Every sin I spit come plated in chrome,
Ain’t no peace for the wolf when he guardin’ the home.
I baptize bars in gasoline rain,
Light ‘em with truth, let ‘em burn through pain.
Every prayer got steel in tone,
Every dream got a gun of its own.
They preach heaven like a parking lot,
But I been too broke to trust that spot.
I talk to God in bullet time,
He said, “Faith don’t rhyme — but pain do fine.”
So I wrote this psalm in grease and flame,
Signed it in blood, and called it my name.

Chrome psalms, for the lost and loud,
Every prayer I write still speak too proud.
Ain’t clean, but I’m sanctified,
Holy hands, with a sinner’s drive.
Chrome psalms, yeah, the truth don’t bend,
Faith don’t fake, and fear don’t end.
Preach with a pen, bleed on command,
Amen with a gun in hand.

I don’t quote verses — I become ‘em,
Every line a ghost that outrun ‘em.
They love the myth, but not the man,
Wanna hear pain, not understand.
My church got cracks in the floor and walls,
My priest wear boots, my God don’t call.
He show up in the bassline hum,
In the sirens, in the streetlight drum.
My Bible got ashes, my soul got dents,
My peace still fightin’ my confidence.
You want truth? Don’t check the cross —
Check the mirror, that’s where the cost.

Chrome psalms, for the lost and loud,
Every prayer I write still speak too proud.
Ain’t clean, but I’m sanctified,
Holy hands, with a sinner’s drive.
Chrome psalms, yeah, the truth don’t bend,
Faith don’t fake, and fear don’t end.
Preach with a pen, bleed on command,
Amen with a gun in hand.

Yeah, I talk to heaven through static and smoke,
Ain’t no choir when the chorus broke.
Still, I hum that hymn in code,
Still, I walk that narrow road.
My peace don’t sleep, my rage don’t rest,
Both beat loud inside my chest.
If hell got light, I’ll take that flame,
And write redemption in my name.

Look, I’m a sermon in 16’s flat,
A prophet with a baseball cap.
Every verse I drop — that’s gospel rap,
Every bar I bleed — that’s aftermath.
Ain’t no choir can drown this voice,
Ain’t no God that gave me choice.
I wrote my fate on a beer-stained napkin,
Now my pain the main attraction.
So when the drums hit, and the bassline hum,
That’s my prayer — that’s where I’m from.

Chrome psalms, for the lost and loud,
Every prayer I write still speak too proud.
Ain’t clean, but I’m sanctified,
Holy hands, with a sinner’s drive.
Chrome psalms, yeah, the truth don’t bend,
Faith don’t fake, and fear don’t end.
Preach with a pen, bleed on command,
Amen with a gun in hand.

Every sinner got a song.
This one just louder than most.