Leaves hit the concrete, then they turn to blood,
Same block, new bodies… every season got a thug.

Maple on the corner got a ice in its trunk,
Fall bring the pain, spring clean the junk.
Tss-ka, tss-ka, watch the whole block bleed,
Brown to red then black, that’s the way things proceed.

Wind flip the page, let the bullets talk slick,

Director in the sky got the same old flick, quick.
Kids on the stoop like,
One week bare bones, next week fresh meat get re-patched.

Not kiff, just resting in the dirt’s cold tomb,
Then it pop up fresh like a dun bip bop!
Every season run it like a drive-by with no pause,
Close-up on the body, then the wide shot falls!

Credits roll slow but the story don’t stop,
Round and round it go till the whole block pop.
top on the scene, but they don’t see a thing,
Just another day in the life of a street king.

Got the crown on my head, but it’s made of lead,
Every step that I take, I’m walking on the kiff.
Seasons change, but the game stay the same,
Survival of the fittest in this concrete frame.

Not kiff, just resting in the dirt’s cold tomb,
Then it pop up fresh like a dun bip bop!
Every season run it like a drive-by with no pause,
Close-up on the body, then the wide shot falls!

Seasons of the streets… The game never ends

"Same block, new bodies,"
by MalreDeszik

2026 - Licensed under
Creative Commons
Attribution (4.0)

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