[Verse 1]
3 AM on Seventh and Pine, neon flickers like a sign,
My jacket's threadbare, pockets light, but I carry a headline—mine.
Mr. Reyes said, "Keep your head," on a stoop with cracked white tile,
He spat, "Write your truth, son—turn these nights into your file."
Train clang, rats dance, corners catalog the lost plans,
I hawk my verses like small goods, folding futures in my hands.
Mama worked double shifts, smelled like coffee and regret,
She left a prayer in my shoe, said, "Boy, don’t ever forget."
[Pre-Chorus]
Cold breath, warm beats, midnight sermon on repeat,
Streetlamps bless the pavement, watch me lace these lines with heat.
[Chorus]
From the block to the throne — we rise (we rise)
From the block to the throne — we rise (we rise)
From the block to the throne — we rise (we rise)
One line, one life, one light — we rise.
[Verse 2]
December '19, busted porch light, demo in Luis' kitchen,
We sold two hoodies and a verse, every rhyme stitched with conviction.
I remember the hiss of the burner, burned CD like a promise,
Mrs. Garcia knocked soft, said, "Boy, they playin' your sonnet."
I spit truth over subway snaps, syllables like subway maps,
Multisyllable miracles—flip the scars into clapbacks.
Lost a friend to the fast lane, funeral had a paper crown,
I put my name on a napkin—swore I’d never let us drown.
[Pre-Chorus]
Late calls, taped walls, the studio's a second home,
We trade sleep for the chorus, trade fear for the chrome.
[Chorus]
From the block to the throne — we rise (we rise)
From the block to the throne — we rise (we rise)
From the block to the throne — we rise (we rise)
One line, one life, one light — we rise. (we rise)
[Bridge - quiet, intimate]
I still wake to the smell of frying oil and the sound of old jokes,
A letter folded in a shoebox—dad's handwriting on the folds.
He wrote, "Kid, keep your name clean, hustle with your heart,"
I read it at the crossroads where the hardest journeys start.
This ain't just pride or hype—it's for the kids on the stoop,
For the woman who stitched my jacket up with a prayer and a soup.
Soft beat, breath held, confess: sometimes I miss the sleep,
But I trade slumber for a verse—plant hope where the cold runs deep.
[Chorus - variation]
From the block to the throne — we rise (we rise, aha)
From the block to the throne — we rise (we ride, we rise)
From the block to the throne — we rise (crown on our minds)
From the block to the throne — we rise (yeah, yeah) — we rise.
[Verse 3 - confident, sharper cadence]
Look — I got ink on my fingers, late-night schedules in my wrist,
Countless no’s turned to yeses, every miss birthed a fist.
I spit alleyway sermons, bass knock like heartbeat code,
Neighbors peek from windows, now they play my record on the road.
Name on a flyer once, now it’s neon on the marquee,
Kids point at the skyline: "That's where he put our story, G."
I keep receipts: the nights, the fights, the meals that never came,
Every small loss financed a line — and now we own the name.
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