[Intro | dim piano, warehouse hum, tired male voice] Friday really walked in and chose violence. [Chorus | loopable, sarcastic, tired chant] Hammered on the IB, Friday did me wrong, NCs came late and the line got long. Twelve-hour day with the patience gone, And Gage still never tells me when there’s food on. Hammered on the IB, no pep talk useful, Vanline missed packages looking real truthful. Business stops still here at noon - gonna be late Failure report on fire like, “Isn’t THIS great?!” [Verse 1 | smooth fast rap, frustrated but controlled] Yellow rails, gray floor, barcode cough, Eight-hour sort but the day won’t clock off. Big boxes leaning like they’re trying to talk, Every NC showed up with a limp and a walk. Last third hit when the crew got thin, Whole floor said, “Cool, let the chaos begin.” Long rugs, flat packs, mystery bins, Stuff that won’t convey still finding a way in. I’m tired-tired, not cute-tired, real tired, Steel-toe drag while the lane gets rewired. If one more cart squeaks like it’s inspired, I might file a complaint with the wheels and retire. [Pre-Chorus | building tension, half-sung] Could’ve pulled it sooner, could’ve staged it clean, Could’ve flexed more bodies when the spike got mean. But now we’re knee-deep in cardboard dreams, And the scanner keeps blinking like it’s judging me. [Chorus | repeat, more weight] Hammered on the IB, Friday did me wrong, NCs came late and the line got long. Twelve-hour face with the patience gone, And Gage still never tells me when there’s food on. Hammered on the IB, no pep talk useful, Vanline missed packages looking real truthful. Business stops still here at noon - gonna be late Failure report on fire like, “Isn’t THIS great?!” [Verse 2 | faster rap, exhausted sarcasm] This ain’t a shift, it’s a cardboard sequel, Short on the people, long on the evil. Every “quick fix” feels barely legal, And every late NC arrives medieval. Some never made it over to the vanline, Sitting there quiet like, “I’ll ruin your timeline.” If it’s business freight, that’s a Monday sign, Friday left a mess with a weekend shine. Not blaming the crew, everybody got cooked, Everybody moved, everybody got hooked. But the floor plan folded when the late wave booked, Now the recap reads like a crime scene notebook. [Bridge | music drops, tired spoken rap] I’m not saying panic. I’m saying maybe when the mountain starts breathing - we stop calling it a hill. Earlier eyes. Cleaner pulls. More hands before the last third turns rude. And somebody please tell Gage - food is operationally relevant. [Final Chorus | heavy loop, memorable] Hammered on the IB, Friday did me wrong, NCs came late and the line got long. Twelve-hour face with the patience gone, And Gage still never tells me when there’s food on. Hammered on the IB, no pep talk useful, Vanline missed packages looking real truthful. Business stops still here at noon - gonna be late Failure report on fire like, “Isn’t THIS great?!” [Outro | fading hook, warehouse percussion] Hammered on the IB - Friday did me wrong. Twelve-hour face - and the food info’s gone.
