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I'd rather navigate life with a powerful mindset than get caught up in negativity. I'm feeling intense emotions, battling inner demons while trying to maintain a facade of happiness. Despite the chaos, I strive to energize my surroundings and resist the urge to conform. I'm ready to confront anyone who challenges me, exposing the emptiness of those who have lost their way. The darkness they face is overwhelming, leaving them soulless and trapped. There's no escape from the pain they've chosen, and love feels absent in their lives. This song reflects my struggle and determination to rise above, even as the demons try to pull me down.

Speaker 0 and Speaker 1 narrate a defiant transgression against a oppressive system, opening with a raw, catharticrise from the base and a message in the static. They describe echoes of a promise that was true and being sold tickets to a kingdom, only for the key to be turned and the gate to be locked. Speaker 0 speaks of rising up, kicking down the engine, and spitting venom at the feet of those who betrayed them. They describe being shaved by pressure and made aggressive by the system, posing the system as a question and noting that they were never allowed to question until desperation, being stretched, and their breaths choked—all while the scene shifts through the groove of a charged moment. They declare themselves classified as a maniac and ready for a sample of system metal. The lines “Crop. Crop. That’ll stab you in the back. Stab you in the back. Through the line. With the trap.” introduce instruments of resistance: erasers and bullets, trace, bullet laser, pulse in the static—tools within the message and the fight. Speaker 1 reinforces the motif of decay and betrayal: “They’re raised on echoes of a promise that was tragic. Facts.” They repeat that they sold tickets to a kingdom, turned the key and locked the gate, and describe kicking down the hinges while spitting venom at their feet. The pressure breeds aggression, and the system remains a question, never letting you question until you’re desperate, stretched, and with thick breath. They echo being “back, classified as a fucking maniac,” ready for a sample and their next example. Speaker 0 returns with a shouted refrain: “System System All the system metal crack crack.” The battle is described as one that will stab you in the back, with the next song gripping you with the trap. They reiterate bringing erasers, bullets, bullet lasers, bullets with tracers; they claim to be the pulse and the static, the panic, the automatic gap. They light the truth with facts, the graphic truth that shatters into black. They declare themselves the match in the attic and the fire that’s dramatic, with the aftermath when the damage is erratic and ecstatic. They contrast walls built by others with ladders built from havoc, stones thrown while stepping on final bones. They build a mountain to stand on top of the liars, looking down, while moving on. Speaker 1 adds the vow of return and escalation: “Fuck. I’m fucking blasting. I’m coming back. Rat a chat. Chat a chat.” They acknowledge the blast, the risk of being quacked, and that you can’t escape yourself, while promising to come back with heat for the freaks. The imagery shifts to a crown of concrete in rust, walking on the backs of crushed bones, sheep sleeping, wolves counting what they keep. The speakers end with the promise: they blast back, creeping in the dark, pulse in the static, the aftermath when the damage becomes ecstatic, and a final note of unpacking the truth.

Blackout sky, cold world. Through dark nights, emotions drown. Hit me when I'm down, I rise up with fire. Spirits suck, fuck them up. Come up, put enemies to dust. Come up, heal the rug. Drowsing tribulations, no one to trust. Watch me buzz, watch me bust.

Hey. Gleam in my eyes since I was fraud. Maybe five knee high to a caterpillar. Die. Maybe why. I treat every song rise like it's do or die. Do or die. Try. It's do or die. Excavation crows in the house. I'll tell you why. Muscles are deeper than the basement. I've got replacement. Nanotech light racing. DNA powered up shock waves bent. Brains linked up. Engine for the truck. It'll make you crazy. Skyscrap makes the air haze. I feel like these tidal waves that blast you. Watch the weather smash you as the angels fly past you. They unmasked you past you. Evil grasps ass. Pulls you into the black hole hooked up to the matrix. Now you're coded. DNA loaded in a block. DNA loaded in a box. In a frame. Energy that never stops. Take your head in shame.

