Twenty-five springs and I’m staring at the ceiling,

same cracked sky, same fluorescent feeling.

I scream, “Hey, what’s going on inside?”—

the echo laughs, says, “You’re still alive.”

I lace up yesterday’s bruised-up shoes,

paint tomorrow in neon blues,

spin in circles till the room is gone,

howling the question that built this song.

Yo, what’s luv when the Henny talk louder than vows?

Twin 40s on the dash, we ghost-racin’ the clouds.

Ashanti in the passenger hummin’ my sins,

pearls on her neck, every bead a grenade pin.

Ja whisper in her ear like prayer與curse的blend,

we love like we shoot—never miss, never mend.

Bronx night bleed blue on the platinum fender,

if loyalty’s kilos, I’m forever your vendor.