In the shadows of the 419,where the headstones align,
Gas station gospel, we grind,we bob, we rhyme,
Broken glass city, in the corners we fight,
Every flicker in the night,echo with lost lives right.
Underneath the flickering lights,we pray for the lost,
Gas station gospel, pray to keep the hope alive,
Through the crime and the death,we hustle just to survive,
Toledo’s darkest nights, we ain't backin' down now,
In the city of glass,we raise our heads and vow.
East side tales, where the dreams fade to black,
West end whispers, hear the sirens attack,
Dirty south side shining,but the gasoline's stale,
Every soul that we've lost, hangs heavy like the high level bridge leadin' to the Anthony Wayne trail.
In the alleys where shadows blend,we search for the truth,
In the city where the shadows loom,
419's got that broken glass boom,
From the East to the West, we navigate through,
Gas station gospel,we preach what we do.
Lights flicker like hope,trapped in this scene,
Salvation in the struggle hold tight to the dream.
In this gas-station gospel we rise from the dust,
Fighting through the darkness,in the struggle we trust,
419’s heart beats to the sound of our pain,
In the city of glass,we’re the wealth and the gain.
Death’s a whisper in the corners of these blocks,
Cracked pavement echoes with the sound of gunshots,
From the South Side hustle to the North End’s strife,
We fill our tanks with premium pain that’s the fuel of life it's watered down
A church with no steeple,just a pump and some gas,
Prayin’ for deliverance,the troubles won’t pass.
In the 419 where the shadows creep,
Gas station gospel,secrets to keep,
Across the glass city broken dreams collide,
On these darkened streets,watch the angels hide.
A prayer over pumps, the holy water spilled,
With every tank filled,the past gets killed.
In the city of glass,where the light don’t shine,
We gather for hope behind the neon sign,
From the dark of the corners,let the truth unfold,
In this gas station gospel,our souls are sold.
East side whispers,where the pain runs deep,
In the silence of night,buried secrets seep,
West end hustles, where the real ones ride,
In a trap house church there’s nowhere to hide.
Life on the block, where mercy’s thin,
In the gas station light,we’re all born to sin.
In the city of glass, where the light don’t shine,
We gather for hope behind the neon sign,
From the dark of the corners, let the truth unfold,
In this gas station gospel,our souls are sold.
So fill up your tank with premium an pray for the watered down lost
gas station Gospel we pay the cost
we rise from the dust,
Fighting through the darkness, in the struggle we trust,
419’s heart beats to the sound of our pain,
In the city of glass, we’re the wealth and the gain.
Toledo’s shadows call,but we shine like a spark,
Gas station gospel,we’ll light up the dark.
In the broken streets,our spirits refuse to fall,
despite it all,in the 4 1 9 we stand tall
Poet419
