Prompt / Lyrics
[Verse 1] Got a list in my ledger Red ink for the ones who ran My boy riding shotgun, quiet grin Gold tooth, latex on his hand Paper in a rubber band bundle Coffee on the dash, engine hums Name on the page gets circled twice If you owe, then you know we come Hammer in the denim by my thigh Hoodie smell like powder and sweat Neck ink crawling over my collar Saints and serpents, sign of regret Police roll past, windows fog They pretend they don’t see my face Cash in their pocket like incense Make a dirty halo round the case [Chorus] The police got closed eyes, our eyes stay open Blood on my knuckles, my word still golden (yeah) If the money ain’t right, then the promise gets broken We break jaws over late notes, teeth on the token Closed eyes Open cases We count sins In folded papers [Verse 2] Old heads whisper at the bodega “Son, you running too fast, too hard” But the landlord love my envelope And the pastor still swipe my card Laundry mat spinning out tens Twenties drip dry on the line Turn dark rain into clean bills Watch the wrong turn into “just fine” My boy pull up in a stained white tee Tattoo script down his spine “Trust few” in uneven letters He laugh, say he ran out of time We don’t brag, we balance ledgers Every debt like a stone on the chest You either pay what you promised Or you pay with what’s left [Chorus] The police got closed eyes, our eyes stay open Blood on my knuckles, my word still golden (oh) If the money ain’t right, then the promise gets broken We break jaws over late notes, teeth on the token Closed eyes Open cases We count sins In folded papers
Tags
rap, Gritty East Coast street rap, minor-key piano loop over moody sub-bass and crisp drums. Male vocals with a low, menacing delivery; hook opens up with layered doubles and whispered ad-libs. Subtle choir pad rises in the chorus for drama, verses stay sparse so every bar feels like a confession caught on tape., deep
Duration
2:36
Instrumental
No
Created
4/7/2026