Gangsters of the Sleepy Street

Wake the block. We move. Half asleep, still cool. But the gang

still groove. Yeah. Ah. Phone buzz 3 AM.

Mama calling bongon man. I pull up in sandals. Slip still walk

like I run the land. So wrong on but I stunt. Chains swing over

jersey shirt. One eye red. One eye closed. But my side never show that

hurt. We chill at the warong spot. Laugh loud when the pan go

hot. Kitch out when they hear that knock. They know who

run this o'clock. Gang walk down the corridor. Tap tap drum on every door.