The Hustle Chronicles

Pen to the pad, ink bleed like a fountain,

Words stack higher than a money-countin’ mountain.

Gold on my wrist, time tickin' like a bomb,

Streets raise the king, now I’m calm in the storm.

Hustle on repeat, grind never sleep,

Dreams so steep, climbin’ till I peak.

Chains on my neck, heavy with the weight,

But I keep movin’, can’t negotiate fate.

Blocks talk loud, whispers in the cracks,

Pavement tellin’ stories 'bout survival and stacks.

Shoebox stash, no banks for the loot,

Out the mud clean, now the suit is astute.

Mama said, “Son, keep your head to the sky,”

Daddy said, “Run, don’t you dare ask why.”

Voices in my head, drumline on a loop,

Beats of the struggle, truth under the coupe.

From the back alleys where the shadows creep,

To the bright stages where the basslines leap.

Every bar’s a chapter, book of my pain,

Verses paint pictures, memories engrain.

Hustle on repeat, grind never sleep,

Dreams so steep, climbin’ till I peak.

Chains on my neck, heavy with the weight,

But I keep movin’, can’t negotiate fate.