I'm manic, here to tell you how the world ends and how light bends with reality. The past is coming back to blast and crash you. Tidal waves will smash you, trapping you in fear. You're nothing but a ghost of memory. See it backwards; reality is my master, coming faster with a laser blast. The first mark is razor blades in your heart, tearing your soul apart. It's the first dirty mark, an eternal spark. Reality is coming faster. I'm the light in the darkness, God's eternal spark, Lucifer's mark, with razor blades.

I'm dead and gone. This is society that did me wrong. I died a 100 times in my life. Nobody loves me. Nobody cries. I always gotta fight to stay alive or die. When I come correct, you're fucked. Biggest cock in the annals. Taking bets. Fake fucking bitch. I'm getting rich. Triangle type of hit. COVID type of grip. Agent Smith. Virus strip. Demon's field of pain. Angels filled my body with the rain. It takes away the flames when they kill me. Water type of drip, decent type of flip. Mud is getting thick. The ship is sinking quick. I fly the rock into the abyss. I don't pray for shit before it's flipped. dragonfly, and giant shift. Underground tunnels filled with pits. Stars overhead that never shift. Looking at the sky, it's a gift. I'm ready for the shift. Excavation Pro, I'm Rachel B.

I'm dead and gone. I'm a society that did me wrong. I died a 100 times in my life. All I ever seen is strike. A man's life. In your ears, Christopher. Angels from the sky pick us up. No one's got any spark in their soul. I'm the boss. Inside them, zombies bodies hide them. Five friends. No, you fake fuck. Kills will get him vibes. Society of cuss. It's big shit, drugs inside. That's why I drip. I fly the rock into the abyss. I don't pray for shit. Just hope I'm making it to the other side. Looking at the sky, it's a gift. I'm ready for the shift. It's a gift.

Excavation begins as a call to get outside and fight darkness, uniting against it with struggle as a weapon and a rise beyond pain and play. The narrator asserts power over blind enemies, barking like a dog, larping, and delivering a harsh pace that blasts through opposition with a “hardboi smash,” while evil whispers scream in the dark wind. A persistent theme returns: barking, venom in the veins, corrupting light when it rains, yet the speaker sees in the night, sensing a systematic ARAI army at work, a soul roast, and a code within chaos. Silicone is said to be on fire as the AI army reaches, yet unable to run the wire. Lying enemies are described as being in for rage, while the speaker proclaims to be a glitch in their system’s game. The “sparkling eggs” wake him from the day, and there is a recurring motif of barking like a dog and moving through a storm. A change of time and a rise with a panhandling mind are noted, followed by imagery of veins and blood coating with a sense of the world’s intensity. Robocock system activates, the clock system activates, and the hooded AI mirror system activates fear, as evil whispers become clearer and barking returns. The speaker urges movement in the storm, with a sense of feral, urgent momentum. The lyrics claim that every scar is a story and every wound is a four, with the flame in the mind changing sound and a glitch in the system’s cage. The spark in the haze awakens the self, and the code within chaos—silicone on fire—reasserts itself as the AI army breaches, though they cannot run the wires. The light is for rage, and the speaker will glitch their systems’ cage, with the air tinted by a spark and a muttered, active system. Whispers of people become air as the void is blasted, and machines that never died are implied to be the ones who spied, suggesting a persistent surveillance or menace. White darkness is invoked to unite against bullying, and struggle is again described as the weapon, with grit, rawness, and flinching freedom as countermeasures against a systematic AI army that is watched as it flees. The refrain repeats that lying enemies sit through the speaker, who remains barking like a dog from the ashes, blasting a war pit that marks enemies as harsh under the dark wind. The singer proclaims blasting with dark wind as evil whispers resurface, and the scene returns to corrupting light within the veins and eyes, while the night sees the ghosts and senses the soul’s awakening. The AI army is described as breaches that cannot run the wire, with the spark in the air of pain and a wake from day to night, the ghosts in the air, the soul rose, and the code in chaos and silicone of fire continuing to drive the narrative.

