Bag Survivors

[Intro | deep narrator, rhythmic over beat] Previously inside the bag… [Whispered ensemble] Who’s getting pulled? Who’s getting played? Who’s going triple? Who’s getting shamed? [Chorus | chant hook, female + male] Who’s getting pulled? Who’s getting played? Who’s going triple? Who’s getting shamed? Bag to the rack to the board to the feed, One little letter with a fame disease. Who’s getting pulled? Who’s getting used? Who got value? Who got views? Shake-shake fate with the drawstring closed, Player plus tile makes the big points grow. [Verse 1 | Confessional - A, female rap] I’m an A, I’m useful, I’m booked every night, Middle of the word, got a clean spotlight. I don’t start drama, I make words breathe, But these consonants act like they’re hard to read. [Verse 2 | Confessional - S, male rap] S here… Please. Move over. Franchise letter. Put me on anything, I make it better. Cat gets cats, score gets scores, I turn one little thing into merch and tours. [Aside | X, dry over beat] This is X. That’s pluralizing. [Aside | S, quick retort] That’s multiplying with better branding. [Verse 3 | Confessional - T, female] I go by T. Day twelve in the bag, morale unstable. We heard three slaps from the kitchen table. Somebody gasped, somebody said, “Challenge.” Then silence hit like a talent-show panel. [Pre-Chorus | tension builds, ensemble] The hand comes down, everybody gets quiet, Orange dust thumb like a Cheetos tyrant. We clack like bones in a velvet cave, Player plus letter decides who they save. [Chorus | chant hook, female + male] Who’s getting pulled? Who’s getting played? Who’s going triple? Who’s getting shamed? Bag to the rack to the board to the feed, One little letter with a fame disease. Who’s getting pulled? Who’s getting used? Who got value? Who got views? Shake-shake fate with the drawstring closed, Player plus tile makes the big points grow. [Post-Chorus | crowd chant] Triple word, triple word, put me there. Lay me down where the whole room stares. Triple word, triple word, make me known. Tiny wood body with a big-score soul. [Verse 4 | Confessional - Q, female cocky rap] I’m worth ten. Let’s respect that fact. Rare face, premium, luxury rack. I’m not needy, I’m selectively paired. Has anybody seen U? [Verse 5 | Confessional - U, female] This is U and I don’t agree. She says “selective,” I say “dependent.” Every season, same weak ending. I want space, she wants a clue, And somehow I’m the one who has to come through. [Verse 6 | Confessional - Blank, sung hook] They call me BLANK. No name, no face, still first in demand. Everybody wants me in somebody’s hand. You call it cheating, I call it range. I don’t get pulled - I get changed. [Bag Reaction | overlapping, rhythmic] Blank is dangerous. Blank is booked. Blank knows where the scorebook looked. [New Verse | Confessional - F, female] I’m that F, yeah, I flip the script, Every four-letter fling coming off my lip. Flip, fame, flex, fire on the beat, But they only ever call when they want that bleep. Funny how they flinch when they feel my face, Treat me like a scandal in a velvet case. Fierce when I fall in a pro’s right hand, From flop to a finish when they play their plan. [New Hook | ensemble, call-and-response] (F words, F words) they blame it on me. (Finesse, fortune) depends who you’ll be. (Flex that, frame that) on a triple line, Same little letter, different mastermind. [Verse 7 | S starts drama, male] And can we discuss Z acting profound? Old wood veteran, never comes around. I heard somebody say, just between us, S is basically a poor man’s Z. [Bridge | cinematic, female + male over beat] We hear the timer ticking like a bomb with manners. We hear the humans whisper, bending rules for grammar. “Is that a word?” comes through the cloth, Then somebody laughs and somebody coughs. A tile hits the board - slap. The room goes still - wait. A voice says, “No, that counts.” Then the bag starts to shake. [Pre-Chorus 2 | rising, full ensemble] Rack is the green room, board is the stage, Triple word square is the front-page rage. The humans think they’re playing with us, But we hear bloodsport in every fuss. Player with vision can make Q sing, Turn a sad little F to a crown and ring. Same seven letters in a shaky fist, Legend or leftover, depends who twists. [Final Chorus | full ensemble, bigger] Who’s getting pulled? Who’s getting played? Who’s going triple? Who’s getting shamed? Bag to the rack to the board to the feed, One little letter with a fame disease. And don’t even get me started that lil bish C…