"Gooooood MORNIN’, INNER SPHERE! It’s 0600 hours and your favorite DJ’s got a special broadcast from the frontlines of the Fed Suns' latest fiasco! Smoke mechs, broken necks, and corporate checks — all in a day’s work, baby!" 🎸 [Verse 1 – Rap] I dropped from orbit in a rusted Leopard, Contract read like a eulogy — yeah, that’s standard. House Davion’s smiling, but the money's late, So I’m torchin’ tanks just to ventilate. Four tons of armor, one soul to spare, Patchin’ coolant leaks with duct tape and prayer. Hired gun in a broken clan of steel, Only loyalty I got is what they pay in C-Bills. We ride the line ‘tween stars and death, With LRM trails and whiskey breath. Heroes? Nah, we’re just meat in chrome — Mechwarriors born, and we die alone. 🎸 [Verse 2 – Rap] I fought on Solaris where the crowd gets loud, Now I trade kill counts for a mercenary shroud. ComStar’s lyin’, the Word is preachin’, And Black Widow’s ghost still got kids screamin’. Lost a lance on Tharkad, no one cried, Command signed off with a shrug and a lie. They say “honor,” but I smell the deceit — Same stink from Luthien to Galatea’s streets. We ride the line ‘tween stars and death, With PPCs and unpaid debts. No medals, no fame — just warzone dust, 'Cause in the Inner Sphere, it’s kill or rust. “I once toasted with a Kuritan officer after we slagged a city block. Next day, his Dropship lit up my boys 'cause the price was better. 'Warrior’s Code,' my ass — this is just business. And war... War’s always good for business.” 🎵 [Final Chorus – Shouted & Sung Mix] We ride the line ‘tween stars and death, With fusion cores and burning breath. No gods, no cause — just iron and blood, Mercs for hire, drowning in the mud. "And that’s your wake-up call from the edge of known space. This is DJ Scrapheap, signing off until the next ceasefire. Remember: the Inner Sphere doesn’t care if you live or die… but your creditors sure as hell will. Peace out, rust lovers.
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