Post by cram on Apr 17, 2024 9:46:49 GMT -5
Part 1: A Revolutionary Return
Yo, it's CRAM, the King of the Streets, back from the shadows
Thunder Pro Wrestling? They brought the drama, brought the sorrow
But hold up, hold up, before we get to the main event
There's a pasty Brit I gotta address, gotta pay the rent
(Verse 1)
Tony Savage, that's your name, right? Sounds kinda tame
Like a tea party gone wrong, a crumpets and jam game
You brag about your boxing skills, your wrestling pedigree
But you forget your ancestors got whooped by the US, you see?
Revolutionary War, ring a bell? Freedom fries taste sweet
Y'all got served a royal beatin', scurried back across the street
(Chorus)
You might be a champ in your little island ring
But here in the States, son, a different kind of thunder sings
Lightning strikes twice, that's the prophecy
CRAM's comin' back for the gold, and Savage? You'll be history
(Verse 2)
I hear you runnin' your mouth, talkin' smack about the King's return
But your reign's on borrowed time, buddy, it's about to burn
You strut around like a peacock, feathers all on display
But when CRAM steps in the ring, you'll be the one who walks away
(Chorus)
You might be a champ in your little island ring
But here in the States, son, a different kind of thunder sings
Lightning strikes twice, that's the prophecy
CRAM's comin' back for the gold, and Savage? You'll be history
(Bridge)
I ain't braggin', just stating facts, truth is undeniable
You ain't got the heart, the hustle, the fire that's unquenchable
This ain't no tea and biscuits, this is a battleground, a war
And when CRAM steps through the ropes, victory's what I'm here for
(Chorus)
You might be a champ in your little island ring
But here in the States, son, a different kind of thunder sings
Lightning strikes twice, that's the prophecy
CRAM's comin' back for the gold, and Savage? You'll be history
Yo, it's CRAM, the King of the Streets, back from the shadows
Thunder Pro Wrestling? They brought the drama, brought the sorrow
But hold up, hold up, before we get to the main event
There's a pasty Brit I gotta address, gotta pay the rent
(Verse 1)
Tony Savage, that's your name, right? Sounds kinda tame
Like a tea party gone wrong, a crumpets and jam game
You brag about your boxing skills, your wrestling pedigree
But you forget your ancestors got whooped by the US, you see?
Revolutionary War, ring a bell? Freedom fries taste sweet
Y'all got served a royal beatin', scurried back across the street
(Chorus)
You might be a champ in your little island ring
But here in the States, son, a different kind of thunder sings
Lightning strikes twice, that's the prophecy
CRAM's comin' back for the gold, and Savage? You'll be history
(Verse 2)
I hear you runnin' your mouth, talkin' smack about the King's return
But your reign's on borrowed time, buddy, it's about to burn
You strut around like a peacock, feathers all on display
But when CRAM steps in the ring, you'll be the one who walks away
(Chorus)
You might be a champ in your little island ring
But here in the States, son, a different kind of thunder sings
Lightning strikes twice, that's the prophecy
CRAM's comin' back for the gold, and Savage? You'll be history
(Bridge)
I ain't braggin', just stating facts, truth is undeniable
You ain't got the heart, the hustle, the fire that's unquenchable
This ain't no tea and biscuits, this is a battleground, a war
And when CRAM steps through the ropes, victory's what I'm here for
(Chorus)
You might be a champ in your little island ring
But here in the States, son, a different kind of thunder sings
Lightning strikes twice, that's the prophecy
CRAM's comin' back for the gold, and Savage? You'll be history
Part 2: Still King
Neon signs bled red onto the damp asphalt, casting the alleyway in an eerie glow. Smoke curled from a dented cigarette pack in my hand, the acrid bite a welcome distraction from the phantom ache in my side. Word had spread like wildfire: Cram was back. Not in the flashy spandex of Thunder Pro Wrestling, but back in the underbelly of the city where I made my name.
Guys in oversized hoodies circled around me, a mix of fear and morbid curiosity etched on their faces. "Heard you got whacked, Cram," one piped up, nervously scratching a faded tattoo. "Shot five times, they said."
Scoffs rippled through the group. Five times? They were rookies, green as last week's garbage. "Four," I corrected, tapping the pack against the wall to dislodge another burning ember. "Caught those clowns mid-invasion. Took three in the shoulder, one in the leg."
