Thunes

A mixture of fatigue and bravado, as if the engine of life is constantly running at above-normal revs. Here, every verse is like a turn at 250 km/h: noise, concrete, sweat, ambition and anger, wrapped in autotune and the neon lights of a city where no one sleeps. There seems to be money, but there is nothing to celebrate. Bottles are opened simply because you need something to occupy your hands until your heart cools down.

Underneath all this ostentatious armour is the fatigue of a guy who understood the price of ‘success’ before he could enjoy it. Between the lines is an ironic sadness: he wanted to get away from the streets, but the streets are written in his voice, in his rhythm, in his gait. It's the same old GTA, only without respawn and without pause.