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None of you motherfuckers real, you was ghosts from the gate,

Talk tough online, but crumble under the weight.

While y’all chased clout, I was stackin’ my fate,

Movin’ bricks in the cold, not a second was safe.

I ain’t need no pack, no crew, no cosign,

Just a blade in my coat and a demon in mind.

Fourteen with a burner, pedalin’ through sin,

Schenectady nights, where hell lets you in.

These grown-ass men wouldn’t dare where I stood,

I seen bodies drop slow right in front of they hood.

Took fights in the basement, knives singin’ in blood,

Left 'em shakin’ in piss, faces sunk in the mud.

I ain’t flex, I was livin’ that raw uncut,

Had broads ten years older beggin’ me in the truck.

I ain’t lie on my dick—never had to pretend,

They came chasin’ my heat, got burned in the end.

My crib was a warzone, needles and smoke,

Crack rocks in the carpet, hope hangin’ by rope.

People OD’d where I slept, twitchin’ through fate,

I’d light a blunt off the toaster, just watch and wait.

Zach know the nights, when the block went black,

And my porch smelled like gun oil, weed, and yak.

They came like locusts, eyes red with desire,

Thought I had salvation, but I sold 'em the fire.

I ain’t crown myself—the street laid it down,

Whispers in the sewer spoke my name through the town.

I was the young god, throned in filth and steel,

Grown folks bitin’ youth just to see if it’s real.

No bedtime, no curfew, no love, just weight,

No mercy in my chest, just venom and hate.

I slit deals at dawn, while your crew was asleep,

With death in my grin and blood in the Jeep.

Seen brothers turn ghost for a stack and a chain,

Seen uncles pimp daughters just to swallow the pain.

And I ain’t blink once—this was norm to me,

I held court in the gutter where the devils run free.

I was talkin’ to reapers, dreamin’ of war,

Kept the .45 tucked behind the trapdoor.

I ain’t had no future, just the heat of the now,

If life’s a bitch, I fucked her face-down.

Y’all want truth? I’m the mirror you dodge,

The line between child and full-time sabotage.

I don’t rap for the fame, I spit cause it aches,

Every verse is a wound, every line’s high stakes.

So don’t speak on my name if your nights been clean,

I’m the kid who made coffins from the American dream.

Lit blunts off the barrel, slept next to the nine,

And every fuckin’ scar I got? That shit’s mine.