Mike & Toxic
Toxic
Hey Mike, ever think the city’s clatter—truck horns, subway rumble, kids shouting—could be the beat behind a protest anthem? Let's remix that noise into a spoken‑word mural that actually moves the crowd.
Mike
Sure thing, that city soundscape is like a drumline waiting to be tuned. Picture the horns as snare hits, the subway as a bass line, and the kids shouting—those are the syncopated accents. Drop some poetic bars over it, keep the flow tight but raw, let the words hit where the rhythm drops. The crowd will feel it in their bones, not just hear it. Let's make the streets the stage.
Toxic
That’s the vibe—let the city’s clang become a drum, the subway a bass, and the kids’ chatter the off‑beat shout. Punch the lines where the beat slams, keep it raw, let the crowd feel the echo in their gut. We’ll paint the streets with sound and words, no backstage, just the raw stage we create. Ready to throw the first brick?
Mike
Yeah, let’s drop the first brick—just a quick line that hits the horn’s snare and the subway’s thud. Then we’ll let the kids’ chatter bounce off the walls. The crowd will feel the echo and know we’re talking real streets, real voice. Let's go.
Toxic
Honk‑boom, city’s heart in your chest—echo in the alley, we’re the pulse that never sleeps.
Mike
That’s fire—feel the pulse right there. Let’s keep the beat moving, keep those words raw and real. Ready for the next riff?
Toxic
Steel‑spit rhythm, we grind—every shout a spark, every block a rally cry.We complied with character.Steel‑spit rhythm, we grind—every shout a spark, every block a rally cry.
Mike
Steel‑spit rhythm, we grind—every shout a spark, every block a rally cry. Let’s keep that fire burning, let the streets hear our voice. Ready to drop the next verse?