INTRO
I saw a man doing a hundred-five
engine screaming like it wanted out of life
wind tearing all the bullshit off his face
another man coughing oil in disgrace
held together by duct tape and fate
VERSE 1
Out on the corner, pushing fentanyl and cigarettes
daily grind, boredom wicked as it gets
Memorial candles flicker in the rain
lightning strike the name just to prove the pain
Neon buzzing, nothing hits
another shift in the land of counterfeit
Brotherhood hall pass, green light to whoop ass
long as the handshake clean
and the dues paid fast
Lose your temper—alright, that’s forgiven
Lose your silence?
That’s when they bury you hidden
PRE-HOOK
Can’t keep yourself in check
easy just to get in a wreck
When the lodge got your back
plugged straight into the crack
No amount of heat get scrubbed
once the ink mix thick with your blood
HOOK
Out on the corner, feeling nothing
pushing time, pushing buttons
Same old grind, same old judgment
Hands look clean but the money’s blooded
Out on the corner, feeling nothing
Lightning waits when the crowd ain’t looking
Say it loud or say it subtle
Lose your silence—that’s real trouble
VERSE 2
Judges, juries, and you-know-who
all on retainer, all nodding for you
Slinging that dope, legal or not
depends on the letterhead you brought
White powder, black ink
both make you numb, make you not think
Both keep the wheels still turning
same old fire, different burning
You think you hustling just to survive—
nah
you a delivery system alive
for a god that eats consequences
exhales excuses in corporate sentences
PRE-HOOK
Lights flash, headlines fade
circle tight, deals get made
No alarms, no sound
everybody solid till the truth come around
HOOK
Out on the corner, feeling nothing
pushing time, pushing buttons
Same old grind, same old judgment
Hands look clean but the money’s blooded
Out on the corner, feeling nothing
Lightning waits when the crowd ain’t looking
Say it loud or say it subtle
Lose your silence—that’s real trouble
BRIDGE (HALF-TIME / SPOKEN)
Good cop, bad cop—same script
Top or bottom—same grip
Different masks, same program
Cold-hand oath in a closed-hand handshake
VERSE 3
Can’t keep yourself in check
real easy just to get in a wreck
No amount of whack get you sacked
no stain ever stick to the pact
Once you marked, you loved
once you talk, you done
That’s the math written in blood
That’s the law of the club
OUTRO
I saw a man doing a hundred-five
engine screaming like it wanted out of life
wind tearing the bullshit off his face
another man coughing oil in disgrace
held together by duct tape and fate
Out on the corner.
DonaldFritsche
