Download available ... https://bsta.rs/CuPwdk I was, flipping through an old high school yearbook, wondering how I managed to peak at age 12, when it hit me like a stolen lunch money debt—why not combine the aggressive urgency of a failing news reporter with the relentless despair of trap beats? That’s right, Beat Reporter. Picture this: a journalist who’s been chasing the wrong story his whole life. He’s 47, divorced, and still trying to figure out why his parents never showed up to his soccer games. And in that moment of complete existential crisis, he starts beatboxing in a gas station bathroom. You can’t make this stuff up, folks. It had to be 120 BPM because, let’s face it, that’s the tempo at which all our bad decisions catch up to us. The song basically wrote itself after that. If you don’t get it, then you’re not paying attention, and let’s be honest, neither am I.