Scarlet Sermon for the Broken, the Beautiful, and the Bout-It.

Ladies… and by ladies, I mean the ones who cry during backshots
and send voice notes moaning my name like a hymn.
This ain’t a track — it’s a scripture on syrup.
A confession whispered through clenched teeth and heavy 808s.

I ain’t here to impress — I’m here to imprint.

“She said I rap like I’m pissed off at the past.
Like every bar I write is a letter I never sent.”

This that Scarlet Pressure.
Where lust meets pain, and power sounds like jungle percussion.
If you feel your spine tingling… that’s me.
If you felt wet between the lines… that’s the Voice.

“Don’t call it a song.
Call it a ritual.”

For the loyal hoes, the hurt hustlers, and the divine whores:
This your gospel.
This your guilt.
This your game.

Now press play.
Then press your legs together.
And repeat me like scripture.

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