In the heart of the concrete jungle’s sprawl,
Where the streets are ruthless and stories enthrall,
Low riders roll with a rebel’s grace,
In the gangster world, they find their place.
Cherry bombs rumble, engines growl,
As low riders prowl, they wear their scowl,
Under neon lights, they ride so low,
In this dark and gritty, urban tableau.
Sleek and mean, chrome gleaming bright,
Through the city’s veins, they navigate the night,
Hydraulics dancing to a rhythm known,
In this asphalt kingdom, they claim their throne.
In black leather jackets and fedoras wide,
Low rider kings, swagger in their stride,
Tattooed sleeves and stories untold,
In the gangster realm, they’re streets of gold.
From East LA to the Windy City’s roar,
Low riders tell a tale that’s been told before,
In a world where the tough survive and thrive,
These steel steeds and their riders come alive.
They’re the rebels, the outlaws, the streetwise few,
In their low riders, their world they subdue,
In the shadows and secrets where they dwell,
Low rider gangsters have a story to tell.