Concrete Jungle Anthem

Boots on the pavement, cracks in the stone,

City heart pumping, veins made of chrome.

Graffiti tattoos on the belly of the beast,

Feeding on the lost, last scraps of the feast.

Train screeches loud, rhythm of the rats,

Polaroid memories, blurry Kodak snaps.

Neon signs hum, they whisper sin,

Where hope bends corners and shadows begin.

Raised in this jungle, where lions don't sleep,

Concrete safaris, the grind cuts deep.

Run with the wolves, don't stumble, don't trip,

King of this hustle, with claws in the grip.

Bullet shells echo lullabies at the docks,

Clock’s spitting venom, tick-tock-tick shocks.

Moon stays watching, keeps its poker face,

While dreams choke out in this midnight race.

Hustlers move silent, ghosts on the block,

Time ain't money—it's chains on the clock.

Stack or starve, build towers from dirt,

Wear scars like medals, pain in every verse.

Raised in this jungle, where lions don't sleep,

Concrete safaris, the grind cuts deep.

Run with the wolves, don't stumble, don't trip,

King of this hustle, with claws in the grip.