Neon saints bleed in my rearview, chrome rosary click-clack—praise the loot.
Bassline baptizes the block, kick drum kicks like a SWAT boot.
Silk durag halo, I’m the ghost that the corner confesses to.
White chalk constellations, every star a testament I drew.
Saint Laurent shroud, .45 crown, preach through the muzzle flash—hallelujah, pew-pew.
Moonlight on the scale, turn a brick to a cathedral pew.
If heaven got a ghetto, I’m the choir that never made it through.