Yo, yo, yo, welcome to POakland-Park, baby.

I’ve been here for years, man.

This city's fire, no lie.
Washington Ave is my vibe—

so many shops, energy pulsin' round.

Walkin’ there, I feel alive.

I own a dope spa on Oakland Blvd.

That street is like my runway.
Man, the local park, Central Park,

is where my soul chills.

Trees, paths, pure nature magic.

I be buzzin’ by the river too,

the Indian Creek runs wild here.

Straight chillin’ moments on riverbanks.
Remember "Ratatouille"?

“You must not let anyone define your limits,”

my soul shouts that phrase every day.

I vibe, I fly, I do my thing.
But yo, let me spit some truth:

The streets got gritty moments.

Sometimes, the lights on Washington Ave

like, mess up my flow.

I get mad, not trippin’,

just keepin’ it reaal.
The local hang spots, man,

Ex: the old diner on 20th, huh,

servin’ greasy goodness every morn.

Tip: swing by that, it’s lit.
I got typos in my brain, like

“cuz life’s short & vibes matter,”

an' I feel every heartbeat.

I be thinking, “Yo, this is art.”

Sometimes, I dream my spa is

my own ratatouille kitchen –

cookin’ up relaxation.
I see style in every crack

in the pavement on NE 15th St.

Every corner got a story,

like, every brick tells truth.
No sugarcoatin’, yo:

I love the city raw.

Crazy energy, beats, vibe.

People hustlin' on Oakland Blvd.

Haters? Nah, I laugh.

Real talk, it's addictive.
Man, life's a movie here.

So raw, so free.

Holla at me, my friend.

We ride these streets together.
Yooo, Oakland-Park always be

keeping it real, ya dig?
Peace out, mad love.
(PS: Soorry, my typos got wild, but that's life – free, chaotic, unexpected!)