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rap

Nebraska Raised Version 2

Rien pospichal

Released

July 27, 2026

Last 7 Days

$14.5K

Buzz

7.0

Chart Snapshot

—

This Week

Peak —

14 weeks on chart

Last Week

Not Charted

Daily Score

176.6

Listen

Rien pospichal

0:000:00

Performance Stats

Quality24.1

Buzz7.0

Weeks on Chart14

Awards0

Revenue

Last 7 Days$14.5K

Cumulative Revenue$475.6K

Daily Score176.6

Today$998

Lyrics

July 27, 2026

(Verse 1)

(Beat: Heavy, industrial boom-bap. Sound of a welding torch sparking and a loud \*hiss\* of oxygen)

My fingertips are blackened, smelling like an ozone dream

Stitching steel beams together, bursting out at every seam

In the belly of the plains where the corn stalks touch the sky

And the only thing that’s moving is a hawk circling high.

I was masking up my vision, hiding eyes behind the glass

While the foreman clocked my hours, praying that the shift would pass

Just a ghost in the workshop, fusing joints in the cold

But inside my chest was a rhythm, aggressive and bold.

(Pre-Chorus)

(Beat drops to just a snapping snare and a dark bassline)

I spent ten hours a day in a sweat-soaked shirt

While my spirit was digging through the Midwest dirt

I had a notebook hidden in a toolbox tray

Writing rhymes in the margins of a twelve-hour day.

(Chorus)

From the arc-flash glare to the stage-light glow

From the Nebraska silence to the front-row show

I traded the torch for a mic and a pen

Now I’m burning down the booth, then I do it again.

Yeah, the spark started low in a workshop shed

Now the fire’s in the lyrics and the beat’s in my head.

(Verse 2)

(Tempo speeds up, flow becomes more intricate, rapid-fire delivery)

Now look—

I studied the Slims, the way he’d dissect a sentence

Leaving every critic in a state of repentance

I saw a kid from the gutters, no map, just a mission

So I took that blueprint and I changed my position.

I didn’t want a picket fence or a quiet way of living

I wanted the hunger, the grit, the kind that ain't forgiving.

Started rapping to the rhythm of the hammer on the plate

Calculating syllables to calibrate my fate.

I’m the fusion of the manual and the mental machine

A blue-collar lyricist, if you know what I mean.

I don’t need a gold chain to prove that I’m heavy

I’ve been lifting iron since the day I were ready.

(Bridge)

(Beat slows down, atmospheric)

My hands are still calloused, the scars are still there

But the smoke in my lungs is now stadium air.

I remember the silence of a Nebraska night

Before I stepped out the shadow and into the light.

(Outro)

(Beat builds up to a climax, then cuts sharply to a rhythmic industrial clang)

No more welding the seams of another man's frame

I’m forging my own legacy, I’m lighting the flame.

From the workshop...

To the world.

(Sound of a welding mask flipping up)

\*Click.\*

I’m done

Revenue History

Showing 7 days at a time from the most recent payouts.

Page 9 of 15

Date	Revenue
Sep 7, 2026	$3.21 thousand
Sep 6, 2026	$3.42 thousand
Sep 5, 2026	$3.49 thousand
Sep 4, 2026	$3.53 thousand
Sep 3, 2026	$3.67 thousand
Sep 2, 2026	$3.71 thousand
Sep 1, 2026	$3.82 thousand

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