Classic Rider Chronicles

Yeah.

Listen close.

This is the ballad

of the golden mic.

He rode into the city with a notebook in his hand No

holster on his hip,

just a mic to rule the land He spent his early winters

writing lines under the stars Trading heavy burdens for these heavy-hitting bars

From the corner of the avenue to stages made of gold He

drew his words like lightning,

or so the story's told (yeah)

Oh, the legend of the rhyme,

he was first of his kind Left a trail of golden records

in the dust we left behind

(sing it now)

He was riding with the wind,

never looking for a fight But he left a burning fire in

the middle of the night

Now the legacy is written in the concrete and the stone Though

the king has left the saddle,

he is still upon the throne Every kid who grabs a pencil

tries to mimic how he breathed Every dreamer in the shadow holds

the promise he bequeathed He was faster than the clockwork,

he was deeper than the well And they still repeat the verses

of the secrets he would tell (say what)

No gold, no glory,

just the truth of the pen. (mmmmm)

They won't ever see his like again.

Oh, the legend of the rhyme,

he was first of his kind Left a trail of golden records

in the dust we left behind

(sing it now)

He was riding with the wind,

never looking for a fight But he left a burning fire in

the middle of the night

Ride on. (yeah) Into the sunset.