They call me reckless, say I spit chaos,
I say nah, I spit truth that your suit can’t digest.
Raised in streets where hope came in pennies,
Mama worked two jobs, daddy ghosted like a Wi-Fi signal lost
Still I rose, still I rhyme, still I punch through your ceiling of comfort.
You vote on TV, I vote in survival,
Counting scars like trophies, counting wins like sins forgiven.
They preach morals in boardrooms while kids bleed in alleys,
I narrate it all, uncut, no editor, no apology.
I wear my failure like a badge, my hustle like armor,
My words, bullets; my rhythm, the trigger.
You can’t step in my shoes, can’t breathe my air,
Yet you judge the paths I pave with fire in the cracks of the concrete.
Renegade, never afraid to speak,
Never afraid to expose the rot beneath your rose-tinted streets.
I don’t whisper, I holler
Truth first, fear last, ego optional.