Mean Streets

Back in the '90s, streets were like a chess game,

Every move calculated, survival the main aim.

Graffiti walls, the concrete's cry,

Tales of the fallen, under the city's sigh.

Running with the crew, loyalty was the code,

In the urban jungle, where only the bold roamed.

Bandanas and beats, a testament to the strife,

Living by the day, a precarious life.

In the mean streets, where dreams and danger collide,

We hustle and flow, with nowhere to hide.