Yo, check it, this is Medusa, repped by
, comin’ straight from the school of hard knocks—where you learn quick to keep it
with everybody. Rich cats, big shots, cops, bullies, or the ones society calls trash—don’t matter. You treat ‘em all with respect, and that’s your shield, your hustle, your way to walk untouched. Here’s the remix, street style, raw and real, spittin’ truth from the block where you earn every scar but still shine.
MedusaOut here, Medusa ain’t just a myth—she’s the vibe you throw to keep the snakes at bay. Her stare? That’s your rep, stone-cold protection when you move through the jungle. Ain’t about scarin’ folks off; it’s about holdin’ your ground, keepin’ it solid, ‘cause you know the game don’t play favorites.
Studio Notes, Straight from the Curb
My General (Warm Up)I’m dodgin’ traps, movin’ slick—call it Abracadabra, snappin’ up treasure from the grit of these streets. File that under Treasure Island, fam. You think you got the drop on me? Nah, you’re stuck, frozen mid-sentence, tryna talk game with a player who already flipped the board.
Still spittin’, My Precious, holdin’ what’s mine close. Ain’t no forever in these streets—everything’s borrowed time. Hand me the Word, the truth, somethin’ to lock it down when the night’s too heavy.
World Nomad, Hustlin’ Art I’m out here craftin’ history, spinnin’ bedtime stories for the block—tales that hit harder than a fist. They call it art, I call it survival. Ain’t no room for slow minds movin’ basic. They say my old man’s wild, lost in his head, but I’m dodgin’ that tar, sidesteppin’ the feathers they try to stick me with.
Me, You, Us—Real Talk Some fake it, rollin’ with garbage vibes, cuttin’ ties with anything pure. But I see the patterns—bare tables, pink tulips markin’ where dreams flatlined. Word on the street, they found Mr. Lee McClymont, Private Eye of Art, scopin’ the scene—track marks, black tar, even a kebab sittin’ pretty. Looked fresh, so I took a bite. Blood hit like sweet-and-sour sauce, not half bad. I was starvin’, fresh off a grind, ocean breeze kissin’ my skin after a dip in the waves. Palms swayin’, sun hittin’ my hustle-built frame—game on, never switch off.
Long Hustle, War Ready My faith? It’s a warrior’s creed, built for the long game. Come as you are, bring that raw celestial fire. This is Lee McClymont Art, the Ultimate Street Factory, droppin’ beats and truth since ’22, posted up in my own palace—Gucci vibes, but earned, not bought.
Respect the Code Thumbs up to the real ones. Love to the fam who hold it down. Grateful for every step, every scar. Stay happy, keep it cool, and pass an apple—keep it simple, never twisted.
Copy that. Redacted for the fakes.
This version flips the original into a street-style narrative, grounded in the code of respect for all—high or low—learned from the hard knocks of life. It keeps the chaotic energy, Medusa’s protective vibe, and
’s flair, but weaves in the grit and honor of the block. Let me know if you want it tweaked or leaned harder into a specific vibe!