Street Chronicles

Corner-store hustlers, pockets full of lint,

Dreams coated in gold but the bars got 'em bent.

Pavement cracked stories, whispers in the breeze,

Chasing cheddar but the trap’s got the keys.

Block’s hot, temp rising like a stolen Benz,

Loyalty shaky, snakes posing as friends.

Hood hieroglyphics tagged on the bricks,

Every spray of paint a memory that sticks.

Streetlights flicker, the symphony of night,

Shadows dance wicked under neon light.

Grinding for the future but the past won’t fade,

A hustle for the crown in a game well-played.

Grandma's prayers weaving armor on my chest,

But the devil’s in the dice, he ain’t taking no rest.

Clock ticking louder, the stakes only grow,

Every move’s a gamble in the world I know.

Broken dreams echo in the alley’s void,

Glass bottles clink, plans often destroyed.

But hope’s a phoenix, rising from the grime,

Every dawn a promise to rewrite the rhyme.

Pen sharp, slicing through the tales untold,

Scripted in my veins, this ink’s my gold.

Through the chaos, the mic’s my escape,

Painting visions vivid, no room for fake.