VerseUp, up, I count the shadows, ain't none of em mine
Up, lock the deadbolt twice, paranoia by design
Pitch dropped to the floor, voice dragging through grime
I been moving ALLALONE since they crossed that line(Grrrr, uhh huh)Nah, nah, fukk trust, that shit evaporate quick (quick, quick)
Metal in the mattress, metal in the brick
Solo when I wake, solo when I dip
Paper Platoon but I roll with the clipUp, I board the memory, seal it concrete
Up, I delete the number, cut the receipt
Up, the city breathin heavy but it can't reach me
I been smokin on that SWOUP, movin discreetly(What kind SWOUP you making)Sirens in the sample, heart rate in the bass
Gunshot ad-libs punctuate the space
Madhouse laughter echo through the place
But I stay focused, never show my face (never, never)Mask on the persona, voice in the basement
Anonymous the mission, paranoia the pavement
I been cookin in the dark where the hate ferment
Cinematic in the cut, every bar a statementUp, double barrel logic in a single-mind frame
Up, the wolves circle but they don't know my name
Up, I sign in blood what the contract claim
Then vanish in the fog like I never cameSolo in the session (session)
Solo when I'm flexin (flexin)
Solo with the weapon (weapon)
Solo, no question (grrrr)Soupy production, morass of the real
8-bit bleeps where the saxophone peel
Private eye strings on a madman deal
Bone-rattling bass—tell me how that feel(Bah, bah, bah)VersePitch drop in the throat like a basement humming under neon rain. ��
Airhorns cut through the fog while sirens braid the hook to the alley. ��
Grime on the kick, artillery on the snare, paranoia tapping the windowpane. ��
Mask on the cadence, identity in witness protection, only the bass tells the truth. ��
Short bursts like warning shots, then the beat switches and the room tilts. ��
Trap drums stutter, sample ghosts loop like broken streetlights. ��
No new faces in the hallway, just footfalls pacing a locked floorplan. ��
Windows boarded by vows, doors chained by secrets, safes cracked by 808s. ��
Talk slick in low register, every bar tastes like cold metal and pulp. ��
TV snow splices old reels while the drumline chews glass on the twos and fours. ��
Gun‑smoke ad‑libs, laughter from the dark, swagger limping but never stopping. ��
Currency of chaos counted in clicks, clacks, and chopped vowels. ��
Beat blenderized, mood soupy, movement martial, mission personal. ��
Anonymous on purpose, the myth taller than the man, the sound the signature. ��
Kitchen of the night: chef coats black, recipe reads one part fear, two parts flex. ��
Slide the fader like a switchblade, let the floor below us swallow the treble. ��
Whispers in the intercom, voicemail from the void, city buzzing in a jar. ��
Hands steady on the purpose, pockets heavy with the samples of a lost block. ��
Every hook a warning flare, every verse a boarded door that still breathes. ��
Leave the name out; leave the bass in; leave the lights off till the drums learn your heartbeat. ��
