We Bossed Up

{"lyrics":"[intro]\nYeah, yeah, ayy, ayy (skrrt)\nTurn the page, turn the stage, turn the key — let's go\n(Woo) Uh-huh, uh-huh\n\n[verse]\nI came up from the gutter with a grin and a ledger (ayy)\nCounted losses like lessons, now success is my measure (skrrt)\nI flip commas to commas, then commas to commas again\nCheck the math, I'm the phantom in the plan with a pen\nI lace lines like laces, sprint past fake faces\nThey play chess, I'm playing aces, rearrange places\nMoney talk, but my language is louder than racks\nBuilt towers from whispers of cracks — now it's plaques\nThey say patience pays, I invented the interest (yuh)\nI invest in my best, no vest, I resist less\nStreet gospel in syllables, scripture in syllables\nI move through the night with a grin, not typical (ha)\nEvery loss was a lesson that taught me to blossom\nI plant seeds in the pavement, harvest problem to profit\nI hustle with humor, slice stress with a simile\nSharp wit, sharper fit, sharper sight, see me\nI write lines like signatures — permanent ink\nThey blink at the blink of my blink, make 'em rethink\nNo stalling, no stuttering, climb ladders I hammer\nI got a map for the maze and a plan for the camera (ayy)\nThey tap in, I tap out, I tap gold, not the faucet\nI speak truth loud enough that the rumors get nauseous\nSkrrt, I slide — pockets deep with the stories I told\nI parade through the rain, gold trim on the cold\nI hustle like muscle, I flex on the doubt\nI turn what they counted out into crowns for my route\n(Yeah) Uh-huh, uh-huh, watch me write what I vow\nI don't wait for a door, I draft keys for the house\n\n[chorus]\nWe bossed up, we bossed up, we bossed up, we bossed up (ayy)\nMoney on my mind, put a ring on the clock (skrrt)\nWe bossed up, we bossed up, we bossed up, we bossed up (ayy)\nHands to the sky when the ceiling unlocks (come on)\nWe bossed up, we bossed up, we bossed up, we bossed up (ayy)\nMoney on my mind, put a ring on the clock (skrrt)\nWe bossed up, we bossed up, we bossed up, we bossed up (ayy)\nHands to the sky when the ceiling unlocks (let's go)\n\n[verse]\nI catalog my scars like trophies in a gallery (yuh)\nEach one got a story and a chorus for bravery\nI move like a verb — action, not caption\nI barter for time and I never trade passion\nMy pen's a compass, it points where I go\nEvery bar is a brick in the house that I grow\nThey rap for attention, I rap for expansion\nThey craving the surface, I craft the mansion\nI cook up a concept, serve it hot with the sauce\nThey want smoke and mirrors, I show 'em the boss\nVocabulary violent, I strike with a verb\nTurn pain into product, that's the nerve of the word\nI stitch lines like seams, suited to dreams\nI set scenes on stages, city to stream\nAd-libs like bullets — ayy, ha, skrrt, yeah\nRunways of rhythm under soles of my care\nI pick locks with metaphors, shock the old norms\nI thunder in sn