I'm on the mod. Girls ripping panties off on-site. They like the way I fight. She's gonna die. Or die. Reality, it'll pound you. Tornado, reality, it pounce. Reality, it pounce you, hits you like a blast. Powers out. You won't last. Reason burning crashed. Cashing cash eating zombies. I'm speeding past. I got my fucking shit. Bold your fucking brain quick. Bold Slip another world. Mention rift. Darkness chef matrix Repeat the cycle. Sinfinet. Spirit on a reroute. Facts. Where it's dark, man. Your monster make you fall apart. Fuck. Smashing glasses. Fog is crashing faster. Excavation Pro. Original beat.

I don't need it to fuck you up, it's a stick. Cutters from the gutter got you draped up. Darkness takes control, heartless. You made me spark this beat, make you freak, put it on repeat. I turned the dot, put it on repeat, it's so loud. You're blowing up your strings. It's fucking deep, I save you guys. I need the power so I save you faster. Save me from the star. I'm your digital product, Ashton. I see the Earth I dropped from Mars. COVID. You can crack. Wild ride excavation probe.

Demons are always active, seducing and manipulating us. Even creation doesn't offer immunity; everyone must confront them individually. The only positive aspect is that after overcoming these challenges, we may find familiar faces awaiting us.

I'm manic and here to tell you how the world ends and how light bends with reality. The past is coming back to blast and crash you. Tidal waves will smash you with energy, trapping you in fear. You're nothing but a ghost of memory. See it backwards; reality is coming faster. I'm its master. First mark, razor blades in your heart, tearing your soul apart. It's the first dirty mark, eternal spark. I'm the light in the darkness, God's eternal spark, Lucifer's mark, razor blades in your arm, trapping you in a state of fear.

Demons are constantly active, seducing and manipulating us. Despite being together, we each face these challenges alone. The only hope is that when we overcome these struggles, we find familiar faces waiting for us on the other side.

I'm never giving up. You thought I would? No way. I don't need anything to take you down. I've got you in my grip. Your soul is under my control, and darkness takes over. This beat makes you react; I keep it on repeat. It's loud and intense, pulling at your strings. I need the power to save you quickly. I'm your digital creation, and I see the world from a different perspective. It's a wild ride, exploring new depths and experiences.

I'm manic. When I rain, it's a flood, devastation. I'm not here to make friends, but to tell you how the world ends and how light bends with reality. The past is coming back to blast you. Tidal waves will smash you, trapping you in fear. You're nothing but a ghost of memory, lost. See it backwards, I'm reality's master, and it's coming faster. First mark, razor blades in your heart, tearing your soul apart. It's the first dirty mark, an eternal spark. See it backwards. I'm reality's master, and it's coming faster. I'm the light in the darkness, God's eternal spark, Lucifer's mark.

I'm manic and here to tell you how the world ends and how light bends with reality. The past is coming back to blast and crash you. Tidal waves will smash you with energy, trapping you in fear. You're nothing but a ghost of memory, lost. See it backwards, reality is coming faster. I'm its master. Laser blast. First mark, razor blades in your heart, tearing your soul apart. It's the first dirty mark, eternal spark. See it backwards. Reality is coming faster. Laser blaster, I'm the light in the darkness. God's eternal spark. Lucifer's mark, razor blades in your arm trap you in a state of fear.

There's a saying. The devil's at his strongest while we're looking the other way, like a program running in the background silently while we're busy doing other shit. Daemons, they call them. They perform action without user interaction, monitoring, logging, notifications. Prime alerts us, repressed memories, unconscious habits. They're always there, always active. We can try to be right. We can try to be good. We can try to make a difference, but it's all bullshit. His intentions are irrelevant. They don't drive us. Demons do. And me, I've got more than most. They seduce. They manipulate. They own us. The only silver lining to all of this is that when we break through, we find a few familiar faces waiting on the other side.

