Obsidian Haze
Style: Acid garage punk, raw analog energy, hypnotic and chaotic yet controlled. Music Description: • Minimal, pulsating groove with driving bass and explosive vintage drums. • Raw, dirty fuzz guitars with feedback and twisted riffs, hypnotic repetition building intensity. • Chaotic yet controlled dynamic bursts, giving wild energy without losing the groove. • Cinematic, immersive, and dangerous atmosphere, like a crime story in sound. Vocal Style: • Baritone, raspy, masculine male vocal. • Half-spoken, half-sung storytelling. • Wild, expressive, macho, and threatening, with bursts of raw energy at story peaks. Mood / Energy: • Wild, hypnotic, dark, and aggressive. • Controlled chaos that builds tension and excitement. • Perfect for a raw, dramatic, and wild story.
Obsidian Haze
Style: Acid garage punk, raw analog energy, hypnotic and chaotic yet controlled. Music Description: • Minimal, pulsating groove with driving bass and explosive vintage drums. • Raw, dirty fuzz guitars with feedback and twisted riffs, hypnotic repetition building intensity. • Chaotic yet controlled dynamic bursts, giving wild energy without losing the groove. • Cinematic, immersive, and dangerous atmosphere, like a crime story in sound. Vocal Style: • Baritone, raspy, masculine male vocal. • Half-spoken, half-sung storytelling. • Wild, expressive, macho, and threatening, with bursts of raw energy at story peaks. Mood / Energy: • Wild, hypnotic, dark, and aggressive. • Controlled chaos that builds tension and excitement. • Perfect for a raw, dramatic, and wild story.
Lyrics
Intro
In a trailer rolling out of Amsterdam
Came a ton of soft, sticky brown
Twenty boxes, fifty kilos each
Marked “North African Sweet Peach”
A Polish driver with a greedy grin
Twenty boxes — let the game begin
⸻
Verse 1
A heavy car and a heavy heart
One spotter and the journey starts
Every car looks like it’s undercover
Heartbeat racing, prison means forever
Cold as ice but my hands feel sweaty
Gotta store the stash at a homie
Every mile feels like a morbid thrill
If the law comes, I know the deal
Surrender… or kill
⸻
Pre-Chorus
Everything is set in place
Like the start of a race
Six weeks ’til they come to collect
If the money’s short, I know the verdict
⸻
Chorus
One step from a deadly debt
One mistake and a bullet in the head
When the boss comes ’n collect
You better have the damn bread
You can’t call in sick — dead
⸻
Verse 2
Beginning smooth and dollars rained
One week left, still 90K unpaid
One hustler, got him before he fled
No bread, blood and excuses instead
His story ended, painted red
Mine’s runnin’ out
The reaper’s ahead
Bread still missing, I’m soon dead
⸻
Pre-Chorus 2
With no choice left, I hit the bank
All or nothing, gun in hand
I rush the counter, straight to the vault
No guts, no glory — no second thoughts
I scream at a man, “Fill the bags quick”
Three minutes later — gone, damn what a kick
⸻
Chorus
One step from a deadly debt
One mistake and a bullet in the head
When the boss comes ’n collect
You better have the damn bread
You can’t call in sick — dead
⸻
Outro
The Dutch mafia got happy
I learned not to be sloppy
If you don’t have the bread
You’re dead
The hustle’s gone
I write songs instead
Un dead