Three taps on the rim of a snare,
and it can only be you. The skins
pulse to the riddim of your blood;
beat leaves holes in the studio air.
A taut roll as the last track begins;
nothing could ever sound so good.
and it can only be you. The skins
pulse to the riddim of your blood;
beat leaves holes in the studio air.
A taut roll as the last track begins;
nothing could ever sound so good.

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