Clap type of head. Close base type of grip. Fucking dumb clan. Fucking dumb clan. Pulling knives up my back type of shit. Fucking dumb clan. I come back at you, Clint. Close fist type of bread. Fucking dumb. Yeah. World crashing. Money cash app clashing. Crypto wallet hacking money. Hidden in the backpack slaps. Buried in the backyard wrapped in the front. Never lies. It happened. Crypto wallet hack A little chicken clocking in the back hiss. A little booty bounce and slap. Hottest girl, yep, she's back at scrapped it. It might catch the muddy lash. Money cash app clashing. Crypto wallet hacking money. Hidden in the backpack slaps. Buried in the backyard wrapped in the front.

Speaker 0 raps about refusing a bitter life, breaking the law when life gives lemons, and being a lone wolf. The speaker mentions needing a break and feeling out of breath with a racing mind and aching chest. The speaker claims generations stay depressed. Speaker 1 raps about being the greatest and asks, "What's bad with the bet?" The speaker says someone's about to die on the inside and raps about "creep mode" and killing slow, like a pill. The speaker repeats "Die on the inside" and "Watching you go down this hole," referencing a smooth flow. The speaker claims to be a friend telling you no.

There is a saying: “the devil's at his strongest while we're looking the other way,” likening hidden forces to background programs that run silently while we are busy with other tasks. These are “Daemons,” which “perform action without user interaction, monitoring, logging, notifications.” They are linked to prime alerts, repressed memories, and unconscious habits. The speaker asserts that “They're always there, always active.” Despite attempts to be right, to be good, or to make a difference, the speaker claims that “it's all bullshit,” and that “His intentions are irrelevant.” The message is that “They don't drive us. Demons do,” and the speaker adds, “And me, I've got more than most.” In the second voice, the speaker describes the act of confronting fear and disaster as a transformation of the self into a “little bastard” who becomes a tactic or persona: “I'm your ninja, ghost of master.” This figure embodies chaos as a shell, warning that “Watch your brain swell when I tell you.” The speaker asserts a capacity to “crack Wild ride,” implying a breakthrough or intense exploration of danger or complexity, with phrases like “Carving through the fears of disasters becomes a little bastard instead.” The passage then includes cryptic sensory or experiential elements: “Excavation Thrill. Original beep.” These lines contribute to a mood of digging into deep, perhaps uncomfortable impulses and signals, accompanied by a return to an original cue or trigger. Overall, the dialogue juxtaposes hidden, powerful forces—“Daemons” and “Demons”—with a self-narrative of resilience or defiance, though accompanied by skepticism about deliberate intention and a claim of inner multiplicity or intensity (“And me, I've got more than most”). The speakers frame a battle between unseen drives and conscious effort, where the latter may feel futile, while the former exert persistent influence. The second speaker supplements this with an identity of stealth, mastery, and destabilizing chaos, suggesting that fear and disaster are not merely external threats but internal scripts to be carved through, teased, and confronted, sometimes by becoming a “ninja” or a “ghost of master.” The closing lines, “Excavation Thrill. Original beep,” reinforce a motif of ongoing digging into core signals and triggers that begin or restart the cycle.

The greatest yet, let's bet. I just arrived with my guys. Someone's about to die on the inside. Creep Moe, I kill slow on the inside like a pill, bro. Run. Watching you go down this hole. Listen to the smooth flow. I'm your friend telling you, watching you go down this hole. I'm some melted dye on the inside watching you roam. I kill someone like a pill, bro. Listen to this mood flop.

