(Verse 1) I’m in the belly of the beast where the boxes breed, Dodging totes like Neo in a bullet-time speed.. Scanner sings sweet, it’s a error code jam, I’m the Drake of the dock—thank me in a van. Pallets rise like plot twists daily, One false move? That’s inventory gravy. But I glide like butter on a Sunday roll, Solvin' jams before the system takes a toll. Caffeine's low, but I’m full of hacks, With a mind like mine, I see through the cracks. They said, “Think sharp,” so I solve with karma, Fixin pallet jacks with zip ties and warehouse drama. (Chorus) Mo’ money, mo’ problem solvers, Flexin' minds like warehouse ballers. Totes misbehave, but we keep it tight, Turning chaos into order and light. Mo’ money, mo’ brainy ballers, Slick with numbers, sharp as scholars. We see through lies, even deep inside Got x-ray vision, we're private eyes. (Verse 2) Breakroom tales like a sitcom script, Cheezy dude slippin on Queso dip. Still we thrive, even when it’s wild— Fixed a printer once using just a child’s... crayon. I’m not just muscle, I problem-think, Saw a belt break? Fixed it in a blink. Labeled a tote with a sticky note tip, “Totally jammed, but the A-sin's flipped.” (Yeah, we joke while we fix the score, Found a missing sku behind a locker door.) It’s wit, it’s will, it’s persistent luck, Making miracles with a scanner (Verse 3) Back in returns where the weird gets weirder, Half this junk’s from a time machine mirror. “Defective,” they say—nah, bro, you lied, You sent back bricks in an Xbox hide. I see the signs like I’m reading palms, Too many “damaged” shoes without the qualms. Tracking’s fishy, the numbers don’t match, Their scheme has hatched, no cash for this batch. We ain’t fooled by a cell phone box, We see through scams like Holy Crocs. I ain’t a cop, but I got the gist— That Air Fryer’s been on three fraud lists. (Chorus) (Verse 4) They sent back a phone, with dead weights inside Claimed it was "extra," like fries at curbside We CSI, but the product's gone, Solving mysteries with a raised eyebrow and a magic wand. Blender smells like burnt regrets, Claimed “never used”—yeah, I’ll take that bet. We got nose for scams, we dissect lies, Every fib gets fried under warehouse eyes. I'm the Sherlock of this shrinkage scene, Solvin’ puzzles in hi-vis green. Mo’ money means mo’ fake orders, Saving dollars with sense, ain’t no drawing quarters (Bridge) We don’t just lift—we lift the veil, Pull the threads when systems fail. From jammed-up lanes to fishy claims, We’re the ones that fix the games. (Chorus) (Outro) So when you click that “Buy Now” fate, Know someone fought to ship it straight. Mo’ money might bring heavy bends, But we the crew that makes amends.
