Wheres the party at?

Lyrics

[Intro - sparse 808s rumbling low, melancholic ad-libs echoing "back in the days...", weary male vocal with reverb]

Yo, back in the days, chasin' that number...
Party where at? Text back in an hour...
Lost in the glow, warehouse glow sticks...
Follow the trail, breadcrumbs to the madness...

[Verse 1 - trap hi-hats ticking slow, heavy sub-bass thump, lethargic flow with pained delivery, faint siren samples in background]

Got the address, Google Maps glitchin' late night,
Random spot in the sticks, heart racin' but feelin' empty inside.
Abandoned warehouse, glow sticks every ten metres,
Followin' the path like a zombie, no light left in my eyes.
Knock on the door, "Where's the party at?" they scream,
Slide in the two-day rave, rucksack full of cheap dreams.
Dealers circlin' like vultures, "What you got? Off my tits,"
Saturday still high, world spinnin', how the fuck I gettin' home from this?

[Chorus - chopped & screwed vocals, dragging 808 slides, depressive layered harmonies stacking despair, minimal snare rolls]

Livin' for the weekend, but it's killin' me slow...
High off everythin', crashin' low, nowhere to go.
Eyes buzzin', body achin', dealers callin' my name,
Sunday walk of shame, same old depressed game...
Livin' for the weekend... (echo: weekend, weekend...)

[Verse 2 - gritty gravelly tone, trap snares cracking hollow, rising synths mimicking comedown haze, ad-libs whispering "nope comin' up"]

Cops flash torch in my face, "You responsive? What you taken?"
"Everythin'," I slur, need fluid, where's my bag, man?
Thirst burnin' deep, night's finally dyin', people crashin' out,
Dealer slides up, "Hash?" Smoke a fat one, lay by the wall.
Bag under head like a pillow from hell, eyes buzzin' wild,
Startin' to crash hard, world fadin' to black, feelin' like a child.
Mate kicks me awake, "Move, it's Sunday, no buses runnin',"
Walk's a killer, legs like lead, still buzzin' but the thrill's done in.

[Bridge - stripped to piano keys dripping melancholy, vulnerable spoken-word flow building to whispers, distant rave echoes fading]

Can't be bothered to shift, need some food to kill the void...
Finally home, crash in the bed, alarm screams "work, avoid."
Wake up wrecked, livin' for the weekend again...
But it's eatin' my soul, when does the numb end?

[Outro - fading 808s dissolving into silence, echoey ad-libs "livin' for the weekend...", final depressive sigh on pitched-down vocal]
Livin' for the weekend... crashin' every time...
Yeah... weekend... (trails off into reverb haze)