[Intro]
[Low guitar riff in uneven bursts, then straight-time drums.]

[Male Vocal]
[Verse 1]
He came at noon in polished shoes,
With bottled water, camera crew.
He called the doorway "raw appeal,"
Then asked if rusted signs were real.
Joe held the notice in his fist:
"You're selling what you won't let exist."

[Pre-Chorus]
He praised the dirt, then priced the floor,
Framed our past above the door.

[Chorus]
Rent won the war, rent took the street,
Bought every lock beneath our feet.
Rent raised a glass and closed the bar,
Then sold our scars as decor.
No cannon roar, no flags before—
Just one more zero than before.

[Verse 2]
The record shop became a spa,
The diner turned to valet cars.
The tailor's room, the tattoo chair,
A marble lobby swallowed there.
He found our poster in a drawer;
I took it gently back once more.

[Breakdown]
[Gang Vocals]
Rent! Raised the rate.
Rent! Changed the gate.
Rent! Bought the floor.
You don't own what happened before.

[Bridge]
[Spoken Male — Agent]
"Curated grit. Authentic tone."

[Gang Vocals]
You cleared the ones who made it home.
"A premium view. A rooftop bar."
No stage, no band, no place to start.

[Guitar Solo]
[Raw wah guitar; no polished resolution.]

[Final Chorus]
Rent won the deed, the roof, the floor,
But hear us through the loading door.
Till Monday's steel begins to roar,
Rent hasn't won the final chord.
Rent won the war, rent took the street,
Not every pulse beneath our feet.

[Outro]
The cameras left. The dust came down.
One red pick lay on the ground.
Rent won the war—not the final chord.
