Ain’t no blood, but we brothers in the field

Chrome on the dash, still ridin’ for the real

Lost some dogs, tears iced up on the grille

If you starvin’, I split, that’s part of the deal

Hundred racks in the bag, but I’m clutchin’ the steel

Coulda folded, stayed solid, that’s part of the thrill

Voice of the youngins, them scars never heal

If them judges hit the cell, I’ma pay the appeal

Laugh now, cry later, the pain in my eyes

Post on the block with the same slimes

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Dear Bronx, I’m still breathin’ through the static,

still wrappin’ trauma in the same plastic.

Highbridge nights, I was countin’ cracks in the pavement,

now the penthouse glass got the same view, but it’s vacant.

I brought the hood with me—every coffin, every corner store,

every fiend that taught me math, every shootin’ star that never soared.

I rap for the babies who ain’t make it to my shows,

for the texts I send Heaven that still bounce, no prose.

I’m the voice of the chalk line, the ambulance hymn,

if I bless this block in gold, maybe pain won’t always win.

Yeah, we 2 grown for the pain, still feel it drip in my veins

陽臺上雨聲，像從前那一夜沒說完的抱歉

我數(shù)過凌晨四點的路燈，比承諾亮得更堅決

你把未來寫在煙圈，我吹散了才懂那是永遠(yuǎn)

耳機里鼓點替心跳道歉，我們都不回電

2 grown to cry，卻幼稚地等一句 goodnight

城市太大，裝不下一句別走，只能把遺憾留在副歌里循環(huán)播放

凌晨三點，你的號碼還在我屏幕里閃

像未讀的心跳，我滑掉又點開

煙圈繞成你的輪廓，在天花板上慢旋

我說別再打，可每個震動都在喊你回來

voicemail 滿到溢出，卻錄不到你一句晚安

我按掉月光，卻按不掉你殘留的藍(lán)光

耳機里是我們，耳機外是空白

Calling my phone, but I’m still home alone