The exchange opens with Speaker 0 asserting aggression and a prowling return, declaring hostility and threat toward someone’s space and pursuit. Speaker 1 replies with a warning of forceful entry and a claim of having taken the other person’s girlfriend, underscoring a menacing confrontation. Speaker 0 then shifts into a personal confession and a turbulent inner state. They describe losing their mind and leaving a room behind, pursuing thrills and pain, and embracing that pain as part of their experience. A voice in their head is said to take away the pain, a mechanism they describe as healing through killing. They claim to be the truth that others fear, a mirror on the wall, and metaphorically the headlight on a car while others are the deer, establishing a self-image of danger and inevitability. The speaker proclaims insanity and asserts that the game remains the same, while riding through drained streets where faces they once trusted are now dust. They describe a mental maze and a progression from past to dawn, culminating in a sudden blaze or rise. There is a sense of relentless repetition in the world and the cycle of events. The narrative then references external pressures, including advice to take a pill and let go, which they reject by stating they are too cold to release violence. They recount being watched as they die or as something within them dies, describing a world as foolish and repeating the idea that “the same” persists. The overarching refrain centers on the notion that the game is unchanged and that their breath is a dream. Across the verses, themes of intrusion, betrayal, and domination intersect with intense internal conflict, where violence is both a response and a coping mechanism. The speaker asserts a continuing arc of mistrust, transformation, and uncompromising resolve, contextualized by a setting of street-level danger and a perception of being both observed and misunderstood. The fragment closes with a reiteration that the game remains the same, and that breath or life itself reads as a dream within this enduring cycle.

I'm not giving up, you thought I was dying? Nope, better believe I'm here to stay. I don't need a gun, I have a stick. I've got you, cutters from the gutter, you're gripped up, it's a wrap. This grip will take your soul, darkness takes control, heartless. You made me spark this, make you freak. I turned it up, it's so loud I'm blowing up your strings. You better run, six feet deep. Six feet in the matrix, chaos in the order, analyzing their disorder. I'm spitting fire, burning down the empire. They don't fly, they fall from the sky. Wild. Excavation probe.

Demons are perpetually active, engaging in seduction and manipulation to control individuals. Even a creator cannot shield their creation from this struggle. Everyone must confront demons individually. The only positive aspect is that overcoming these challenges may lead to reunions with familiar people.

The dialogue centers on a persona who declares being “dead and gone,” claiming a life of harm from society and repeated demise—“I died a 100 times in my life.” Christopher is invoked as a focal point, with “A man's life. In your ears, Christopher. He fly.” The speakers describe a world where around them, eyes appear dark and hearts fake, and where angels from the sky supposedly pick them up while some feel no spark in their souls. The exchanges intensify into a confrontational, defiant mood. The speaker proclaims power over others—“I’m the boss. Inside them, zombies bodies hide them.” They lash out at enemies with lines like “Loser get them five friends” and “No, you fake fuck. Kills will get him vibes,” portraying a brutal social environment and a willingness to dominate or destroy rivals. The refrain “Society of cuss. It’s big shit, drugs inside. It’s lit up.” ties the chaos to social decay and drug culture, while “That’s why I drip. I’ll fuck them up. Watch me strike” signals a personal assertion of swagger and aggression. The dialogue includes explicit, crude bravado: “Biggest cock in the anos. When I come correct, you’re fucked,” paired with “Taking bets. Got some shit tucked. I got some shit tucked. Take their money quick.” There’s a theme of deception and manipulation, with references to “Call them up. You fake fucking bitch. On their shit,” and a readiness to exploit others financially or morally. Images of violence and transformation surface through surreal imagery: “Agent Smith. Agent Smith. Wrapping yet. Virus stripping. Agent Smith. Stripping. You up. Packing tips for your brain.” There’s a sensation of internal and external siege, where demons, angels, rain, and flames intermingle as forces that can alter the self or body. The lines “Demon feel the pain. Angels filled my body with the rain. Takes away the flames when they kill” juxtapose suffering with otherworldly intervention. Descent is repeated: “The ship is sinking quick,” while the speaker ventures into existential risk—“I fly the rock into the abyss. I don’t pray for shit. I fly the rock. I fly the rocket into the abyss. I don’t pray for shit.” Yet there’s a note of uncertain hope or destination: “Just hope I’m making it to the other side.” The imagery shifts to an expansive, almost mythic landscape—“Underground tunnels filled with pits. Stars overhead that never shift.” The sky is a gift, and a song can shift one’s spirit, with a declared readiness for a transformative “shift” that is described as a gift. Toward the end, the phrases “Excavation Pro” and “Original beep” punctuate the piece, signaling a turning point or signature moment in the narrative.