Echoes of the Golden Era

[Intro] [Verse 1] Step into the cipher where the soul samples breathe, Dust off the vinyl, let the jazz chords seethe. Snare cracks like thunder, kicks march through the street, A Queensbridge whisper where the past and present meet. Pen to the paper, ink spills like red wine, Narrate the struggle, every scar, every sign. Cole’s introspection, Nas’s vivid design, Paint the city’s heartbeat in a four-four time. Through the haze of neon, truths start to align, Legends never fade—they just rewind. [Chorus] Echoes of the golden era, timeless in the groove, Jazzy horns and dusty drums in every move. Stories etched in rhythm, the streets will always prove, A language of the soul that the wise can never lose. [Verse 2] Corner store philosophers, their wisdom in the rhymes, Cracked sidewalks whisper tales of better times. A mic in hand, the world’s weight on my spine, But the b**t lifts me up like a vintage wine. Metaphors like streetlights guide through the night, Every bar a battle, every verse a f***t. From Illmatic visions to the Forest Hills’ light, The legacy lives on in the tracks we write. [Verse 3] The sample loops a memory, a saxophone’s cry, Drum breaks like heartbeats under Brooklyn skies. Lyrics weave the fabric where the truth can’t lie, A poet’s manifesto to the ones who try. The streets keep the receipts, the mic amplifies, In every verse, a piece of me never dies. [Outro]