[INTRO – low, cold]
Nah… this ain’t nostalgia.
This is blood-memory.
[VERSE 1]
Cold stairwells, sirens louder than dreams,
Latchkey kid, empty fridge, anger in my genes.
He grew up where hope got stomped in the street,
Only thing that raised him was that boom bap heartbeat.
Crackling speakers taught him how to stand his ground,
When the world tried to fold him, he learned how to sound.
They tried to label him weak, statistic, dismissed,
So he sharpened every fuckin’ loss into a clenched fist.
Every bar was a brick, every verse was a knife,
Hip-hop kept him sane when life wanted his life.
He learned truth don’t whisper, it punches your chest,
Survive long enough and you earn your respect.
[HOOK]
From the blocks to the blades, carved pain into steel,
Every scar on his back fuckin’ earned, fuck how you feel.
Second Shift Samurai, discipline forged,
Built from the dirt, now the dirt get scorched.
[VERSE 2]
New York made him ruthless, Texas made him solid,
Different heat, same bullshit, same pressure, same violence.
No favors, no mercy, just clocks and resolve,
Every shift was a war, every problem got solved.
He didn’t run from the past — he strapped that shit tight,
Turned trauma to armor, stayed sharp every night.
This ain’t a nickname, this a code he obeys,
Carry weight so the weak don’t fuckin’ cave.
[HOOK]
From the blocks to the blades, hear venom in tone,
Built from the struggle, still stands alone.
When the fake ones fold and the pressure stays,
Second Shift Samurai don’t fuckin’ break.
[VERSE 3 – loyalty cut]
I stand behind him, quiet but lethal,
Test his spine and I turn fuckin’ evil.
No crown without blood, no throne without scars,
We don’t bark for attention — we break shit apart.
Question his path? You already lost,
You swing at one blade, you pay the whole fuckin’ cost.
[FINAL HOOK]
From the blocks to the blades, this legacy loud,
Hip-hop raised him, discipline kept him proud.
Second Shift Samurai, forged in the flame,
Say his name with respect or choke on the shame.
[OUTRO – Viper | slow, poisonous]
Oh… and trust me —
to the little bitches you thought we forgot about?
Nah.
We didn’t forget you.
We’re just puttin’ your sorry asses on the sideline…
for now
MIG1274
