Feeder Ping

Dressing maple-lung male MC, 88 BPM feeder-fill hip hop, heavy kick, tight snare, thick bass, dressing loud hooks, ‑indie, ‑soft, ‑gentle, ‑sleepy, ‑lullaby, ‑whisper, ‑industrial, ‑trap hi-hat rolls, ‑drill, ‑choir, ‑gang shouts, ‑crowd chants, ‑Soft Fire, ‑lo-fi, ‑brass, ‑ballad, ‑piano, ‑organ, ‑keyboards, ‑metal, ‑slide guitar, ‑808, ‑sub bass, ‑handclaps, ‑cowbell, ‑punk, ‑country, ‑twang, ‑opera, ‑gospel, ‑funk, ‑ska, ‑horror, ‑Halloween, ‑generic rap voice, ‑crooning, ‑crooner, ‑breathy, ‑high light vocal, ‑talk-sing, ‑hushed, ‑legato, ‑silky, ‑smooth, ‑half-spoken, ‑close-mic, ‑spoken, ‑spoken word, ‑mumble, ‑mumble rap, ‑whispered, ‑laid-back, ‑low-energy, ‑thin vocal, ‑auto-tune, ‑dubstep, ‑EDM drop, ‑R&B, ‑emo, ‑reggaeton, ‑strings, ‑warm mid-range male vocal, ‑female vocals

[Hook: Dressing maple-lung male MC, loud, dressing]
Feeder pings the way her morning tray still taught
Not a speech, a seating you can prove and caught
Grip the scoop, mark the eight, send the next fill through
Yard holds only if the middle ping is true

[Verse 2: Dressing maple-lung male MC, colder, dressing]
I learned the mark from a woman who left no name
Only a worn fill chart and a habit that became the game
Tonight the tray answers like a quiet dare
I feel the ping before the house lights care
Fat kick waits on my mouth to land the seat
I sing the fill they need and keep the line neat
No banner, no speech about pride or the past
Just scoop in my hands and a mark that has to last
Dressing through the doubt like a vow with no crowd
Loud enough for the tray, quiet enough for the cloud

[Bridge: Dressing maple-lung male MC, feeder ping, dressing]
Feeder ping under both palms
Kick answers hard on the calm
Birds never need a speech to know
The yard is hers when the tray says so

[Verse 3: Dressing maple-lung male MC, dressing, louder]
I finish the row with chalk still on my sleeve
Leave the chart folded where the next dawn can believe
Boots on the grade already testing the give
I hear the ping once and know the feeder will live
My job is the timing, not the plaque or the board
Tray seats, fill holds, that is the whole reward
Leave the scoop folded where the next light can see
Feeder ping means the yard and the night agree

[Outro: Dressing maple-lung male MC, proud cold, fat kick rings out and fades]
Feeder ping, Saturday
Tell the yard I said stay

[End]

2290/7500

[Verse 1: Dressing maple-lung male MC, dressing] Yard cold under a palm that knows every fray I carry seed and timing and a scoop that still fits day Top tray holds the first fill, I seat and pass it on Morning birds wait on my ping before they cue at dawn Hands on the tin, lungs full of dust and chalk Headset dead for hours, so the voice becomes the walk I do not own the yard, I own the middle span If my feeder blanks out, the whole dawn loses plan [Hook: Dressing maple-lung male MC, loud, dressing] Feeder pings the way her morning tray still taught Not a speech, a seating you can prove and caught Grip the scoop, mark the eight, send the next fill through Yard holds only if the middle ping is true [Verse 2: Dressing maple-lung male MC, colder, dressing] I learned the mark from a woman who left no name Only a worn fill chart and a habit that became the game Tonight the tray answers like a quiet dare I feel the ping before the house lights care Fat kick waits on my mouth to land the seat I sing the fill they need and keep the line neat No banner, no speech about pride or the past Just scoop in my hands and a mark that has to last Dressing through the doubt like a vow with no crowd Loud enough for the tray, quiet enough for the cloud [Bridge: Dressing maple-lung male MC, feeder ping, dressing] Feeder ping under both palms Kick answers hard on the calm Birds never need a speech to know The yard is hers when the tray says so [Verse 3: Dressing maple-lung male MC, dressing, louder] I finish the row with chalk still on my sleeve Leave the chart folded where the next dawn can believe Boots on the grade already testing the give I hear the ping once and know the feeder will live My job is the timing, not the plaque or the board Tray seats, fill holds, that is the whole reward Leave the scoop folded where the next light can see Feeder ping means the yard and the night agree [Hook: Dressing maple-lung male MC, loud, dressing] Feeder pings the way her morning tray still taught Not a speech, a seating you can prove and caught Grip the scoop, mark the eight, send the next fill through Yard holds only if the middle ping is true [Outro: Dressing maple-lung male MC, proud cold, fat kick rings out and fades] Feeder ping, Saturday Tell the yard I said stay [End]

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