A collective gasp. I let it hang in the air, the truth mixed with a healthy dose of showmanship. "But," I continued, my voice dropping to a low growl, "the fourth one..." My eyes swept the faces, settling on the jumpiest one, "didn't make it out alive."
Silence. Even the flickering neon seemed to hold its breath. Lying in the sterile hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and wires, fear had clawed at me. But beneath the fear, a primal anger burned. Now, fully recovered and itching to unleash myself, the memory of that night fueled my words.
"Doc says I'm good as new," I finally said, flicking the cigarette butt away. "But recovery takes time. Time I couldn't afford to waste with fancy lawyers and court dates."
They understood. Cram didn't mess around with the law. They knew the streets were my jury, my executioner. They also knew that in a world where legends were whispered about in hushed tones, a little embellishment added spice to the story.
Suddenly, a car horn blared, shattering the tension. A beat-up muscle car pulled up, chrome gleaming under the harsh lights. "Looks like trouble's found me," I muttered, a smirk slowly spreading across my face.
Stepping out of the car was "Diamond" Don, a greasy-haired promoter with a penchant for quick cash and high drama. "Cram!" he boomed, a smile wider than his comb-over. "Heard you're back in business. Got a proposition for you."
The alleyway became my stage once more. Cram, the King of the Streets, wounded but unbroken, was back in the fight. And whether it was reclaiming my title in the wrestling ring or teaching some punks a lesson here, one thing was clear: I was here to win. And in the asphalt jungle, I called home, victory was measured in blood, sweat, and the echoes of whispered legends.
Part 3: The Above Average Savage
Yo, it's CRAM, the name on the marquees, the top of the food chain
Been silent for a minute, rehabbin', came back with the propane
Heard there's a pretender walkin' 'round, callin' himself Savage
Lost to Larry Tact, that's amateur hour on any given stage
(Verse 1)
See, Savage, that moniker? It's a paradox, a twisted irony
You ain't the hunter, you the prey, cornered, whimperin' for sympathy
Autoimmune disease got you weak, body achin', spirit tattered
But that's just child's play compared to the pain I'm about to shatter
(Chorus)
I'm the above average savage, the king of the concrete jungle
Got the lyrical venom, the flow so smooth, it'll make you stumble
You a boxer, a wrestler? More like a confused jack of all trades
While I'm a master of the game, spittin' fire, droppin' lyrical grenades
(Verse 2)
Remember that title shot you choked on? Yeah, the one that slipped away
Same way you gonna fumble when I step in the ring come payday
You talk a big game, but your actions speak volumes, loud and clear
All bark and no bite, a paper tiger, vanishin' when the pressure's near
(Chorus)
I'm the above average savage, the king of the concrete jungle
Got the lyrical venom, the flow so smooth, it'll make you stumble
You a boxer, a wrestler? More like a confused jack of all trades
While I'm a master of the game, spittin' fire, droppin' lyrical grenades
(Bridge)
Don't get me wrong, respect to the hustle, gotta grind to get your shine
But respect ain't enough when you facin' a legend, a lyrical design
So step aside, Savage, this ain't your playground, this ain't your fight
This is a lyrical beatdown, a massacre under the stadium lights
(Chorus)
I'm the above average savage, the king of the concrete jungle
Got the lyrical venom, the flow so smooth, it'll make you stumble
You a boxer, a wrestler? More like a confused jack of all trades
While I'm a master of the game, spittin' fire, droppin' lyrical grenades
CRAM: So next time you wanna test your luck, Savage, pick a different opponent
Cause when CRAM steps in the ring, the only savagery you'll witness is my dominance. Ya rolling the dice with ya life stepping to the king of the streets, who only does more damage in the sheets. It’s time to spend ya twilight with the fam before your dying light. Ya talk sideways to CRAM and that’ll be Friday night..
Neon signs bled red onto the damp asphalt, casting the alleyway in an eerie glow. Smoke curled from a dented cigarette pack in my hand, the acrid bite a welcome distraction from the phantom ache in my side. Word had spread like wildfire: Cram was back. Not in the flashy spandex of Thunder Pro Wrestling, but back in the underbelly of the city where I made my name.
