PULL STRINGS [Intro: Cello only] Put a chello on the beat… Watch me turn strings into trouble. Yeah. [Verse 1] I don’t pull strings, I pull up and work, Put a bow on the beat, make it scrape through the dirt. Pocket full of words, every one got a purpose, Crack open the vault, let ’em clash for the verses. Pen got an attitude, writing like rent due, Every bar got a bar tucked deep in the venue. They want the formula—I never had one, Hear the beat take a breath, find the spot, then stab one. Wait… That chello talking slick. (Cello answers.) Yeah, I hear you. Let me talk my shit. Ride behind the kick, then I leap over the snare, Leave a word in the air, catch it clean right there. No need for a hundred sounds crowding the track, Give me four strings and a bass—I’ll handle the rest of that. [Hook] PULL, PULL STRINGS— MAKE THE WHOLE ROOM SWING! PULL, PULL STRINGS— LET THE CHELLO SING! Bow to the left, flow to the right. Four strings, one groove— we ride all night! PULL, PULL STRINGS— LOCK THAT POCKET IN! PULL, PULL STRINGS— LET THE BASS DROP IN! No sad story, no grand scheme. I just pull strings— THAT’S THE WHOLE DAMN THEME! [Verse 2] Back in the pocket, now I’m picking up speed, Syllables stacked like receipts in the seat. I don’t claim big money I never made, I don’t play tough for applause or parade. Regular dude, irregular pen, Say it crooked—I’ll straighten it again. Punchline tucked where you won’t see it coming, Then the chello drops low like, “Boy, you done something.” Ha! Run that back. (Cello riff repeats.) That’s the one. Southern in the vowels, East Texas in the talk, Little dirt on the shoes when I step in the box. No fake chains, no rented-out ride— If the verse don’t hit, no shine can hide. I like words that bend, I like beats with space. Set up the line, then leave silence in place… (Beat cuts.) …right there. (808 slams back.) That’s how you use it. [Hook] PULL, PULL STRINGS— MAKE THE WHOLE ROOM SWING! PULL, PULL STRINGS— LET THE CHELLO SING! Bow to the left, flow to the right. Four strings, one groove— we ride all night! PULL, PULL STRINGS— LOCK THAT POCKET IN! PULL, PULL STRINGS— LET THE BASS DROP IN! No sad story, no grand scheme. I just pull strings— THAT’S THE WHOLE DAMN THEME! [Verse 3: Drums drop, pizzicato cello only] Pluck-pluck. Now watch. No kick. No snare. No safety net. Just me and four strings— still ain’t missed yet. Wordplay doing backflips, verbs with the gymnastics. Turn a phrase sideways, make the whole line backspin. Speed it up, slow it down, break the count, bring it ’round. Hit the pocket, leave the pocket, double back and shut it down. Every consonant percussion, every vowel got a glide. Make the beat knock twice before the drummer arrives. You hear that? That’s timing. Not yelling every line just to prove I’m rhyming. Hardest move a rapper makes… (Pause.) …is knowing when not to. (Full beat crashes in.) But I ain’t done. [Final Hook] PULL, PULL STRINGS— MAKE THE WHOLE ROOM SWING! PULL, PULL STRINGS— LET THE CHELLO SING! Bow to the left, flow to the right. Four strings, one groove— we ride all night! PULL, PULL STRINGS— LOCK THAT POCKET IN! PULL, PULL STRINGS— LET THE BASS DROP IN! No tears tonight, no deep-ass thing. I just pull strings— THAT’S THE WHOLE DAMN THEME! (Cello riff. Hard stop.)
