Back then, our laughter burst like spokes
Releasing sparks on concrete battlefields.
Huffy, Murray, Haro—our noble steeds,
Twenty inches of grit beneath our dreams.
Wheelies popped like rebellions against gravity,
Ramps dared us to test impossible heights.
We flew, we fell, scraped knees as offerings,
The pavement our altar, every bruise a badge.
No helmets, no bubble wrap for our defiance,
Chains snagging pants, skin kissed by asphalt.
We carried scars like medals under dirt,
A declaration: boys fearless in their recklessness.
The gang was our compass, freedom unrolled,
Streetlights our curfew, the map ours to draw.
Whispers of girls clung like secrets to handlebars,
Endless rides lit by a fire only we could see.
We crashed, we rose, we laughed in the wreckage,
An unspoken code: fall, then ride again.
Under sunburnt skies, we conquered the days,
A crew forged in sweat, blood, and motion.
The streets were boundless, belonging was air,
A world untouched by fences or fear.
We ruled it all until shadows stretched tall,
And the streetlights sent us home as kings.