Floods on the scene. Stars building through the night. Uh -oh. A pair of sneakers

tossed. Skook up in fire. Riding on my hoodie The confessions, I be right, yo,

makes me air heavy, taste the middle of my tongue. Clock on the wall, take it slow

like it stunned. Every track of drop feels like lunch, full of gum, bottle spun.

They talk about fame, I talk about staying on. Take this slow, that\'s the rhythm, I

believe, no crowd, no hype, just the sound that I breathe some brothers fall fast

for the ghost, they perceive. I stitch my own wounds with the bars I can see.

Street dogs barking where the lamp really burns, every loss I\'ve cut, The returns,

as I got in my zone, yet the mercy still turns, but the grind never ends. Ever

cup a beat up end.

Yeah Yeah

Yeah

Yeah Yeah Summer floors I\'m up beneath the pipes Rust on the sea the stars Building

through the night But old pair of sneakers Toss and scoop up the fights riding on

my hoodie like a fashion Zambi right yo Pace me air heavy Just the middle on my

tongue Clock on the wall Take it slow like a stun Every track of drive feels like

launch Full up gum bottle spun They talk about fame I talk about staying on tape

it slow that\'s the rhythm