This Rock is Shit**
*(Aussie Meth-Satire Rap)*
**(Intro - Casual, strained)**
“Hey Kim… you good?”
“Yeah, sweet. Got some rock. Best in the ‘hood.”
“Looks it… what would I know? It all looks the same.
Hangin’ for a toke, I’m practically in pain…”
**(Verse 1)**
Drop it in the pipe, hit it with the flame,
Huge clouds rising up, no chance of rain.
Mind starts racetrackin’, bored out of my brain…
*Aw, shit.* Cracktivities. Here we go again.
**(Pre-Chorus)**
Light it up— **CRACK!** My pipe just broke.
Two days’ pay in the dirt, didn’t even get a toke.
This batch is cut with iso, no acetone to clean…
Guess I’ll limp to Jermaine’s place. He *gets* what I mean.
**(Chorus - Distorted, Chaotic Beat)**
Smoking in the shadows! Chased by a drone light!
Hustlin’ hard just to feel *nothin’* right…
Paranoia’s my co-driver, swear there’s eyes in the sky…
Nah, they’re just stars, mate. Runnin’ out of alibis…
**(Spoken Word Bridge - Over warped poker machine sounds)**
Bruno fronted me fifty. “Pay by dawn.” Classic.
Stopped at the Glynde for a poke… waiting for the free spins. Life’s got tragic.
Got that feeling… “Go all in.” So I did. Walked out broke.
Now Bruno wants blood, and I’m choking on the smoke…
**(Verse 2)**
That star’s blinkin’ Morse code… or maybe it’s Mars?
Gotta move—can’t trust the Alfa, they’ve bugged all the cars!
This is a simulation, and the whole world’s a stage.
Bruno wants his fifty… but *I* need a rage.
Might pull a Trump, just act really staunch.
Only difference is, he’s got missiles he can launch.
**(Chorus)**
Smoking in the shadows! Chased by a drone light!
Hustlin’ hard just to feel *nothin’* right…
Paranoia’s my co-driver, swear there’s eyes in the sky…
Nah, they’re just stars, mate. Runnin’ out of alibis…
**(Verse 3)**
Broke with no budget, but my mind’s doin’ backflips.
Is that Kim, or a cop takin’ snaps?
Friend or a foe? Genuinely don’t know.
I can hear him plotting on his fuckin’ radio.
Missin’. Suspicious.
Twitchin’. Delirious.
Now I’ve got nothin’ left, not even a joke.
Can’t hit the pub, Bruno’s prowlin’ at the pokes.
Everyone’s drivin’, but we’re all disqualified.
Must be good-lookin’, so easily identified.
Checked the court list—looks like my party invites.
All my mates showin’ up for their Wednesday court nights.
My social feed’s not for memes, it’s for warrants and fights.
Friday night plans? Beatin’ my homie’s torments.
**(Bridge)**
Paranoia’s a prism—every face looks like 5-0.
My own reflection told me, “Mate, you’ve hit a new low.”
Real friend, or just another addict’s contradic-tion?
My life’s a true-crime doco—needs no added fiction.
My friends list? Basically *Australia’s Most Wanted*.
My life’s a shitpost, publicly funded and haunted.
**(Outro - Defeated, coughing)**
Shit… this pipe’s picked up a foreigner.
Tastes like crap, burns like regret…
This ain’t euphoria.
It’s just chemical debt.
