More songs by Kevin Gates
Description
The draft from the concrete walls smells of the scorched truth of the streets - here, it is not those who shout the loudest who survive, but those who keep their backs straight, even when they are being targeted. Words fly like bullets: sharp, metallic, with a taste of gunpowder and prayer. In this darkness, there is no room for illusions - only raw power, memories of falls, and a stubborn belief that no amount of filth can take away one's sense of self-worth.
Lyrics and translation
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