Street Rhythms
Yeah,
turn the levels up
Just let it breathe for a second
Watch the curb (uh-huh)
Stepped out the brownstone,
boots on the concrete Pavement is steaming with yesterday's heartbeat Notebook folded
in the pocket of the parka Sketching every shadow getting longer,
getting darker They sell illusions on the corner for a dime
I count the moments,
never traded in my time Sharp with the syllable,
heavy with the stride
Keep the circle small with nowhere to hide
Straight from the sidewalk,
concrete truth Spitting pure iron in the back of the booth (yeah!)
No shortcuts, brick by stone Claiming every corner that we made our
own
Ink on the knuckle,
ash falling on the grate
Learned how to hustle while the hungry had to wait No glitter
in the grind, just coffee in the cup Eyes on the horizon
till the dawn is waking up Every syllable weighed like gold on
the scale Through the bitter winds blowing off the avenue gale
Still here standing where the sirens unwind Clearing out the clutter in
the back of my mind
Straight from the sidewalk,
concrete truth Spitting pure iron in the back of the booth (c'mon)
No shortcuts, brick by stone Claiming every corner that we made our
own
Look at how the skyline holds its breath Only a couple paces
left
No rewind button on the road we paved Just the promise of
the rhythm that we saved
Straight from the sidewalk,
concrete truth Spitting pure iron in the back of the booth (that's
right!) No shortcuts, brick by stone Claiming every corner that we made
our own (made our own)
Yeah.
Back to the bricks.
Eighty-eight beats of reality.
Nothing more,
nothing less. (peace)