Pt 6.Mic END - x16x/InG.lrc

LRC歌词下载

[00:00.000] 作词 : x16x/T BOY
[00:01.000] 作曲 : x16x
[00:02.000] 编曲 : x16x/InG
[00:15.632]This ain’t a performance, it’s an exhale.
[00:17.771]No rhyme for applause, just truth that bleeds in lowercase.
[00:20.852]If I disappear after this—let it be known... I wrote until the silence spoke back.
[00:35.601]I came into this world with a mic in my fist,
[00:38.656]No silver spoon—just bars I twist.
[00:41.295]Born to a skyline that never blinked,
[00:43.820]Raised on cassette decks and kitchen sinks.
[00:46.477]Mama cleaned houses, pops vanished like steam,
[00:49.151]I wrote dreams on napkins to replace the scream.
[00:51.843]Mic became my Bible, booth my church,
[00:54.595]I baptized pain in every verse.
[00:57.127]School skipped me, hope almost did too,
[00:59.749]But I learned more from Wu-Tang than from school.
[01:02.455]My therapist? A beat with good snare.
[01:05.112]My prayers? Echoed in midnight air.
[01:07.796]They said, “Man up,” I said, “I write soft.”
[01:10.620]They said, “Real men don’t cry,” I just scoffed.
[01:13.310]Because being real? It’s saying I’m cracked,
[01:15.880]And still showing up, no plan, no map.
[01:19.029]I wrote for the kids who feel too much,
[01:21.423]For the loners with hearts they never trust.
[01:23.815]For the girls with razors, boys who hide,
[01:26.527]For the ones who smile with wars inside.
[01:29.190]I wrote for the mirror that judged me hard,
[01:31.775]For the father I wanted in every bar.
[01:34.405]For lovers I lost, friends who ghosted,
[01:37.108]For the versions of me that never coped with—
[01:39.848]The noise. The world. The lies. The price.
[01:42.803]For every “I’m fine” that never felt right.
[01:45.135]This mic? It knew my ugliest truth,
[01:47.998]Knew me better than therapists do.
[01:50.335]So I ain’t here to flex, or chase charts,
[01:53.129]I’m here to leave pieces, like broken art.
[01:55.890]If I die tomorrow, let the verse remain,
[01:58.406]Like chalk outlines after acid rain.
[02:01.207]Remember me—not for the stage,
[02:04.041]But for the lines I bled on every page.
[02:06.458]Not the claps, or lights, or reels—
[02:09.049]But for the moment your chest said: “Damn, I feel.”
[02:11.814]I lost count of the songs I never dropped,
[02:14.429]Because truth ain’t tidy—it leaks, it rots.
[02:17.091]But every rhyme I did release
[02:19.630]Was a small revolt. A prayer. A piece.
[02:22.549]I don’t need Grammys. Don’t need plaques.
[02:27.030]Don’t need critics dissecting my cracks.
[02:28.476]All I want is for one lost soul
[02:30.542]To hear a line and feel whole.
[02:33.255]That’s legacy. That’s art. That’s war.
[02:36.125]That’s screaming at heaven through studio doors.
[02:38.580]So this one’s for me—just me. No mask.
[02:41.153]No alter ego. Just questions I ask.
[02:43.743]And maybe that’s all rap was meant to be—
[02:46.443]A long-ass letter from the void to me.
[02:55.338]I used to think I'd write forever,
[02:57.641]That rhyme would keep my soul together.
[03:00.135]But even tape reels must unwind,
[03:02.580]Even legends must leave the line.
[03:05.185]So here’s the beat. Here's the air.
[03:07.879]Here’s the silence you can’t repair.
[03:10.509]And here’s the truth, sharp like steel:
[03:13.265]I ain’t gone—I just got real.
[03:15.811]They asked, “What’s next?” I said, “Peace.”
[03:18.674]“Another project?” Nah—release.
[03:21.672]Maybe I’ll teach. Maybe I’ll grow.
[03:23.991]Or maybe I’ll just sit in the afterglow.
[03:26.675]Because sometimes, to finish the rhyme,
[03:29.194]You gotta walk off and give it time.
[03:31.954]So I’m leavin’ the booth, fader to black—
[03:34.648]No regrets, no chains, no track.
[03:37.489]Fade me slow, like dusk on vinyl,
[03:40.076]No final bar—just one more spiral.
[03:42.525]Life don’t rhyme, but music tried.
[03:45.244]I wrote six parts—now let me hide.
[03:48.060]This was my book of verses.
[03:50.276]My six psalms for a world that don’t listen.
[03:53.305]Now I vanish—like all true poets do.
[03:55.826]Not into silence… but into you.

