My verse from a collab I did with someone from another site the other day, it was mostly experimenting on more internal rhymes and new flows and things of that sort. Not my usual style


Yeah, Home of the Hardest, Big City of Dreams/
City filled wit burners, drug dealers, n feens/
Can't turn a corner witout coppin a nick, breakin a brick/
And you'll get shot for it quick, cuz these kids like to stick-/
Up, for no reason, they got you beleivin, thinkin shit is all gravy/
Till you get popped n dropped wit a mac or 380/
Get blazed over blazin up, or reppin the wrong color when you raisin up/
I love the city, cuz we show no pity, n the truth is, we a bunch of crazy fucks/
Luda right, hip hop ain't dead, it's in the NYC underground, strugglin 4 bread/
Duckin from lead, tryna make it's way in this rap game, when not runnin from feds/
But that's hard when cops pull up and they love to harass/
Can someone tell me when "NYC's Finest" started muggin for cash?/
These streets is mean, youll end up corrupt, dead, or turned to a feen/
Wit a needle stickin out ya arm, but a good will, strugglin to go clean/
So I roll squad deep, gotta stay safe so i roll in bullet proof jeeps/
Cuz i want fresh kicks on ma feet, not cinder blocks made of concrete/
So when you come thru, hold ya head low, n don't puff out ya chest/
Cuz youll get shot through the vest, popped in the chest, n put to forever rest/
Filled wit millions of different cats, NYC truly is the home of the brave/
We got everythin from speakin the praise, to spendin weekends at raves/
But me? To these streets I'm a slave, cuz money gets tight/
I look back on bein lil, thinkin I could go to prison for runnin a light/
It's funny, it's like, nowadays I be gunnin at night/
And fuck consequences, cuz first, I needa make sure my money is right/
Dyin for gang flags, cane, n justice, we a city of martyrs/
So tuck ya chin lil boy, cuz this the Home of the Hardest/

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