Rebel Flow

Scribble rhymes on the back of a torn receipt,

Chucks scuffed up, city’s grime under my feet.

Chain on my neck, it swings like a guillotine,

Spit fire in the dark, crown me the rebel queen.

They want the quiet, but I bring the riot,

Volume up, I don’t do silent.

Crash the system, set the tone,

This world’s my stage, my mic, my throne.

Born to clash, I’m the spark in the gasoline,

Voice cut sharp, razor edge on the scene.

Broken glass, it’s a symphony I compose,

Ashes in my wake, watch the empire decompose.

Knuckles cracked, ready to take the shot,

World too cold, so I’m burning hot.

Paint my path in graffiti and scars,

Fighting in the gutter but I’m reaching for stars.

They want the quiet, but I bring the riot,

Volume up, I don’t do silent.

Crash the system, set the tone,

This world’s my stage, my mic, my throne.

Spit venom, tongue a serpent, fangs gleam bright,

Every word a weapon in this underground fight.

Dagger stare, punk flair, I’m breaking the mold,

This mic’s my scepter, I’m taking the gold.