[INTRO — SPOKEN, AMUSED] Roll that wheelbarrow over here. The one with four proper legs. No—wait. That ain’t a wheelbarrow. Never mind…just hit record. [VERSE 1] The paperwork covered every place I could sit, So we started making songs out of what wouldn’t fit. Found a rhyme by the coffee and a hook by the chair, There were bars in the garden—there were bars everywhere. We had lexical lumber stacked out by the shed, A half-built chorus and a phrase playing dead. We mortised the meaning, put a tenon in the tone, Then tapped that little rascal till it sounded like home. [PRE-CHORUS] Cut it—fit it—tap it tight, Measure twice and sing it right. Hide the seams and let it roll— Put some pocket in its soul. [CHORUS] If it ain’t a hit, something’s wrong with the meter, Or the world needs a bigger, better-wheeled-up speaker. If nobody plays it, we’ll play it ourselves, Right beside the jarred-up jingles on the shelf. If the crowd don’t catch it, that ain’t our concern— We’ll turn it up loud and let the neighborhood learn. We built it from scraps, but every scrap fits— And if it ain’t a hit… We’ll call it one at our house. [SHORT INSTRUMENTAL RESPONSE] [VERSE 2] Suno drew a wheelbarrow with five crooked knees, Then painted the whole blamed album pink as you please. Put a boot on a chicken and a hat on a tree— We said, “That ain’t the picture, but the song sounds sweet.” The speaker’s got a dolly, so the music can roll, It disturbed all the air without disturbing the soul. Creativity rides shotgun, good sense drives the car, And a voice-text accident might become the best bar. [PRE-CHORUS] Facts first—feelings heard, Button last—protect the word. Let the wild thought run, then call it back home— Put a porch on the rhythm and a roof on the poem. [CHORUS] If it ain’t a hit, something’s wrong with the meter, Or the world needs a bigger, better-wheeled-up speaker. If nobody plays it, we’ll play it ourselves, Right beside the jarred-up jingles on the shelf. If the crowd don’t catch it, that ain’t our concern— We’ll turn it up loud and let the neighborhood learn. We built it from scraps, but every scrap fits— And if it ain’t a hit… We’ll call it one at our house. [BRIDGE — CADENCE BUILDS] Definement, alignment, Lyrical assignment, Confinement, deployment, Musical employment. Rearrange it, exchange it, Put the pocket where the change is. Catch the current, give it frame— Lose the label, keep the name. Keep the roots, move the weight, Turn the soil, open the gate. The human brings the meaning, And the tools help carry tune— We started after breakfast, Had a catalog by noon. [EXTENDED GUITAR NARRATIVE — NO VOCALS] [FINAL CHORUS — FULL BAND, FEMALE HARMONY] If it ain’t a hit, something’s wrong with the meter, Or the world needs a bigger, better-wheeled-up speaker. If nobody plays it, we’ll play it ourselves, Right beside the jarred-up jingles on the shelf. Let the numbers do whatever numbers do— We know what we heard, and we know when it’s true. No cracks in the craft, no counterfeit glitz— And if it ain’t a hit… Well, something’s wrong with Suno. [OUTRO — SPOKEN OVER BAND] Put that one in a jar. Label it? No. Write the bars. Hide the label. [FINAL GUITAR CHUCKLE — WARM, CLEAN END]
