Slap it, clap it—bass hit like a riot whip,
neon pulse in the ribcage, thirty seconds of trip.
Snare crack splits the mask off the quiet,
ride the lightning, lungs tight, heartbeat on diet.
No hook, just havoc—crowd surge, sweat rain,
every bar a radar ping, echo through your brain.
Clock tick toxic, we bloom then decay,
last breath, last step—slap the world away.