[120 BPM – mechanical beat, kick pops like hydraulic hammers] [Intro – rapid fire whisper-chant] Yuh, yuh, yuh! They call him The Hundred! (hah) Twelve pallets braggin’, think he run it! Meanwhile, I’m out here thunderin’ hundreds! Let’s go! --- [Verse 1 – machine cadence / stacked syllables] Click-clack rack-snappin’ habits, I’m manic and automatic, Pallets vanish, I damage planets, you panic, static tragic. I’m volcanic — mechanic manic depression, While you talk slow-motion, no devotion, lack aggression. I’m the platform pharaoh, narrow margin, pack precision, You the snail in seat terrain, missin’ every damn decision. I’m the algorithm of this grind, divine spine shiver, You count to twelve, I count to forever, bigger river. Doug’s name echo — Hundred beggin’ “lemme tell Doug first!” Meanwhile I’m liftin’ rows till my vertebrae burst. --- [Hook – Tech chant rhythm] Hundred! Hundred! whatchu know? Countin’ twelve like it’s a show! Hundred! Hundred! watch me go! I’m that psycho shovelin’ souls below! [reverb slap: “souls below!” echo 3x) --- [Verse 2 – double-time burst] Bangin’ in rhythm of pistons, friction fiction in your diction, You ain’t liftin’, you just wishin’ you was built with my conviction. I’m efficient, you deficient, inefficient repetition, pretend the ambition, I’m incision through tradition! My position — superstition to your lazy coalition, You submission in transition while I’m switchin’ to ignition! Every motion’s like devotion to the code of overwork, You approach Doug slow, braggin’ “See twelve pallets, look I work.” Hundred, I’m the second-shift surgeon — precise incision! Split your workload, bleed it dry — warehouse exorcism! --- [Bridge – whispered growl / glitch effect] Hundred… Hundred… slow-motion malfunction… You drag that pallet like a corpse in production. Every second you stall, another bolt snaps loose, While I’m grindin’ like a sawblade, cuttin’ through your excuse. --- [Verse 3 – Tech’s signature rapid chop section] Choppin’ it up with a pitch of a piston, listen, You missin’ every mission, I’m efficient with precision! Vision in rhythm, incision in steel, Feelin’ the real, you squeal, conceal, I peel your zeal! Deal with a demon — I’m screamin’ machine code, reload! Unload, explode, implodin’ your weak mode! He claim seniority — nah, that’s senior deformity, I’m priority, authority, torque-core sorcery! You snorin’ reportedly — I’m war in majority, Performin’ historically — immortally orderly! --- [Hook 2 – heavier chant] Hundred! Hundred! slow that tone! Talkin’ big but your work don’t show! Hundred! Hundred! I’m in that zone! You just draggin’ metal like a tombstone! --- [Verse 4 – percussive staccato / triplet mid-tempo] Check my numbers — nightly twenty, heavy plenty, You barely empty one stack, that’s petty envy. I’m the ghost in the racks, hydraulics in my veins, You the rust in the chains, pollutant in the drains. Every skid I lift, my soul ignite combustion, Your shift is malfunction, full of excuse and assumption. I’m that psychotic product of pressure and grind, You just talkin’ overtime while wastin’ mine. --- [Breakdown – beat stutters, Jersey’s voice doubles with pitch-shifted echo] Hundred, Hundred, Hundred — glitchin’ in my mind, Warehouse walls whisper names I left behind. Hundred, Hundred, Hundred — slow motion rewind, I see you hidin’ behind Doug like a shrine! --- [Verse 5 – finale / Tech climax speed chain] Grip that wheel, shift that reel, steel peel when I feel that zeal, Real deal, I reveal skill kill, Hundred stand still while I fulfill. You talk mild, I walk wild, shock tiled floors till stock piled high, You clock trial style, I drop file fire and fry your lie. Hundred run slow, I’m gun flow, one blow, done show, done bro, Sun low, truck glow, unload cargo, spark go psycho! I’m the overtime overmind prototype, never decline, You the ghost of a quota, erased by my grind. I ain’t hate, I calibrate, I automate fate, You stagnate while I detonate the gate. --- [Final Hook – overlapping chant + distortion] Hundred! Hundred! can’t keep up! Pallets rain like thunder struck! Hundred! Hundred! outta luck! This the shift where the slow get crushed! --- [Outro – cold whisper, vocoder fade] Row by row… Hundred go slow… Psychopath Jersey, unloadin’ souls. Goodnight, Hundred.
