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CHECKMATE (THUGGED OUT) by Asat

SongGPT
CHECKMATE (THUGGED OUT) by Asat - Hip Hop music cover art

CHECKMATE (THUGGED OUT)

Hip Hop

0:003:09
Lyrics
Description
Check. Mate. Hold. Swell.)
I played my hand, revealed your face, left neon corners, try to match pace. Every move I make, wins I embrace. I rise on my grind, can't be replaced.
Streets coded 2am, sirens stitch the dark, rusted chain link, busted payphone with a mark. Receipts from bad nights, stamped at corner stores. Money short, moods long, I learned the law of flaws.
You smile like summer, whispered winter behind doors. I mapped your shadow in the alley where the light warped. Snakes in my denim, hiss in the smoke, I kept the ledger.
Trust was a ledger, you cashed bad checks, now I measure. You thought I crumbled, thought I dropped like loose change. I turned those pennies into blocks, built a new range.
I move quiet, queen mode, castle up, rook routes for takes. No trunk pulls, no bravado, I convert laws to stakes. Every whisper filed like receipts beneath my tongue.
Every midnight prayer, every plug that never rung. Now my name on faded flyers, painted over in spray. I still read the routes, still play the endgame, I wait.
I played my hand, revealed your face. Left me on corners, try to match pace. Every move I make, wins I embrace. I rise on my grind, can't be replaced.
You wanted smoke, now you watch the match ignite stump. Street lessons tattooed like blueprints in moonlight. I'm the queen on the board, check the skyline from my tier.
Poor moves fall silent when my rook engineers declare. I count the ticks on busted phones, timestamps on receipts. I count the times you folded under pressure in those heat streets.
Heavy scar metal, every hiss a coded clue. I move like calculus, subtract fear, add revenue. Hood memory cinematic, rusted gates, laundromat glow.
Nights I prayed to keep breath, mornings count on what to show. No mercy in the ledger, all decisions annotated. Betrayals and investment, I converted it, elevated.
They watch me catalog my wins like tax returns, meticulous. Try to mimic cadence, but the tempo's too propitious. You wrote my ending in cheap ink under streetlight haze.
I rewrote chapters on a grill. I played my hand, revealed your face. Left me on corners, try to match pace. Every move I make, wins I embrace. I rise on my grind, can't be replaced.
I played my hand, revealed your face. Left me on corners, try to match pace. Every move I make, wins I embrace. I rise on my grind, can't be replaced.
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