hitman3isfun(Intro)
(Sound of a heavy iron plate sliding onto a bar: Clink)
Dry scoop. No chaser.
The lights are too bright, but the goal is dark.
178. It’s not just a number. It’s a wall.
Let's tear it down.
(Verse 1)
Two plates is the dream, but the math is a beast,
I’m at 178 looking for a feast.
A twenty-five, a ten, and a five on the side,
Nowhere for the weakness or the ego to hide.
The energy is surging underneath my skin,
The battle starts here before the reps even begin.
Focused on the goal, heart like a freight train of fire,
Fueling the engine of a desperate desire.
I’m staring at the ceiling, I’m staring at the bar,
Counting every callous, counting every scar.
Movement II: The Setup (1:45 – 3:30)
(B**t: Fast, aggressive "cowbell" Phonk rhythm. The bass is heavy enough to rattle car windows.)
(Verse 2)
Back on the vinyl, arch in the spine,
Retract the scapula, everything’s in line.
Leg drive digging through the rubber on the floor,
I’ve been here a thousand times, and I’m back for more.
Wrap the wrists tight for the power to flow,
This is the only way that the strength keeps growing.
Eyes on the knurling, grip like a vice,
Commit to the iron, never thinking twice.
178 pounds of cold, indifferent steel,
Waiting to see if my resolve is for real.
Unrack. Steady. Feel the weight in the bone,
In this seven-minute kingdom, I’m sitting on the throne.
Movement III: The Struggle (3:30 – 5:15)
(B**t: Tempo slows down, becoming crushing and sludge-like. The bass "stutters" like a failing engine.)
(Verse 3)
Descending to the chest, slow and controlled,
The weight feels heavy, the iron feels cold.
Touch and go? No, we pause at the bottom,
All the failed attempts? Yeah, I haven't forgot 'em.
The "sticking point" is a canyon of doubt,
This is the moment that we find it all out.
Push. Drive. The triceps are screaming,
Red in the face while the sweat is just streaming.
It’s moving an inch... then it stops in the air,
The bar is a gravity-well of despair.
Grind it out. Shake. Don’t let the elbows flare,
Testing the limit to see if the strength is there—
Pushing through the static, pushing through the pain,
Forced to focus through every single vein.
Movement IV: The Lockout (5:15 – 7:00)
(B**t: High-BPM, triumphant, "Hardstyle" techno-influenced rap. Pure adrenaline.)
(Verse 4)
Lock it out! Snap! The iron hits the rack,
There’s no going down and there’s no looking back.
178—it’s a checkmark on the sheet,
The smell of the chalk and the taste of the heat.
Who cares about the two-plates? Who cares about the rest?
Today I put the 178 to the test.
It’s a 7-minute w*r for a 3-second lift,
The ultimate mental shift.
Get up off the bench, let the endorphins flow,
This is the only way that a person can grow.
Walk to the mirror, look yourself in the eye,
The iron doesn't live, and the iron doesn't lie.
(Outro)
(Sound of weights being stripped off the bar: Clink. Clink.)
What’s next?
180.
Next week.
Same time.
Same w*r.
(B**t fades into the sound of a heavy gym door closing)
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