[Intro] (Spoken / clean baritone over a grinding sub-bass) Didn’t bring a pen? That’s smart, Roy. Because we don't sign in ink when the vault’s open. Let’s talk terms. [Verse 1] You want the masters defined? Every split on the line? Every sample accounted for, yours and mine? That ain't a threat, man, that’s how empires stand— You don't build a monolith shaking blind hands. Radio House ain't a gate, it's the frame, Keeping the ownership locked to the name. Exit conditions? They’re right in the text: Walk if you want, but you keep what you rex. [Pre Chorus] (Industrial tolling bell ringing clean over a rising synth pad) So the bells stopped ringing, the room went still, You tested the terms and you tested the will. [Hook] (Massive drop, heavy 808s, soaring lead guitars) READ THE LEDGER! CHECK THE CLAUSE! No smoke in the suit, no hidden applause! Two names standing, two voices clear, We build the record from right down here! [Verse 2] No vague forever, no buried extension, Every sentence gets earned by intention. Revenue, royalties, sharing the risk, A clean split sheet on a high-speed disk. You brought the festival bass to the floor, I brought the heavy iron key to the door. So keep your identity, I’ll keep mine— We draw the boundary and hold the line. [Outro] (Fading out with a sharp synth pluck and a slow, heavy heartbeat sub) The terms are sent. Welcome to the family, Roy. Now bring the bass.
