Stalks High, Bass Low

(The heavy, sputtering sound of a diesel tractor engine turning over and idling fills the room. A metallic, rhythmic clanking noise locks perfectly to a 142 BPM grid. A gritty, distorted slide guitar riffs softly over the top.)

August hits the clock and the fields turn to gold.

I wasn't a farmer, but man, it was beautiful to behold.

Golden waves stretching out as far as you can see...

Growing up in Rossville, that was the scenery.

Fire up the engines.

Let the smoke rise.

One. Two. Three. Let’s go!

(A heavy, pounding 808 kick drum slams on the downbeats. Sharp, rolling trap hi-hats mimic the sound of spinning mechanical gears. A bright, acoustic banjo melody drives the rhythm.)

Remember recess back at Rossville Grade School,

Running wild on the pavement, trying to act cool.

Right behind the playground, standing tall and proud,

A massive wall of corn blocking out the crowd.

Staring at the stalks growing higher than the fence,

Small-town magic making perfect sense.

Yeah, it brought the beauty, but it brought a little fright,

Garden snakes slithering, giving us a bite... of excitement!

Chasing them around, laughing in the heat,

Just another school day on the local street.

(The rhythm switches to a heavy, swinging half-time trap bounce. The banjo drops out, replaced by a deep, sliding 808 sub-bass that bends under the vocals.)

I watched the seasons change from that elementary yard,

Seeing how the harvest kept the country driving hard.

Green turning to gold under the summer glare,

Sweat on our brow, hundred-degree air.

Waving at the tractors rolling right down Main,

Celebrating harvest through the heat and the rain.

They think it's just dirt, but it’s a lifestyle choice,

Hear the heavy metal rumble when we lift our voice!

(The acoustic instruments filter out completely. Rapid-fire marching snare drum rolls accelerate alongside a mechanical, pitch-rising electronic sweep.)

Yeah, we pull together when the summer starts to break,

For the heritage and pride in every single step we take.

The stalks grow high, watch the whole town rise,

Look at that gold under midwest skies!

Spell it out loud!

D-A-W-G-S!

ONE! TWO! THREE! CHOP THE BLOCK!

(The track violently explodes into an aggressive, industrial Hybrid Trap drop. Massive, metallic bass stabs crush the low-end frequencies, modulated to sound like heavy farm equipment tearing through the mix. A distorted, screeching acoustic guitar melody rips over a punishing 4x4 festival kick drum.)

(Mechanical bass slams: CLANK-CHUG, CLANK-CHUG)

STALKS HIGH, BASS LOW!

(Heavy 808 sub-bass slides downward)

Watch the corn rise!

(4x4 kicks pounding relentlessly)

ROSSVILLE ROOTS!

(Industrial bass modulations shake the floor)

Dodging snakes in the skies!

Go! Fight! Win!

Let the drop begin!

(The main electronic beat cuts out instantly. The atmosphere opens into a massive stadium space. A crisp high-voltage marching band snare drum rolls rapidly over a booming marching bass drum. The vocals are filtered through a megaphone effect.)

From the grade school playground to the passing trains,

The spirit of the harvest is what remains.

We plow through the dark, we fight through the night,

Underneath the glow of the stadium lights!

Give me a D!

Give me an A!

Give me a W-G-S!

(A heavy sub-bass riser swells to its absolute peak)

D.A.W.G.S let's go!

That's my home!

(Maximum festival energy. The industrial groove shifts into a rapid-fire triplet kick drum pattern. A screeching country fiddle melody on absolute overdrive tears through a wall of crushing, mechanical bass modulations.)

(Bass stabs explode)

STALKS HIGH, BASS LOW!

(Sub-bass modulations shake the low end)

We don’t bend!

(Screeching fiddle over heavy festival bass)

ROSSVILLE ROOTS!

(4x4 kicks pounding relentlessly)

FIGHT TILL THE END!

(The electronic walls drop away instantly. A final, clean acoustic guitar loop plays softly and decays into silence. The vocal is intimate and dry.)

Fields of gold...

Watch out for those garden snakes at recess, y'all.

Missy Land... we out.

(The sound of a school bell ringing in the distance, fading into absolute silence.)