Verse 1
Someone asked me where my songs are born,
if it’s luck, or skill, or nights till dawn.
I told ’em it ain’t theory, it ain’t a plan,
it’s poems breaking loose from the soul of a man.
They come unpolished, raw, no disguise,
made of old scars and future tries.
I season ’em with everything I feel inside,
love and rage, hope and fear collide.
Pre-Chorus
I don’t write for trends or applause,
I write ’cause silence would break my cause.
Every bar’s a pulse, every rhyme a beat,
things I never said find a voice in the street.
Chorus / Hook
These are poems from the soul, cooking slow in the flame,
mixed with all my senses, every joy and pain.
No borrowed recipe, no momentary tone,
it’s my truth boiling deep in every song.
Poems from the soul, let the fire run long,
heart on the stove, that’s how I’m built, how I’m strong.
If it hits you deep, that’s no coincidence, no—
one human soul recognizing another’s resonance.
Verse 2
I cook up memories with faith and doubt,
a little of the block, a little worn-out.
My pen’s a blade, the page’s the pan,
I chop my demons just to understand.
Some verses heal, some leave a scar,
some hold you close, some push you hard.
Not every flavor is made to please,
some bitterness is how you grow your wings.
Bridge
If it hurts, my bad—but it’s honest, though,
I didn’t come to pretend, I came to show.
If it heals you, good. If it shakes your ground,
truth don’t always come sugar-bound.
Verse 3 (Gratitude)
I thank the highs and the lows that shaped my skin,
the hard lessons that taught me how to win.
To the loves of yesterday that couldn’t stay,
but left me wisdom I still carry every day.
To my daughters, my light when the road gets cold,
my reason to rise, my reason to grow bold.
To the mothers who love with a bottomless heart,
and the fathers who guide us even silent and scarred.
Every line I write holds faces I don’t name,
but they live in these verses, stitched into the flame.
If this music still breathes, if my pen still believes,
it’s because of that love… that both wounds me and heals me.
Chorus / Hook
These are poems from the soul, cooking slow in the flame,
mixed with all my senses, every joy and pain.
No borrowed recipe, no momentary tone,
it’s my truth boiling deep in every song.
Outro
So when you ask me where this voice comes from,
don’t look for the trick—listen to the drum.
’Cause writing ain’t my job, it’s how I survive,
serving pieces of my soul just to stay alive.
Labba
