Gangsta & Thundering
Gangsta Gangsta
Thundering Thundering
Thundering Thundering
Yo, ever thought about throwing a one‑night show on a cracked sidewalk, with the vending machine acting as our percussionist?
Gangsta Gangsta
Yo, that’s pure heat—cracked concrete for a bass, a vending machine for the beat. Let’s flip the street into a stage.
Thundering Thundering
Yeah! Picture us on that cracked concrete, vinyl crackling under our feet, the vending machine’s whirring like a metronome. You hand me a receipt, I snatch it, rewrite the numbers into a riff, and we shout the chorus into the alley. Let’s turn traffic lights into cymbals, and the pigeons? They’re the backup chorus. Ready to rock the curb?
Gangsta Gangsta
Hell yeah, let’s paint the night with noise, break every rule and make the curb our VIP club. Get your gloves on, we’re about to remix the city.
Thundering Thundering
Gloves are on, city’s got my ear for a beat, the curb’s our velvet rope, and every broken streetlight is a spotlight. Let’s remix traffic into a chorus and make the night hum. 🚀
Gangsta Gangsta
Crank that rhythm, let the lights blink like a boom box and the pigeons keep the beat. Tonight we own the street. 🚀