blood adolescence] Seventeen. Eighteen. Lean—mean—daydream. Grey seams—hand-me-down gleam. Late team. Hate steam. Skate scene—clean sheen. Fake king—dead queen. He says “rise.” We say “try.” He says “rule.” We say “why?” Whole grin thin—knife rim. Whole world dim—cheap hymn. Parking-lot choir—crow hymn. Eyes lit—skin grim. Pack laughs—might grin— not sure what we’re after, but we’re certain it’s sin. [Break] Peel back—mask. Real bad—ask. “Who taught—act?” “Crow flock—black.” [Verse 5 — “-o / -ow” scheme | the hunt / evolution] Go. Slow? No—throw. Elbow—blow. Echo—low. Shadow—grow. Window—close. Zip code—cold. Kid code—old. Big show—sold. Brick road—holes. Kick door—toll. Thick lore—told. Stomach says “hunt,” soul says “no.” But hunger’s a god we already know. Run like wolves through alleys of snow. Feed on dreams—whatever glows. [Pre-Outro — “Confession / Compression”] Hard jaw. Soft core. Sharp draw. Blunt lore. Costs tall. Funds short. Front strong. Back sore. [Outro Hook] Vultures circle—close. Tattooed—pose. Fist up—boast. Pulse hits—ghost. Vultures circle—close. Eyes red—glow. Crow kids—float. Still kids—don’t. [Tag — Fade] Run like wolves. Feed like crows. Youth like knives. Cut what grows. We keep circling— nobody knows. Vultures, vultures— under the clothes.
