Box Life

[Verse 1]
Dust bowl
Red clay caked on my soles
Shittin in a hole in the cold
Laughin, this the life that I chose (yeah)
Geronimo, chain on my tag
Ruck up, weight pullin on my back
JRTC, livin in a pack
Talk tough, get you folded in the stack
Clearin mines, probe that dirt
Boots feel every inch of this earth
One bad step, whole squad hurt
So we joke through the fear and the thirst
MRE crumbs in the vest
Three hours sleep, that’s rest
Sand in my teeth, in my chest
But I’m used to breathin stress
[Chorus]
This that box life
Trenches in the pine line
Feels like back in the block fights
Street scars, same state of mind
Convoys roll, dust in the high beams
Sneakin up on ghosts in the night scene
From the gutters to the war games, same theme
I survived both, I don’t wake from this dream (nah)
[Verse 2]
Patrol line, we ghosts in the trees
Low talk, hand signs in the leaves
See the glow on a watch, then it freeze
We close, feel ‘em breathin on the breeze
Hesco walls, plywood thrones
Call this home, just sticks and stones
Same vibe as the streets I roamed
New crackles in the headset tone
Geronimo gettin tore up bad
Old heads say “this the worst we had”
Laugh it off, every joke half mad
‘Cause the past and the present both grab
Convoy brief, then we roll
Gunner wrapped up, eyes on the road
Trucks hum like a heartbeat slow
Different route, but it’s same old soul
[Chorus]
This that box life
Trenches in the pine line
Feels like back in the block fights
Street scars, same state of mind
Convoys roll, dust in the high beams
Sneakin up on ghosts in the night scene
From the gutters to the war games, same theme
I survived both, I don’t wake from this dream (yeah)

rap, Gritty boom-bap with a dark Southern bounce, male vocals. Dry, close-mic rap verses over detuned piano stabs and dusty snare, subby bass gluing the low end. Hook gets wider with gang shouts, filtered sirens, and chant-style ad-libs. Second half adds eerie pads and distant radio chatter, ending on a cold, abrupt cut.