[Intro ] Quiet room, worn amp humming, old cassette hiss and city hum, Lights low, heartbeat steady — 2nd Ave to Morin Heights, this is where we come from. [Verse 1] My past, my song — from kindergarten to grown, We held fast, we held long, learned to swing with chalk lines alone. Traded nap time for night climbs, backpack straps and blacktop maps, Little kings with reckless rhymes, grinding hard, making mixtape tracks. We sold mixtapes out the trunk, cassette glowing by the corner store, Ran from curfew, ran to trouble, ran to everything we thought we know. Bar stools, busted knuckles, laughter masked how heavy we carried, My best mate got wasted and bit my face that night, then we hugged like it was steady. I patched a lip with a blunt wrapper, grin split the bond tighter, Cursed the cops, praised the moon, prayed to the amp, to the mic's fire. I watched some brothers fold, some gone like last night's chorus, Others turned cold, ghosted calls like I was buried under stories in drawers. Weddings passed, birthdays slid, RSVPs never came — maybe I'm to blame, I burned bridges when I stoked that flame, kept my record spinning, kept my rhymes tuned to the truth. Music's the rope that dragged me back from the gutter of my youth. [Pre-Chorus ] Beat drops — 2nd Ave to Morin Heights, we thought we'd make it big, Names cut clean through hoodlight and hum; I fold apologies like old tapes, press 'em to my chest 'til they live. [Chorus — Option A (Anthemic) — deliver uplifting] From 2nd Ave to Morin Heights — we thought we'd make it big, Brotherhood in every bar and night — we rise, we never quit. Beats in our chests, streets in our blood — we hustle, we persist, From stoop to spotlight, through every fight — our legacy won't quit. [Chorus — Option B (Call & Response) — punchy] From 2nd Ave — (we made the plans!) To Morin Heights — (we took our stand!) Beats in our chest — (feel that drum!), Brotherhood in hand — (we won't succumb!) We dreamed we’d soar, we dreamed we’d shine — we held the night, we held the grit, From pavement lines to city lights — we rise, we never quit. [Verse 2] Out our hood — Fairmount born, Morin Heights to morning gray, Phone screens dim, seasons flip, mixtape hiss still holds our way. Car trunks, payphones, corners named — cheap roofs and louder truths, We traded heat and handshakes, scraped pride for louder laughs and youths. Crossed lines, mended cuts, rewound the nights to stitch the halves, I still flip that cassette, crackle chorus bringing nights alive. Nick's jacket, Z-Mar's busted brim, Polaroids of reckless grins, Beer on the stairs, a mixtape hymn — solemn oaths spoke through thick and thin. Scar on my knuckle from a fight at 3AM over nothing, We stumbled, we fell, then patched it up with jokes and borrowed cunning. Phones went silent; let us stay drafts, the city rearranged its pace, Sober mornings came in waves, but the nights still hit the same place. If MTV had filmed our chaos, they'd monetize the mess and take a