Protiva - Po Betonu (prod. Beatjunkie Rato) | RELIABLE |

Should we lean more into the of the city or focus on the internal monologue of the lyrics for the next part?

He stepped off the curb and onto the gray expanse. Po betonu. On the concrete.

“Every crack in the sidewalk is a verse I haven’t finished yet,” he muttered under his breath, his rhythm locking into Rato's steady, industrial loop. Protiva - Po betonu (prod. Beatjunkie Rato)

For Protiva, the concrete wasn't just a surface; it was a witness. It held the spills of cheap beer, the ghosts of late-night arguments, and the weight of every step he’d taken since he was a kid trying to find a voice in a place that preferred silence.

He didn't need a stage. He didn't need a spotlight. As long as the concrete held, he had a foundation. He turned around and headed back into the dark, his footsteps the only percussion left in the night. Should we lean more into the of the

The beat dropped—heavy, metallic, and unforgiving. He started to walk.

To his left, the panelaks (apartment blocks) rose like jagged teeth against a bruised purple sky. He saw a shadow duck into an alleyway and felt a kinship with it. Out here, you were either the hunter, the prey, or the poet documenting the collision. He was the latter, though his ink was often mixed with bile. On the concrete

By the time the track faded into a haunting, hollow echo, Protiva reached the bridge overlooking the highway. Below him, the headlights of cars blurred into a river of white and red. He looked down at his shoes, dusted with the fine gray powder of the city.