

Yeah, checking the levels
One two, channel ten on the track Load up the bank (uh-huh)
Rolled out of bed with the monitor humming
Hex code clicking and the baseline strumming Floppy disk loaded with the
crisp snare crack Stacking sixteen tracks on the General MIDI back Grid
lines straight, not a beat misplaced Square wave cutting right through the
open space
Got the polyphony locked at thirty-two voices Sharp rhymes carved through deliberate
choices
It's the ultimate MIDI back,
step to the program Rocking whole crowds without an ounce of hologram
(let's go) Crank the soundcard,
feel the synth strings ride Pure sixteen-bit power running deep inside
Panned to the left,
channel seven bright organ Chasing the hook like a treasure hunting fortune
No studio tape, just a beige plastic tower Spitting pure truth with
raw computing power Patch number one on the grand upright keys Dropping
cold bars that'll drop you to your knees Every syllable locked to
the clock generator From the basement room up to the elevator
It's the ultimate MIDI back,
step to the program Rocking whole crowds without an ounce of hologram (yeah!)
Crank the soundcard, feel the synth strings ride Pure sixteen-bit power running
deep inside
Take it down to the raw sequencing clock Just the Rhodes and
the bass line rocking the block No filters needed when the composition
speaks Running on repeats for days and for weeks (watch it flip)
It's the ultimate MIDI back,
step to the program Rocking whole crowds without an ounce of hologram
(oh yeah!) Crank the soundcard,
feel the synth strings ride Pure sixteen-bit power running deep inside
File save, project done
Patch thirty-five shutting down
Yeah,
channel ten fade out (peace)