Steel-Tongued Street Prophet

Blazin. I sharpen every syllable, steel in my breath when I

speak. Street codes carved in stone, blood dried in the cracks of

the concrete. My pen a blade in the trenches, slicin' through nights

I survived. Every rhyme a chalk outline. Every bar another body revived.

I'm a ghost in the gutter, a shadow that walks with the chrome.

Turn words into weapons, my metaphors breaking bones. Street symphonies screaming

by my cadence, they calming the storm. I turn everyday language to carnage

the moment it's formed. Watch the line flip twice, catch the meaning