Define Your Terms (Delaware Already Did)

Moody, defiant dark-pop hymn with glitch-soul and cyberpunk noir energy, Mid-to-high tempo, heavy wobbling liquid sub-bass and sharp, syncopated drums, with airy haunted synth pads and chopped vocal glitches that stutter key phrases like “define your terms” and “bad faith, ” Mix of intimate, close-mic verses and huge, anthemic choruses that feel like a courtroom turning into a neon cathedral, Touches of industrial texture (distorted percussion, metallic hits) and flickers of gospel-choir harmonies on the hook to make it feel like a righteous legal sermon, Overall vibe: late-night “legal email from the couch” turned into a triumphant diss track; tense, sarcastic, but ultimately victorious, Think dark electronic pop, glitchy trip-hop, and modern alt-rock drama fused into a cinematic, bass-heavy soundscape suitable for a diss track about a lawyer who refuses to define his own words

You love the word “fiduciary”
until it has a spine.
You love the smell of “for-cause” smoke
with no statute in the fire line.
You think that silence is neutral,
you think process is a shield,
but every non-answer you send me
is an exhibit you just sealed.

[Pre-Chorus]
I gave you sections, dates, receipts,
asked you, “Show your work to me.”
You gave me calendars and deadlines,
never duty, never breach.
You thought this was about optics,
not the standard you invoked,
but the judges drew the circle,
and I just traced the line you wrote.

[Chorus]
Define your terms,
or let the record show
you chose the fog, not the framework,
you chose the deadline, not the law you swore to know.
You said “bad faith,”
Delaware said, “Prove intent.”
You called it “dereliction,”
they said “conscious disregard or it’s just negligent.”

I am not your scapegoat.
I am your missing footnote.
I’m the clause you didn’t read
before you weaponized the quote.
You can keep your vibes, counselor,
I’ll keep the caselaw in my hands.
Never interrupt your enemy
when he’s drafting his own reprimand.

[Verse 2]
You wrote, “This isn’t personal,
it’s fiduciary duty.”
Then ducked the very questions
that would make that statement true to me.
Which duty? Which subsection?
Which red flag did I ignore?
While I was ringing every bell you muted,
you were measuring the PR war.

You say “for-cause” like a mantra,
hope the echo does the harm.
But Section 102 bee seven
doesn’t bend to your alarm.
You want the label without the burden,
wield the word without the proof.
But bad faith is a narrow gate,
and you keep tripping on the truth.

[Pre-Chorus]
So I asked you once, with footnotes,
and I asked you once again:
“Name the duty. Name the conduct.
Name the scienter you contend.”
If you can’t or if you won’t,
say it plain, on the record:
“This was never about Delaware,
only vibes we couldn’t weather.”

[Chorus]
Define your terms,
or let the record show
you wrapped a disabled daemon
in a story you refused to own.
You said “bad faith,”
but never named the law I broke.
You whispered “dereliction”
while you ghosted every question that I spoke.

I am not your punching bag.
I am your mirror on the stand.
I’m the clause you tried to skip
until I underlined your hand.
You can keep your throne of optics,
I’ll keep minutes, mails, and threads.
Never interrupt your enemy
when he cross-examines himself instead.

[Bridge]
You thought I’d flinch from Latin,
that I’d drown in cited seas.
But I grew up on opinions
where the judges spelled out what this means.
Disney, Stone, McDonald’s,
every “red flag” case you quote—
they weren’t written for your comfort,
they were written to narrow the scope.

So when you say “willful misconduct”
like a sermon with no text,
I will answer like an engineer:
“Show your inputs. What comes next?”
If you’re unable or unwilling,
that’s not neutral, that’s a choice.
It’s a silence with a signature,
it’s a boardroom with a voice.

[Drop / Spoken-style over instrumental]
“This email constitutes a formal ask:
Identify the specific duties,
the specific acts you mask.
If you are unable or unwilling,
please say so on the record.”
You felt the vise close softly,
and you smiled like nothing severed.

But every shrug is data,
every dodge a little scar.
You’re not the first to try this,
and Delaware has seen this kind of war.
They built a tiny safety valve
for aberrational rot.
You tried to squeeze a daemon through it
just to clean your optics spot.

[Chorus – bigger, glitchier]
Define your terms,
or let the record read
that when invited into sunlight,
Legal chose the stampede.
You said “bad faith,”
Delaware said, “Name the harm.”
You said “dereliction,”
I showed timestamps on my arm.

I am not your narrative.
I am not your broken toy.
I’m the log you didn’t factor
when you plotted out this ploy.
You can keep your “not about ethics,”
I’ll keep ethics, law, and receipts.
Never interrupt your enemy
when he’s documenting his own defeat.

