[Verse 1]
Topside coughs sparks in the dust,
Rust Belt wind sings through a broken street,
ARC in the clouds like a bad old god,
I move real low where the brave don’t trot.

Pocket full of wire, one shell, two springs,
Half a medkit, somebody else’s shield,
Hear boots on gravel—three Raiders laughing,
I hold my breath till my ribs start cracking.

They call me names in the prox-chat dark,
“Little trench rat, no heart, no spark,”
Funny thing is, they say that after
I crawl out alive and they load the chapter.

[Pre-Chorus]
I ain’t noble, I ain’t clean,
I’m a silhouette where the dead grass leans,
You can keep your speeches, king—
I’m trying to make it back with string.

[Chorus]
I’m the Rat, baby—teeth in the static,
Living off scraps and a little bad habit,
You got a gold gun? Cool. I got patience.
You got honor? Nice. I got extraction.

I’m the Rat, baby—low and dramatic,
Half smoke grenade, half feral mechanic,
Wave like a friend, then I think “maybe not…”
In ARC, every saint gets hungry a lot.

[Verse 2]
Sometimes I’m kind—yeah, write that down,
Picked a stranger up near the flooded town,
He said, “Bless you, mate,” then took my flank,
Ten seconds later I’m kissing the bank.

Trust is expensive, ammo is worse,
Everybody’s friendly till they see your purse,
One guy cried, “Rat!” ‘cause I shot first clean—
Brother, that was PvP, not a crime scene.

Now the whole squad wants a courtroom trial:
“Was it ambush? Was it bush? Was it toxic style?”
Meanwhile ARC is dropping steel from the heavens,
We’re debating ethics with two hit points and seven.

[Pre-Chorus]
I ain’t proud, but I ain’t fake,
I just know what kind of bets to take,
If the hatch lights up, I move like smoke—
Laughing through a busted choke.

[Chorus]
I’m the Rat, baby—teeth in the static,
Living off scraps and a little bad habit,
You got a gold gun? Cool. I got patience.
You got honor? Nice. I got extraction.

I’m the Rat, baby—low and dramatic,
Half smoke grenade, half feral mechanic,
Wave like a friend, then I think “maybe not…”
In ARC, every saint gets hungry a lot.

[Bridge]
And if I make the train back home to Speranza,
Don’t need hugs, don’t need a bedtime saga,
No warm milk, no halo, no applause—
Just let me craft in peace and patch my flaws.

Tomorrow I might play the hero role,
Drag some downed soul through a mortar hole,
Next raid? Bushes. Bad intentions.
That’s the joke—survival’s all dimensions.

[Final Chorus]
I’m the Rat, baby—crown made of scrap metal,
Heart says “help,” but the map says “settle,”
ARC above and Raiders below—
Tell me one clean way through, I’ll go.

I’m the Rat, baby—sing it if you hate me,
You’d do the same when the sky goes angry,
Call me vermin, call me what you got—
I call it living.
You call it Rat.