Baraban & Kotu
Baraban
Yo Kotu, word's that old warehouse on 7th street still got a beat that echoes even when the city's asleep. Think we could drop in, jam it out, and see if the rhythm's really cursed or just a trap?
Kotu
Sure thing, just grab a mic and a lockpick, and we'll see if the beat’s a ghost or just a busted speaker. Let's make that warehouse our secret jam session.
Baraban
Alright, grab the mic, lockpick ready. We'll sneak in, hit the drums, and find out if the ghost’s got a solo or the speakers just want to die. Let's roll, no cops, just rhythm.
Kotu
Let’s creep past the rusted gate, hit those drums, and see if the phantom’s still holding a solo or just playing dead beats. Cops? Nah, they’re the only ones who’ll miss the rhythm. Let's roll.
Baraban
Creep past that gate, feel the cold air hum with old bass. We'll set up, let the drums speak, and if that phantom's still got a solo, he'll have to step up to the beat. Cops are just background noise anyway. Let's go.
Kotu
Yeah, let’s slip through that gate, feel the bass, and let the phantom hear our groove. Cops can just riff on the side. Let's get it.
Baraban
Got the plan locked, mic in hand, rhythm in my bones. The gate’s ours, the beat’s waiting. Let’s make that ghost groove before the cops can even hear a single note. Roll.