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Lyrics
[Intro]
Pullman to Spring Hill
Mud on my boots
Still
Blood on my knuckles
Punch first
Ask—kill
Brittnee don't play
She solid
Reed still real
We polished
Talk tough
They all garbage
These snakes? get buried in the yard ditch (yeah)
[Verse 1]
Came up on hand‑me‑down anger
Hand‑me‑down debt
Hand‑me‑down danger
Grandma prayed hard in the kitchen
I was out back
Brass in my fingers
Cold rain
Old Ford
Three deep
One blunt
One wish: don't sleep
Whole town small
Long memory
Say my name crooked
That's injury
You was never there in the winter
Gas off
Flame on a splinter
I was duct‑tape dreams
No mentor
Just a short fuse heart and a temper (uh)
[Chorus]
Mud to blood (fuck the fakes)
I was hungry
You was late
You ain't bleed
You don't relate
Say my name
We raise the stakes
Mud to blood (fuck the fakes)
If you fold
You crawl away
We don't talk
We demonstrate
Cross that line
We desecrate
[Verse 2]
I don't dap up hands that shook
When the heat came down
They shook
You was on live
Talkin' tough
Next week
Signed papers
Look
I seen boys turn badge for a bargain
Turn church for a charge they dodgin'
I don't need love from a target
Cut ties clean like a harvest
Brittnee keep tabs on the rumors
She don't miss shit
Real shooter (yah)
Reed write names in a notebook
Whole list short
But it’s brutal
I ain't gotta flex
I'm chosen
Scars on my fist like tokens
Every lil lie y'all posted
Got a spot marked out by the roses (shh)
[Chorus]
Mud to blood (fuck the fakes)
I was hungry
You was late
You ain't bleed
You don't relate
Say my name
We raise the stakes
Mud to blood (fuck the fakes)
If you fold
You crawl away
We don't talk
We demonstrate
Cross that line
We desecrate
[Bridge]
You ain't ride
You hide
I see fear in your eyes (I see it)
We was broke in the night
You was busy chasin' likes
Whole block know who stayed
Who ran
Who prayed
Who kept quiet
Who gave names
We remember every face
[Chorus]
Mud to blood (fuck the fakes)
I was hungry
You was late
You ain't bleed
You don't relate
Say my name
We raise the stakes
Mud to blood (fuck the fakes)
If you fold
You crawl away
We don't talk
We demonstrate
Cross that line
We desecrate (yeah)
Details
GeneratedFeb 7, 2026
Duration2:35
LanguageEnglish
Style
Dark Southern trap beat, swung hi-hats, heavy sub-bass, male vocals with a cold whispery edge. Hook hits hard with layered gang chants and sharp ad-libs; verses stripped, close-mic, riding the pocket. Sparse eerie keys and distant guitar bends creep in on the second half to raise tension, final chorus explodes then cuts abrupt for a ruthless finish.
Credits
Prompt byModulationSolar51
ModelAria v5
Prompt
[Title: Mud to Blood (Fuck the Fakes)]
[Intro]
Pullman to Spring Hill—mud on my boots, blood on my knuckles...
Brittnee don't play, Reed still real, but these snakes? Get buried...
Punch first, ask n
