n e w y

Style: IconicHip-Hop style of 90's, Tempo: 136 BPM, Key/Harmony: Minor, dark, and slightly melancholic (e, g, F# minor), Sonorities: Dominant heavy, sustained 808 sub-bass (with mild distortion); crisp, layered hi-hats featuring characteristic fast 1/32nd-note rolls and a tight 'snap' snare/clap, Main Texture: Repetitive, synthesized arpeggiated pluck/pad loop, carrying the main melody, treated with a medium-to-long hall reverb for atmosphere, Atmosphere: Triumphant, 'gangsta, ' and cinematic, Vocals: Eight distinct male rappers, Effects: Heavy Auto-Tune (pitch-correction) is essential on all main vocals and ad-libs; use a tight, slap delay (1/8 note) on vocal echoes, No Gospel choir or talk box, Structure: Classic rap structure with eight consecutive verses and an anthemic, repetitive chorus, Mixdown should be clean, dynamic, and heavily weighted towards the sub-bass

INTRO
(Low growl, distant sirens, 808s hittin’ hard)
Guy 1 (verlan vibe, raw):
Yo the block ain’t Disney, it’s the trap, fam!
We push walls, we push screams, we push y’all out the jam.
Girl (sharp flow, hood queen):
Straight outta the projects where hope hit the ceilin’,
I spit for the sisters still grindin’ in them heels, feel me?
Guy 2 (Maghreb accent, broken grammar):
Allô? This the hood talkin’, not no palace, wallah!
Guy 3 (Afro-Caribbean, onomatopées):
Bam-bam! We pull up, we smash, we ghost, no drama!
CHORUS (badass, all in, beat slaps)
All:
We the disorganized gang, yeah!
Break codes, break laws, yeah!
Pissed from the scalp to the kicks, yeah!
Spit our pain, spit our nightmares, yeah!
Girl:
I dump my dreams in the concrete,
Guy 1:
I dump my fists in the beat!
All:
It’s the hood screamin’, it’s the hood burnin’!
Disorganized squad, we light fire to the system!
VERSE 1 – Guy 1 (verlan flow, grammar off)
I’m the dude never got no report card,
Teacher said “you ain’t goin’ far,” I said “watch me, I take the yard.”
School put me aside, I put they lessons in the trash,
Now I make laws in the trap, make beats outta the crash.
I don’t work, I ain’t work, I never work for them,
I hustle nights, I dream flames, I don’t give a damn.
Grew up between towers, between pigs and tears,
I rap for the bros who don’t sleep, who ain’t tasted joy in years.
VERSE 2 – Girl (gouaille, Wolof spice)
Yërmandé! Tired of they stares,
Hijab or not, they treat me weird, like I’m from Mars.
Job say “you ain’t from here,” I say “I’m from the struggle,”
From the 3000 block, full-on hustle.
Wanted to be a nurse, they said “too many absences,”
Wanted to heal people, they healed me with violence.
I rap for the girls fightin’, gettin’ harassed daily,
For the moms cryin’ when the son get locked, crazy.
VERSE 3 – Guy 2 (Arab edge, raw)
Ana from the block, ana from the fire, ana from the concrete,
Grew up with “dirty Arab” in my mama’s belly, complete.
Job center say “you ain’t the profile,” I say “I got the street profile,”
Temp gigs by day, night missions, that’s the real file.
I don’t vote, don’t believe, only Allah and my dawgs,
Believe in my fists when the fed say “lower your eyes, dog.”
I rap for the brothers caged, sisters in scarves,
Rap so the country hear what it don’t wanna, nah.
VERSE 4 – Guy 3 (Afro-Caribbean, onomatopées)
Tchak-tchak! From Guadeloupe via the 93,
Grew up with “n***r” in the pigs’ mouth, you see?
Wanted to fix cars, they said “no diploma, no chance,”
I fix whips at night, fix dreams in chrome, take a stance.
I talk “wèsh,” “wallah,” “bondié,”
Talk fists, talk screams, “fck society.”
I rap for the kids sleepin’ in the parking lot,
For the dads grindin’ forever, gettin’ nothin’ but shots.
CHORUS (louder, crowd energy)
All:
We the disorganized gang, yeah!
Break codes, break laws, yeah!
Pissed from the scalp to the kicks, yeah!
Spit our pain, spit our nightmares, yeah!
Girl:
I dump my dreams in the concrete,
Guy 1:
I dump my fists in the beat!
All:
It’s the hood screamin’, it’s the hood burnin’!
Disorganized squad, we light fire to the system!
OUTRO
(Beat slows, voices overlap, echo heavy)
Guy 1:
We ain’t leavin’, we stay right here…
Girl:
We ain’t dyin’, we live right here…
Guy 2:
We don’t forgive, don’t forget, nah…
Guy 3:
Bam-bam! The hood talk, the hood scream, the hood…
All (whisper):
…disorganized.
(Beat cuts on a final “bam”)

