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Lineage Froze

Original song by Preston Webster. I am currently a Lineage cold storage warehouse supervisor. Our employees work in temperatures as cold as 20 deg F. That’s not easy! This song was just to have a little fun and inspire our team. Rap seems to be the preferred genre amongst our personnel, so chose that musical style for this song. #newmusic #lineage #rap #coldfoodstorage #lineagefroze #lineagelogistics Yo, Yo! Lineage Gaston in the house! Let’s go! Ughhh! Ice-chiseled, cryo immune, arctic frozen, cold-steel hardened elect. For you, thermometers hold no propriety. You the coldest men and women of our society. Shiver me timbers. Straight from the streets and into the freeze, can’t wait to move you some pallets of Ruiz. Ridin your high-powered high-reaches like tricycles, Ice crystals floatin in the air, hanging from your hair, when you crashing through icicles. Ice, Ice, Crazy. No, no there ain’t no maybe. This job ain’t gravy, gotta be Frosty to do what we do. Ain’t nothin gonna stand in your way. Spinnin pallets like tops, knockin out them drops, Showin the bosses your hops. Time is the wire, light up your fire, showin desire. Your worthy. Gettin it like a Yeti on crack. LM’s got no chance, you ice dancing, flowin like a glacial river and stingin like frostbite. Yo! Yo! Ughhh! General Manager Mike Ridin the Frozen wave. Drop the Mike, Mike. Mikeee Mikeee Mike. Lead us through the frozen Tundra. Ice, Ice, Crazy. No, no there ain’t no maybe. This job ain’t gravy, gotta be Frosty to do what we do. We got burritos, taquitas, fajitas, Chimichangas, Empanadas, Enchiladas. We got ice cream, Yo! Oreo, Kit-Kat, Chocolate, Cookies and Cream. We got it all. We livin in a fat man’s dream. We got pizza and Pie by the thousands. We got Tenderloin, Ham, Steak and Ribs. If product gets damaged, this gangsta wants dibs. We flow it to all you soft civilians. Arriving by truck at all your plush shopping Pavilions. The cure to world hunger is here, like terminal velocity of hail to the ground. Ice, Ice, Crazy. No, no there ain’t no maybe. This job ain’t gravy, gotta be Frosty to do what we do. We can pick a pallet faster than you can pick your nose. Get a tissue bro! Man, we can stack some chicken, but there ain’t no finger lickin. We can freeze some drumsticks, but yo, they not kickin. Bowlin with Turkeys, bound to throw three strikes in a row. Cajun Peanuts? Getting on my Creole. Our loaders on their forklift dozers, mixing it up with the prods. Ridin it like a Gangsta, in their stand-up hot-rods. Ice, Ice, Crazy. No, no there ain’t no maybe. This job ain’t gravy, gotta be Frosty to do what we do.