Guys in oversized hoodies circled around me, a mix of fear and morbid curiosity etched on their faces. "Heard you got whacked, Cram," one piped up, nervously scratching a faded tattoo. "Shot five times, they said."
Scoffs rippled through the group. Five times? They were rookies, green as last week's garbage. "Four," I corrected, tapping the pack against the wall to dislodge another burning ember. "Caught those clowns mid-invasion. Took three in the shoulder, one in the leg."
A collective gasp. I let it hang in the air, the truth mixed with a healthy dose of showmanship. "But," I continued, my voice dropping to a low growl, "the fourth one..." My eyes swept the faces, settling on the jumpiest one, "didn't make it out alive."
Silence. Even the flickering neon seemed to hold its breath. Lying in the sterile hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and wires, fear had clawed at me. But beneath the fear, a primal anger burned. Now, fully recovered and itching to unleash myself, the memory of that night fueled my words.
"Doc says I'm good as new," I finally said, flicking the cigarette butt away. "But recovery takes time. Time I couldn't afford to waste with fancy lawyers and court dates."
They understood. Cram didn't mess around with the law. They knew the streets were my jury, my executioner. They also knew that in a world where legends were whispered about in hushed tones, a little embellishment added spice to the story.
Suddenly, a car horn blared, shattering the tension. A beat-up muscle car pulled up, chrome gleaming under the harsh lights. "Looks like trouble's found me," I muttered, a smirk slowly spreading across my face.
Stepping out of the car was "Diamond" Don, a greasy-haired promoter with a penchant for quick cash and high drama. "Cram!" he boomed, a smile wider than his comb-over. "Heard you're back in business. Got a proposition for you."
The alleyway became my stage once more. Cram, the King of the Streets, wounded but unbroken, was back in the fight. And whether it was reclaiming my title in the wrestling ring or teaching some punks a lesson here, one thing was clear: I was here to win. And in the asphalt jungle, I called home, victory was measured in blood, sweat, and the echoes of whispered legends.
Part 3: The Above Average Savage
Yo, it's CRAM, the name on the marquees, the top of the food chain
Been silent for a minute, rehabbin', came back with the propane
Heard there's a pretender walkin' 'round, callin' himself Savage
Lost to Larry Tact, that's amateur hour on any given stage
(Verse 1)
See, Savage, that moniker? It's a paradox, a twisted irony
You ain't the hunter, you the prey, cornered, whimperin' for sympathy
Autoimmune disease got you weak, body achin', spirit tattered
But that's just child's play compared to the pain I'm about to shatter
(Chorus)
I'm the above average savage, the king of the concrete jungle
Got the lyrical venom, the flow so smooth, it'll make you stumble
You a boxer, a wrestler? More like a confused jack of all trades
While I'm a master of the game, spittin' fire, droppin' lyrical grenades
(Verse 2)
Remember that title shot you choked on? Yeah, the one that slipped away
Same way you gonna fumble when I step in the ring come payday
You talk a big game, but your actions speak volumes, loud and clear
All bark and no bite, a paper tiger, vanishin' when the pressure's near
(Chorus)
I'm the above average savage, the king of the concrete jungle
Got the lyrical venom, the flow so smooth, it'll make you stumble
You a boxer, a wrestler? More like a confused jack of all trades
While I'm a master of the game, spittin' fire, droppin' lyrical grenades
(Bridge)
Don't get me wrong, respect to the hustle, gotta grind to get your shine
But respect ain't enough when you facin' a legend, a lyrical design
So step aside, Savage, this ain't your playground, this ain't your fight
This is a lyrical beatdown, a massacre under the stadium lights
(Chorus)
I'm the above average savage, the king of the concrete jungle
Got the lyrical venom, the flow so smooth, it'll make you stumble
You a boxer, a wrestler? More like a confused jack of all trades
While I'm a master of the game, spittin' fire, droppin' lyrical grenades
CRAM: So next time you wanna test your luck, Savage, pick a different opponent
Cause when CRAM steps in the ring, the only savagery you'll witness is my dominance. Ya rolling the dice with ya life stepping to the king of the streets, who only does more damage in the sheets. It’s time to spend ya twilight with the fam before your dying light. Ya talk sideways to CRAM and that’ll be Friday night..
