Prompt / Lyrics
[Verse 1] Cold hands Cracked lips Corner store light hums Kids trade pills for a handshake Name brands for a handout Sirens spin colors on the brick Chalk stains that never wash Mama praying over old bills TV talking about some distant clash [Chorus] These streets They got their own religion Built on blood and broken glass We live small in a giant prison Hope keeps hiding in the trash Street drugs Fistfights War on the screen Same bruise Just a different scene These cold asphalt prayers we pour Street drugs Fights War [Verse 2] He came back in desert boots Sand still stuck in the seams Eyes too loud for this quiet block Carrying things he never speaks Little bro running with a pack Dollar dreams Heavy schemes Thinks a quick score is a future Can’t see the cost in between [Chorus] These streets They got their own religion Built on blood and broken glass We live small in a giant prison Hope keeps hiding in the trash Street drugs Fistfights War on the screen Same bruise Just a different scene These cold asphalt prayers we pour Street drugs Fights War [Bridge] Is it peace if we just feel numb? (feel numb) Is it home if we can’t go home? I keep writing names on the wall in my head Hoping one day I stop adding more (oh Lord) [Chorus] These streets They got their own religion Built on blood and broken glass We live small in a giant prison Hope keeps hiding in the trash Street drugs Fistfights War on the screen Same bruise Just a different scene These cold asphalt prayers we pour Street drugs Fights War
Tags
Gritty boom-bap beat with dusty drums, sparse piano stabs, and distant siren textures. Male vocals, close-mic’d, almost spoken on the verses; chorus widens with stacked, raw harmonies and a subtle gospel-choir pad. Bass stays low and tense, kick and snare punch hard. Final chorus adds extra ad-libs and distorted vocal doubles for a frayed, urgent climax.
Duration
2:51
Instrumental
No
Created
4/6/2026