文本歌词

作词 : x16x/T BOY
作曲 : x16x
编曲 : x16x/InG
This ain’t a performance, it’s an exhale.
No rhyme for applause, just truth that bleeds in lowercase.
If I disappear after this—let it be known... I wrote until the silence spoke back.
I came into this world with a mic in my fist,
No silver spoon—just bars I twist.
Born to a skyline that never blinked,
Raised on cassette decks and kitchen sinks.
Mama cleaned houses, pops vanished like steam,
I wrote dreams on napkins to replace the scream.
Mic became my Bible, booth my church,
I baptized pain in every verse.
School skipped me, hope almost did too,
But I learned more from Wu-Tang than from school.
My therapist? A beat with good snare.
My prayers? Echoed in midnight air.
They said, “Man up,” I said, “I write soft.”
They said, “Real men don’t cry,” I just scoffed.
Because being real? It’s saying I’m cracked,
And still showing up, no plan, no map.
I wrote for the kids who feel too much,
For the loners with hearts they never trust.
For the girls with razors, boys who hide,
For the ones who smile with wars inside.
I wrote for the mirror that judged me hard,
For the father I wanted in every bar.
For lovers I lost, friends who ghosted,
For the versions of me that never coped with—
The noise. The world. The lies. The price.
For every “I’m fine” that never felt right.
This mic? It knew my ugliest truth,
Knew me better than therapists do.
So I ain’t here to flex, or chase charts,
I’m here to leave pieces, like broken art.
If I die tomorrow, let the verse remain,
Like chalk outlines after acid rain.
Remember me—not for the stage,
But for the lines I bled on every page.
Not the claps, or lights, or reels—
But for the moment your chest said: “Damn, I feel.”
I lost count of the songs I never dropped,
Because truth ain’t tidy—it leaks, it rots.
But every rhyme I did release
Was a small revolt. A prayer. A piece.
I don’t need Grammys. Don’t need plaques.
Don’t need critics dissecting my cracks.
All I want is for one lost soul
To hear a line and feel whole.
That’s legacy. That’s art. That’s war.
That’s screaming at heaven through studio doors.
So this one’s for me—just me. No mask.
No alter ego. Just questions I ask.
And maybe that’s all rap was meant to be—
A long-ass letter from the void to me.
I used to think I'd write forever,
That rhyme would keep my soul together.
But even tape reels must unwind,
Even legends must leave the line.
So here’s the beat. Here's the air.
Here’s the silence you can’t repair.
And here’s the truth, sharp like steel:
I ain’t gone—I just got real.
They asked, “What’s next?” I said, “Peace.”
“Another project?” Nah—release.
Maybe I’ll teach. Maybe I’ll grow.
Or maybe I’ll just sit in the afterglow.
Because sometimes, to finish the rhyme,
You gotta walk off and give it time.
So I’m leavin’ the booth, fader to black—
No regrets, no chains, no track.
Fade me slow, like dusk on vinyl,
No final bar—just one more spiral.
Life don’t rhyme, but music tried.
I wrote six parts—now let me hide.
This was my book of verses.
My six psalms for a world that don’t listen.
Now I vanish—like all true poets do.
Not into silence… but into you.