Public notice: prolonged exposure to sub-bass may cause sweatin’, delusions, and spontaneous dancin’. If symptoms persist, do not seek help. Seek… the drop. Yo. This ain’t a playlist, bruv this is lab crime. Bass spores hatchin’ in real-time. Speaker cones splitting like infected flesh you call it distortion? That’s dinner, fresh. Bolt up the doors, board every vent you didn’t buy entry, you signed consent. There’s a landlord here, and he don’t do kind, collecting late fees straight from your mind. Silence ain’t peace, it’s unpaid debt the sub sniffs fear like a nicotine set. Try holdin’ your breath when the fungus speaks it’ll rent out your lungs for fifty weeks. You might hear it from someone on the dancefloor The bassline should hurt a little The bassline should hurt a little The bassline should hurt a little The bassline should hurt a little Bruv, this ain’t energy this is ASBO bass, rattlin’ your ribcage like it's tryin' your case. Your knees start twitchin’, beggin’ for bail, but the drop said “nah,” slapped chains on your tail. Your head said “calm,” your gut said “flee,” but the sub clocked you shook charged a late fee. Now your heartbeat’s tagged, ankle-locked to the beat, every kick’s probation, no chance to retreat. You’re not dancing, mate you’re complyin’, body signed the contract without even tryin’. Bass don’t ask nicely, it serves eviction welcome to the rave with mandatory conviction. Pain’s not pain… if the fungus fancies you. The bassline should hurt a little The bassline should hurt a little The bassline should hurt a little The bassline should hurt a little The bass picked favourites. Guess who’s patient zero, hon? (The bassline should hurt a little…)
