[Intro] 5:12 AM — the subway coughs my name, Steam from a coffee cup sketches my aim. Neon flicker on cracked pavement, I lace my pain with purpose. Beat drops — yeah, we move. Stamp: "We up." (We up.) [Verse 1] 5:12 a.m., the station whistles like a tired hymn, Ticket clutched, cold hands, dreams louder than my rims. Diner booth light, black coffee, sugarless hope — I stir it thin, A mother’s voice at dawn: "Boy, don't fold, let that fire win." Cracked pavement conversations under shoe-swipe rain, Laundry lines of memories, bills tacked like windowpane. I flip old receipts into constellations in my palm, Every small loss rewired to a kind of calm. Internal rhymes snap — awake, ache, make a lane, I trade silent curses for rhythms, pressure into gain. This city tastes like metal and ambition, bitter and gold, I’m sketching a map from rust to the mold of my own soul. [Pre-Chorus] Hands on the wheel — heartbeat in double-time, Edges sharpen, the horizon starts to rhyme. Hold the breath, feel the click before the climb, We count to three, then fold fate into our lines. [Chorus] Rise and grind — light the blocks we left behind We up. (We up.) [Verse 2] Paper bag mornings, but I wear a heavier dream now, Late-night studio: a mic, two lamps, a vow. Punchlines like subway stops — stop, start, roll past doubt, I lace metaphors with engine grease, make 'em shout out. Remember the landlord’s knock, the fridge that hummed low? Now suitcases of beats become stages where we glow. Victo