Plaques

Late night in the 404, fog rolling thick on the concrete floor

Shadows in the rear view, creeping slow through the county door

You talk big numbers till the room go silent, empty space

I turn dark thoughts into silver plaques, you just waste space

Heavy is the crown when the bassline knock, heart cold like ice

Rolled the dice twice, paid the price twice, bought the same vice

Melodic with the cadence, but the pen still lethal, cut precise

You chasing clout on the web, I’m chasing legacy in real life

Clock strikes two, red lights flashing through the tinted glass

Whispers in the reverb, watching every ghost from my past

You step up to the mic, but your bars lack soul, fake prestige

Fulton County cold, got the whole game under siege

Smoke rising slow while the minor key rings in the dark

Built this nostalgia wave from scratch, lit the whole spark

Phantom in the booth, turning real pain into melody

You fighting for a moment, I'm writing down a whole legacy

Beat drops heavy, room temperature drop to zero below

Step back, check the scoreboard—you already know.