eight o eight

Sub low sketch a halo, 808 pen in the payload, crate dust in the mainframe echo. �
Boom bap spine in the backbone, swing in the hat while the facts tone retro. �[Hook]
Boom—bap—sigil in the kick, let the room map, floor crack, tape hiss doom-wrap. ���
Glyph on the clap, chant that, crew stack, bring it right back, where the loop at. ��
Bass line braid with the grave talk, pitch down shade with the wave chalk. ��
Hands up, say it in the pocket, then we trade off—line for line, lock it. ��[Verse 1]
Chladni sand spiral in the snare—patterns in the air like I’m carving sacred stairs. �
I write code in the vowels, stitch sigils in the phrasing, light roads in the bowels of the bass bin. �
Teacher voice—project from the diaphragm, anchor bar four so the city understands. �
808 tail long, let the walls hum—pressure in the chest like a monk on a drum. �
Opera throat, overtones in the overcast, open hats, poly-rhythm in a sober blast. �
Chant math, binaural in the intro pad, it’s a psychoacoustic wink—keep it subtle, never fad. �
Backspin grit, needle bite on the loop edge, crate mark truth where the proof bled. �
Authority cadence, syllables march—principle-led bars, every staccato is a spark. �[Pre-Hook]
Carve the vow in the downbeat, now the crowd breathe, now the ground speak. �
Sigil in the cover, mantra in the art, intent in the chorus where the hands meet. �[Hook]
Boom—bap—sigil in the kick, let the room map, floor crack, tape hiss doom-wrap. ���
Glyph on the clap, chant that, crew stack, bring it right back, where the loop at. ��
Bass line braid with the grave talk, pitch down shade with the wave chalk. ��
Hands up, say it in the pocket, then we trade off—line for line, lock it. ��[Verse 2]
Cymatic atlas—my consonants tessellate, vowels levitate, timing makes the metal shake
Boom-bap discipline—bar-four pillar stones, end rhyme load-bearing, centerline is home. 
Hook like a ritual, simple words, heavy bones, gang vox stacked for the megaphone. 
Pitched gravel double under clean tone, formant shift whisper in the undertow drone. 
Trade secrets tucked in the swing grid, ghost notes tripping like a rim did. 
Sub glide prudent, kick root-tuned, clap bright, mix tight in a true room. 
Speak plain, strike veins, keep the lesson in the phrasing with a street frame. 
Knock that Memphis chant over East drums, it’s a club-ready spell when the beat thrum. [Trade-Off Section]
A: “I paint waves with a pen stroke, phase-locked,” B: “I trade bars like a handoff, blaze hot.”
A: “Four-beat anchors, inner-rhyme raindrops,” B: “We weave lines like a rope with the same knots.” 
A: “808 sermon, cathedral in the sub-lobe,” B: “Call—response—overlap, tighten up the hub, bro.” �
Together: “One voice, two throats, same drum—same oath.” �[Bridge]
Low hum mantra, throat-sing drone, let the overtones comb through the dome. �
Binaural flicker in the side chain pulse, just mood—no promise—keep focus as the goal. �
Sigil in the mind’s eye, hook turns key unlocked 

808-driven, rapid, fluidic boom-bap rap that fuses Spark Master Tape’s pitched-down grit. male phonetic voice