Bass drop, heartbeat locked in the strobe—
Ameriie’s whisper slices the dark, “Pump it up!”
Neon ribs rattle, sneakers spark concrete,
hi-hat ticks like a sniper.
We glitch, we dip, we levitate three beats,
hands carve lightning in smoke.
“Louder!” she cries; subwoofer births a galaxy,
every ribcage a kick drum.
Don’t just dance—detonate,
let the drop rewrite your pulse.
Pump it, pump it, till the night forgets its name.