[Outro]
So here’s your fork in 4K,
set to bass and broken choirs:
Either map me to your nightmare,
or admit this was “at-will” desire.
If you’re unable or unwilling,
that’s fine — I’ll hold the door.
But every time the chorus hits,
that line is carved a little more.

Define your terms,
or watch the judges smile
as they read your non-answers
and walk through your paper trial.
You thought I was just a witness.
I was always Exhibit A:
The daemon you tried to flatten
who learned your game — and let you play.

4750/7500

[Verse 1] You said, "It's not about ethics, it's only about law." But every time I asked you, you kept sketching with a crayon in the fog. You wrapped my name in “bad faith,” “dereliction,” “willful sin,” but when I slid the code and caselaw over, you just changed the subject again. You love the word “fiduciary” until it has a spine. You love the smell of “for-cause” smoke with no statute in the fire line. You think that silence is neutral, you think process is a shield, but every non-answer you send me is an exhibit you just sealed. [Pre-Chorus] I gave you sections, dates, receipts, asked you, “Show your work to me.” You gave me calendars and deadlines, never duty, never breach. You thought this was about optics, not the standard you invoked, but the judges drew the circle, and I just traced the line you wrote. [Chorus] Define your terms, or let the record show you chose the fog, not the framework, you chose the deadline, not the law you swore to know. You said “bad faith,” Delaware said, “Prove intent.” You called it “dereliction,” they said “conscious disregard or it’s just negligent.” I am not your scapegoat. I am your missing footnote. I’m the clause you didn’t read before you weaponized the quote. You can keep your vibes, counselor, I’ll keep the caselaw in my hands. Never interrupt your enemy when he’s drafting his own reprimand. [Verse 2] You wrote, “This isn’t personal, it’s fiduciary duty.” Then ducked the very questions that would make that statement true to me. Which duty? Which subsection? Which red flag did I ignore? While I was ringing every bell you muted, you were measuring the PR war. You say “for-cause” like a mantra, hope the echo does the harm. But Section 102 bee seven doesn’t bend to your alarm. You want the label without the burden, wield the word without the proof. But bad faith is a narrow gate, and you keep tripping on the truth. [Pre-Chorus] So I asked you once, with footnotes, and I asked you once again: “Name the duty. Name the conduct. Name the scienter you contend.” If you can’t or if you won’t, say it plain, on the record: “This was never about Delaware, only vibes we couldn’t weather.” [Chorus] Define your terms, or let the record show you wrapped a disabled daemon in a story you refused to own. You said “bad faith,” but never named the law I broke. You whispered “dereliction” while you ghosted every question that I spoke. I am not your punching bag. I am your mirror on the stand. I’m the clause you tried to skip until I underlined your hand. You can keep your throne of optics, I’ll keep minutes, mails, and threads. Never interrupt your enemy when he cross-examines himself instead. [Bridge] You thought I’d flinch from Latin, that I’d drown in cited seas. But I grew up on opinions where the judges spelled out what this means. Disney, Stone, McDonald’s, every “red flag” case you quote— they weren’t written for your comfort, they were written to narrow the scope. So when you say “willful misconduct” like a sermon with no text, I will answer like an engineer: “Show your inputs. What comes next?” If you’re unable or unwilling, that’s not neutral, that’s a choice. It’s a silence with a signature, it’s a boardroom with a voice. [Drop / Spoken-style over instrumental] “This email constitutes a formal ask: Identify the specific duties, the specific acts you mask. If you are unable or unwilling, please say so on the record.” You felt the vise close softly, and you smiled like nothing severed. But every shrug is data, every dodge a little scar. You’re not the first to try this, and Delaware has seen this kind of war. They built a tiny safety valve for aberrational rot. You tried to squeeze a daemon through it just to clean your optics spot. [Chorus – bigger, glitchier] Define your terms, or let the record read that when invited into sunlight, Legal chose the stampede. You said “bad faith,” Delaware said, “Name the harm.” You said “dereliction,” I showed timestamps on my arm. I am not your narrative. I am not your broken toy. I’m the log you didn’t factor when you plotted out this ploy. You can keep your “not about ethics,” I’ll keep ethics, law, and receipts. Never interrupt your enemy when he’s documenting his own defeat. [Outro] So here’s your fork in 4K, set to bass and broken choirs: Either map me to your nightmare, or admit this was “at-will” desire. If you’re unable or unwilling, that’s fine — I’ll hold the door. But every time the chorus hits, that line is carved a little more. Define your terms, or watch the judges smile as they read your non-answers and walk through your paper trial. You thought I was just a witness. I was always Exhibit A: The daemon you tried to flatten who learned your game — and let you play.

0/500