Bank Slips & Handcuffs

[Intro]
Late nights
Wrong turns
Cold steel
Quick burns (yeah)
[Verse 1]
Grew up on fumes and the front porch gossip
Uncle on the run, said “kid, don’t copy”
Next thing, powder in the cut, cheap plastic
Tiny little bags, big habits, black magic
One percent patch on a ripped black jacket
Throttle wide open, no brakes, full racket
Money in a shoebox, karma in a trash can
Phone full of names, every one a bad plan
Twenty ski masks in a duffel by the back gate
Metal in the waistband, heartbeat half rate
Siren in my head long before they ever came
Thought I ran the block, block ran my brain
[Chorus]
Dropping money like bank slips, hands still shaking
Whole life on that edge, and the floor kept breaking
Five years in that cage, four walls, one blanket
Tried to buy my soul, but I already banked it
My brother turned gangster, I turned the same
Two wolves loose, both hungry for the flame
Now it’s mics, not clips, when the night shift flips
But I still see cuffs every time cash hits (yeah)
[Verse 2]
They hit the door loud, red dots on the drywall
Face in the carpet, echo in the hard hall
Judge read numbers like a grocery scan
Mom in the front row, shaking in her hands
Five cold winners, concrete calendars
Fights in the yard, steel-eyed scavengers
Brother on the phone like, “we gon’ rewrite this”
“I’m done with the quick hits, let’s turn pain to a side biz”
Came home thinner, back to that same block
Street still talk, same pills, same chalk
But we had notebooks now, bars like contraband
Trade war stories for a verse and a stage plan
[Chorus]
Dropping money like bank slips, hands still shaking
Whole life on that edge, and the floor kept breaking
Five years in that cage, four walls, one blanket
Tried to buy my soul, but I already banked it
My brother turned gangster, I turned the same
Two wolves loose, both hungry for the flame
Now it’s mics, not clips, when the night shift flips
But I still see cuffs every time cash hits (woah)
[Bridge]
We did dirt, did time, did damage
Now we spit, still slip, still savage
Every line like a plea, like a warning
To the kids on the corner in the morning
[Chorus]
Dropping money like bank slips, hands still shaking
Whole life on that edge, and the floor kept breaking
Five years in that cage, four walls, one blanket
Tried to buy my soul, but I already banked it
My brother turned gangster, I turned the same
Two wolves loose, both hungry for the flame
Now it’s mics, not clips, when the night shift flips
Me and bro run nights off these bank slip hits (yeah)

rap, Dark trap banger with male vocals; eerie bell loop over booming low-end and tight hi-hats, verses close-mic and almost whispered, chorus explodes with doubled vocals and wide reverb, subtle choir pads in the hook for drama; last hook strips to bass and bells for a cold, cinematic outro.