Song Cover Image

LOTION IN THE BASKET (NO HUMAN FRICTION)

FLOYDIAN
exactly 12 hooky melodies with aa Southern accent sly twangy drunk male; A reflective medley of unique 12 melodies and low-register bassoon duet kicks off with upright bass and hand percussion setting a grounded groove, Dramatic tango strings sweep in, joined by bluesy guitar fills and bright pop synths, Swing-style horns highlight section changes, while airy chord progressions keep the mood that changes but never gets hysterical, This rapid breathless complex track features an insistent acoustic guitar laying down an irregular groove, punctuated by playful stops and quirky SFX, The arrangement is minimal, focusing solely on the dynamic interplay between a twangy, sly, melismatic trilled teen lead with trills and a low, gravelly Russian counter vocal, both delivering nuanced, intimate phrasing and well-timed hesitant
V5.5

In the ghastly, dark antiquity of nineteen-ninety-two, When one required a strategy to sell a soap or shoe, We had to rent a conference room and gather up a flock Of actual consumers, which was something of a shock, As we fed them tepid coffee behind two-way mirror glass, And asked for their opinions on the middle-working-class. They were complex and erratic until properly reimbursed! Oh, they had allergies... and MORALS, which was infinitely worse. Today there are zero human beings in the demographic pool, I’ve replaced the target market with a generative tool. No freaks or human friction, broken glass, or first aid kits, Just a server farm in Utah putting lotion in the baskets. For I am automated, elevated, earning bonus while augmented! Supplemented, replicated, simulated, dis-associated! I don't even have to read the dreary emails I reply... I'm the Marketing VP of delegating to A.I.! In the dreadful, dark antiquity of two-thousand-and-ten, We relied upon the labor of exhausted, sweaty men. We had copywriters weeping over adjectives and verbs, And art directors smoking rather questionable herbs. But I've fired the entire floor, I've cleared the human mess, And I'm managing the brand with an impeccable finesse! A.I. generates a pie-graph in a lovely shade of teal, While I am at the country club consuming pleasant veal. When the board demands a vision, I just feed the prompt a lie, And I watch the little cursor do the heavy lifting on the sly! I am optimized, incentivized, securely algorithm-guided! Synthesized and monetized, emotionally un-divided! I am harvesting the profits while I stare into the sky... I'm the Marketing VP of delegating to A.I.! There's a panic in the sector? I just sip my morning brew. For the server farm in Oregon will tell me what to do. I am taking all the credit for a generative text, And I frankly couldn't tell you what the company makes next! Is it software? Is it sneakers? Is it military drones? I am just an executive smelling of Bergdorff's cologne! I'm a hollow shell of vanity, a tailored, empty suit, And I'm reaping all the harvest of this artificial fruit! I sip my dry martini and I compliment the model, Let the algorithms worry, I have no one left to coddle! No inefficient humans to bring my ad genius to a halt, If it faails, there are always vendors! It's their fault! I am vindicated, syndicated, comfortably anesthetized! Calculated, abdicated, thoroughly computerized! I will take my golden parachute and bid you all goodbye... I'm the Marketing VP of delegating to A.I.!