OKLAHOMA FARCE RUN —Gritty Stomp • Dirty Harmonica • Rugged Country‑Rap Flow

Alpha rolled in loud, said “Boys, come ride with me,” Toxic looked at me sideways — “Alright, let’s see.” He bragged ’bout his Lone Star, level eight and proud, We said “Pick the freight, cowboy,” just to humor the crowd. I grabbed a fifty‑two footer, clean dry‑van steel, Set it up like a pro — you know, the real deal. Alpha hits the job board… and man, what a sight: Paper trash freight, worst pay of the night. He opens up a lobby like he’s runnin’ the show, We join in calm, slow roll, ready to go. First mile in — BAM — I catch a damn crash, Then a red‑light ticket, money gone in a flash. But we keep on drivin’, Lone Star hummin’ low, Alpha leads the convoy like a rodeo show. Twenty minutes later, he drops the bomb clean: “Boys, I got an emergency — shutting down the scene.” Lobby disappears, like smoke in the wind, Me and Toxic in vocal, tryin’ hard not to grin. We just laugh it off, like two wolves in the dark: “Thanks for the farce, Alpha… hell of a start.” Oklahoma to Jonesboro, trash load on the back, Four hundred miles later, still holdin’ the track. Zero damage, fines paid, Lone Star still mean, Outlaw humor on the highway — kings of the unseen.