Drogba

The noise of the streets seems to have become the soundtrack to a chess game, where the pieces move quickly and the stakes are always too high. Here, strategy smells of gunpowder, success is measured in horsepower, and respect is earned not with words, but with nerves of steel. A world where every move can be checkmate, and even the music sounds like the rustle of banknotes and the roar of an engine at the start.

Brutal poetry to the beat of the bass, where concrete courtyards speak the language of Rolex and Glock. Not an inch of illusion - only survival, the code of the street and the cold ‘it's you or them’. But beneath all this harshness, there is not only a challenge, but a strange nobility - as if the truth of the street, however crude it may be, is still more honest than any glossy lie.