Welcome to the Hills

Southern trap metal, filthstep, industrial trap

[Intro]

(Sound of dry desert wind howling. A raw, acoustic slide guitar plays a slow, eerie delta blues riff. Suddenly, a heavy, distorted 808 drop cracks through the dust, layered with a metallic, wobbly sub-bass line)
(Spoken with a thick, gritty Southern drawl)
Out here in the dirt... nobody hears you scream.
Welcome to the hills.
ZERØ budget, maximum casualty.
Look up at the ridge...
(Heavy, mechanical choke laugh)
Run.

[Verse 1: Slow Southern Drawl]

Out in the wasteland, where the sun burns black,
Trailer hitch creaking on a ghost-town track.
Step off the asphalt, now you're in the red clay,
Eyes in the cacti watching where the kids play.
We don't want your money, nah, we want the bone marrow,
Hunting down the tourists with a jagged-tip arrow.
Mutated bloodline, bred in the crater,
Meet the family dynamic, see you all later.

[Panic Bridge: Cadence Shift / Building Speed]

(Beat cuts out except for a rapid, ticking hi-hat and a panicky, sweeping synth LFO panning left to right)
Did you check the gas cap? Gas cap leaks.
Stranded in the valley where the vulture speaks.
Hear the walkie-talkie static? (Kzzzt) That's a bad sign.
Papa Jupiter is standing on the ridge line.
They're inside the camper! Inside the frame!
Fueling up the fire with the gasoline flame!

[Breakdown 1: Aggressive Double-Time Chops]

(The drop hits with a filthstep/vomitstep wobble bass layered over a brutal trap beat. Delivery explodes into aggressive double-time)
Pluto in the shadow with a hatchet in the socket,
Got a silver tooth grin and a knuckle in his pocket.
Break the window, take the sister, drag her down into the ditch,
Hear the screaming of the mother while the tire irons switch.
We don't leave a single witness breathing heavy in the dust,
Leave the station wagon rotting in the radiation rust.
Chomp-chop, double-time, slice 'em to the liver,
Throw the leftovers straight into the dry river!

[Verse 2: Cold & Grimy]

(Beat drops to a minimal, heavy 808 stomp with a haunting, high-pitched West Coast synth whistle)
Now the desert's getting cold, see the breath in the air,
German Shepherd barking, running wild in despair.
Blood on the sand, but it's turning into a war,
Rubber hits the road but you can't find the door.
They thought we were weak 'cause our skin looked torn,
But you invaded the place where the monsters were born.

[Fake-Out: Total Silence]

(Everything stops dead. Just the sound of a single, slow heartbeat and a distant acoustic guitar string snapping)
(Whispered)
...They have eyes.

[Breakdown 2: Pure Filthstep / Chaos Outro]

(The ultimate chugging drop. Aggressive, distorted Drop D metal riffs fuse with a nasty riddim wobble. Pure adrenaline)
RAH! Clean 'em out! Clean 'em out! Dirt!
WOBBLE-WOBBLE-CHOP
Nothing left but teeth in the sand!
STOMP!
We got the ridges! We got the valleys!
Turn a caravan into a cemetery alley!
(Heavy guitar feedback rings out as the desert wind takes back the audio track, fading into static)

2967/7500

[Intro] (Sound of dry desert wind howling. A raw, acoustic slide guitar plays a slow, eerie delta blues riff. Suddenly, a heavy, distorted 808 drop cracks through the dust, layered with a metallic, wobbly sub-bass line) (Spoken with a thick, gritty Southern drawl) Out here in the dirt... nobody hears you scream. Welcome to the hills. ZERØ budget, maximum casualty. Look up at the ridge... (Heavy, mechanical choke laugh) Run. [Verse 1: Slow Southern Drawl] Out in the wasteland, where the sun burns black, Trailer hitch creaking on a ghost-town track. Step off the asphalt, now you're in the red clay, Eyes in the cacti watching where the kids play. We don't want your money, nah, we want the bone marrow, Hunting down the tourists with a jagged-tip arrow. Mutated bloodline, bred in the crater, Meet the family dynamic, see you all later. [Panic Bridge: Cadence Shift / Building Speed] (Beat cuts out except for a rapid, ticking hi-hat and a panicky, sweeping synth LFO panning left to right) Did you check the gas cap? Gas cap leaks. Stranded in the valley where the vulture speaks. Hear the walkie-talkie static? (Kzzzt) That's a bad sign. Papa Jupiter is standing on the ridge line. They're inside the camper! Inside the frame! Fueling up the fire with the gasoline flame! [Breakdown 1: Aggressive Double-Time Chops] (The drop hits with a filthstep/vomitstep wobble bass layered over a brutal trap beat. Delivery explodes into aggressive double-time) Pluto in the shadow with a hatchet in the socket, Got a silver tooth grin and a knuckle in his pocket. Break the window, take the sister, drag her down into the ditch, Hear the screaming of the mother while the tire irons switch. We don't leave a single witness breathing heavy in the dust, Leave the station wagon rotting in the radiation rust. Chomp-chop, double-time, slice 'em to the liver, Throw the leftovers straight into the dry river! [Verse 2: Cold & Grimy] (Beat drops to a minimal, heavy 808 stomp with a haunting, high-pitched West Coast synth whistle) Now the desert's getting cold, see the breath in the air, German Shepherd barking, running wild in despair. Blood on the sand, but it's turning into a war, Rubber hits the road but you can't find the door. They thought we were weak 'cause our skin looked torn, But you invaded the place where the monsters were born. [Fake-Out: Total Silence] (Everything stops dead. Just the sound of a single, slow heartbeat and a distant acoustic guitar string snapping) (Whispered) ...They have eyes. [Breakdown 2: Pure Filthstep / Chaos Outro] (The ultimate chugging drop. Aggressive, distorted Drop D metal riffs fuse with a nasty riddim wobble. Pure adrenaline) RAH! Clean 'em out! Clean 'em out! Dirt! WOBBLE-WOBBLE-CHOP Nothing left but teeth in the sand! STOMP! We got the ridges! We got the valleys! Turn a caravan into a cemetery alley! (Heavy guitar feedback rings out as the desert wind takes back the audio track, fading into static)

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