Lyrics
Yeah, my gold don’t glisten — it grind. Earned mine with calloused lines. No label fairy, no neon wings, Just blood, caffeine, and a heart that swings. I came from jobs that broke my spine, Clocked out late but wrote in rhyme. They polish fame — I sand it down, Built my shine in a muddy town. You talk rich, I talk rent, You spend chains, I pay cement. My throne built from the work they skip, Every verse a hammer, every hook a grip. I got 24 carat dirt on my hands, Still look clean when I stand. Yeah, I shine in a broke man’s shirt, Turned pain to gold in the land of hurt. Ain’t no crown, just sweat and worth, Every line I write still birth. Yeah, I ain’t rich — but I damn sure earned, Every gram of this 24 carat dirt. They want style, I want legacy, I don’t rap for clout — I rap for therapy. Ain’t no gimmick, no trend to chase, Just a flow so sharp it could shave your face. Talk heavy, but I move precise, Got Dre drums with a poet’s vice. If pain the price, I paid it twice, Every doubt they sold, I flipped to ice. No ghosts wrote me, no cosign crutch, Just broke nights and a God I trust. Turned backroads to runways clean, I’m what happen when dirt start dreamin’. I got 24 carat dirt on my hands, Still look clean when I stand. Yeah, I shine in a broke man’s shirt, Turned pain to gold in the land of hurt. Ain’t no crown, just sweat and worth, Every line I write still birth. Yeah, I ain’t rich — but I damn sure earned, Every gram of this 24 carat dirt. They said I’d fold — I broke the mold, Turned my lows to liquid gold. Every crack I own still gleam, Pressure make stone, not dreams. I built this house with busted hands, Still flex like a one-man band. Got grind in my teeth, soul in my verse, Put Dre in a truck stop, it’d sound like this first. Look — I’m too rare for the shelf, too real for the trend, Every punchline bleed ‘cause I don’t pretend. You chase numbers, I chase breath, You chase likes, I chase death. Every beat I touch turn dust divine, Every flaw I own still shine. If they say gold fake, that’s fine — Mine ain’t plated, it’s mined. I got 24 carat dirt on my hands, Still look clean when I stand. Yeah, I shine in a broke man’s shirt, Turned pain to gold in the land of hurt. Ain’t no crown, just sweat and worth, Every line I write still birth. Yeah, I ain’t rich — but I damn sure earned, Every gram of this 24 carat dirt. No diamonds. Just daylight and work ethic.
Lyrics
Yeah, my gold don’t glisten — it grind. Earned mine with calloused lines. No label fairy, no neon wings, Just blood, caffeine, and a heart that swings. I came from jobs that broke my spine, Clocked out late but wrote in rhyme. They polish fame — I sand it down, Built my shine in a muddy town. You talk rich, I talk rent, You spend chains, I pay cement. My throne built from the work they skip, Every verse a hammer, every hook a grip. I got 24 carat dirt on my hands, Still look clean when I stand. Yeah, I shine in a broke man’s shirt, Turned pain to gold in the land of hurt. Ain’t no crown, just sweat and worth, Every line I write still birth. Yeah, I ain’t rich — but I damn sure earned, Every gram of this 24 carat dirt. They want style, I want legacy, I don’t rap for clout — I rap for therapy. Ain’t no gimmick, no trend to chase, Just a flow so sharp it could shave your face. Talk heavy, but I move precise, Got Dre drums with a poet’s vice. If pain the price, I paid it twice, Every doubt they sold, I flipped to ice. No ghosts wrote me, no cosign crutch, Just broke nights and a God I trust. Turned backroads to runways clean, I’m what happen when dirt start dreamin’. I got 24 carat dirt on my hands, Still look clean when I stand. Yeah, I shine in a broke man’s shirt, Turned pain to gold in the land of hurt. Ain’t no crown, just sweat and worth, Every line I write still birth. Yeah, I ain’t rich — but I damn sure earned, Every gram of this 24 carat dirt. They said I’d fold — I broke the mold, Turned my lows to liquid gold. Every crack I own still gleam, Pressure make stone, not dreams. I built this house with busted hands, Still flex like a one-man band. Got grind in my teeth, soul in my verse, Put Dre in a truck stop, it’d sound like this first. Look — I’m too rare for the shelf, too real for the trend, Every punchline bleed ‘cause I don’t pretend. You chase numbers, I chase breath, You chase likes, I chase death. Every beat I touch turn dust divine, Every flaw I own still shine. If they say gold fake, that’s fine — Mine ain’t plated, it’s mined. I got 24 carat dirt on my hands, Still look clean when I stand. Yeah, I shine in a broke man’s shirt, Turned pain to gold in the land of hurt. Ain’t no crown, just sweat and worth, Every line I write still birth. Yeah, I ain’t rich — but I damn sure earned, Every gram of this 24 carat dirt. No diamonds. Just daylight and work ethic.