3385/7500

INTRO (Low growl, distant sirens, 808s hittin’ hard) Guy 1 (verlan vibe, raw): Yo the block ain’t Disney, it’s the trap, fam! We push walls, we push screams, we push y’all out the jam. Girl (sharp flow, hood queen): Straight outta the projects where hope hit the ceilin’, I spit for the sisters still grindin’ in them heels, feel me? Guy 2 (Maghreb accent, broken grammar): Allô? This the hood talkin’, not no palace, wallah! Guy 3 (Afro-Caribbean, onomatopées): Bam-bam! We pull up, we smash, we ghost, no drama! CHORUS (badass, all in, beat slaps) All: We the disorganized gang, yeah! Break codes, break laws, yeah! Pissed from the scalp to the kicks, yeah! Spit our pain, spit our nightmares, yeah! Girl: I dump my dreams in the concrete, Guy 1: I dump my fists in the beat! All: It’s the hood screamin’, it’s the hood burnin’! Disorganized squad, we light fire to the system! VERSE 1 – Guy 1 (verlan flow, grammar off) I’m the dude never got no report card, Teacher said “you ain’t goin’ far,” I said “watch me, I take the yard.” School put me aside, I put they lessons in the trash, Now I make laws in the trap, make beats outta the crash. I don’t work, I ain’t work, I never work for them, I hustle nights, I dream flames, I don’t give a damn. Grew up between towers, between pigs and tears, I rap for the bros who don’t sleep, who ain’t tasted joy in years. VERSE 2 – Girl (gouaille, Wolof spice) Yërmandé! Tired of they stares, Hijab or not, they treat me weird, like I’m from Mars. Job say “you ain’t from here,” I say “I’m from the struggle,” From the 3000 block, full-on hustle. Wanted to be a nurse, they said “too many absences,” Wanted to heal people, they healed me with violence. I rap for the girls fightin’, gettin’ harassed daily, For the moms cryin’ when the son get locked, crazy. VERSE 3 – Guy 2 (Arab edge, raw) Ana from the block, ana from the fire, ana from the concrete, Grew up with “dirty Arab” in my mama’s belly, complete. Job center say “you ain’t the profile,” I say “I got the street profile,” Temp gigs by day, night missions, that’s the real file. I don’t vote, don’t believe, only Allah and my dawgs, Believe in my fists when the fed say “lower your eyes, dog.” I rap for the brothers caged, sisters in scarves, Rap so the country hear what it don’t wanna, nah. VERSE 4 – Guy 3 (Afro-Caribbean, onomatopées) Tchak-tchak! From Guadeloupe via the 93, Grew up with “n***r” in the pigs’ mouth, you see? Wanted to fix cars, they said “no diploma, no chance,” I fix whips at night, fix dreams in chrome, take a stance. I talk “wèsh,” “wallah,” “bondié,” Talk fists, talk screams, “fck society.” I rap for the kids sleepin’ in the parking lot, For the dads grindin’ forever, gettin’ nothin’ but shots. CHORUS (louder, crowd energy) All: We the disorganized gang, yeah! Break codes, break laws, yeah! Pissed from the scalp to the kicks, yeah! Spit our pain, spit our nightmares, yeah! Girl: I dump my dreams in the concrete, Guy 1: I dump my fists in the beat! All: It’s the hood screamin’, it’s the hood burnin’! Disorganized squad, we light fire to the system! OUTRO (Beat slows, voices overlap, echo heavy) Guy 1: We ain’t leavin’, we stay right here… Girl: We ain’t dyin’, we live right here… Guy 2: We don’t forgive, don’t forget, nah… Guy 3: Bam-bam! The hood talk, the hood scream, the hood… All (whisper): …disorganized. (Beat cuts on a final “bam”)

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