[Intro – threat-level midnight]
Yeah…
Supervisor said “pick it up,”
My soul said “requiescat in pace.”
Translation:
“This shift finna bury me.”
---
[Verse 1 – belt chaos reborn]
Clock in, belt jammed — prophecy fulfilled,
Boxes flying wild like they’re trying to get killed.
Sup yelling “MOVE!” like he running the state,
Meanwhile I’m plotting my exit right before break.
A 70-pound box clipped my leg like a hit-and-run quake,
Sent my consciousness drifting like my body hit space.
Package tower leaning like it’s worn-out and tired,
Tap it once — BOOM — whole section’s expired.
Cargo to Hawaii STILL chilling in place,
Flight schedule ghosted like it caught a case.
Plane fell off the board like it dipped for the day,
I just shook my head like, “Yep… that’s OOPS anyway.”
Doc asked “what happened?” — nothing but devastation.
I said “OOPS, doc — that’s the full explanation.”
---
[Hook – OOPS hell anthem]
Peak season hit like a belt to the face,
Sup said ‘work safe,’ then he raised the rate.
Scanner won’t scan, belt won’t rotate—
Everything built wrong like it’s cursed by fate.
They say ‘use your legs’ — WHICH LEGS, BRO?
You gave me 15 trucks due 10 minutes ago.
That 70-pound box dropping like a stealth spell—
This ain’t a shift… it's organized hell.
---
[Verse 2 – supervisor destruction]
Sup pacing through chaos like he blind by choice,
Acting like he don’t hear a single damn noise.
Totes exploding harder than their cargo ship,
My scanner freezing up like it caught a virus,
Signal so trash it barely counts as wireless.
Packages launching like they finally went rogue,
Every inch of this place screaming overload.
Flights disappearing like they owed someone money,
Hawaii cargo waiting like it finds this funny.
Whole board red — looks like a warning screen,
Everything running late like a broken machine.
---
[Hook – disrespect upgraded]
Peak season got me bent like a crushed steel frame,
Sup power-trippin’ like it’s his video game.
Scanner dead, hope dead, batteries blown—
Why does every flight board feel like a gravestone?
You call this work? I call it a curse,
One more late plane and the chaos gets worse.
This place ain’t normal — it’s a summoning pool,
Where logic dies… and management rules.
---
[Bridge – death spell mode]
Packages sprinting like they trying to escape,
A 70-pound rogue rolling with murder-shaped weight.
Sup said “next truck,” my brain said “denied,”
Belt clanked back at me like it had homicide pride.
Cargo sitting still like it pays its rent,
Plane fell off the roster like it reinvented descent.
---
[Final Hook – shadow realm edition]
Peak season’s wild, it’s a corporate death spell,
This ain’t preload — it’s a hallway to hell.
One more belt jam and I’ll lose control,
Send this whole shift straight to the payroll of souls.
This beltline life hit hard — that’s fate,
Now excuse me while I limp to the break gate.
Planes grounded, chaos compounded, destiny late—
Welcome to the shift… where suffering’s innate.
