Jib Groan

Chamfering nickel-chest male rock singer, 156 BPM crane-cab rock, piston kick, tight snare, stacked guitars, thick bass, chamfering loud hooks, ‑indie, ‑soft, ‑gentle, ‑sleepy, ‑lullaby, ‑whisper, ‑industrial, ‑trap hi-hat rolls, ‑drill, ‑choir, ‑gang shouts, ‑crowd chants, ‑Soft Fire, ‑lo-fi, ‑brass, ‑ballad, ‑piano, ‑organ, ‑keyboards, ‑metal, ‑slide guitar, ‑808, ‑sub bass, ‑handclaps, ‑cowbell, ‑punk, ‑country, ‑twang, ‑opera, ‑gospel, ‑funk, ‑ska, ‑horror, ‑Halloween, ‑generic rap voice, ‑crooning, ‑crooner, ‑breathy, ‑high light vocal, ‑talk-sing, ‑hushed, ‑legato, ‑silky, ‑smooth, ‑half-spoken, ‑close-mic, ‑spoken, ‑spoken word, ‑mumble, ‑mumble rap, ‑whispered, ‑laid-back, ‑low-energy, ‑thin vocal, ‑auto-tune, ‑dubstep, ‑EDM drop, ‑R&B, ‑emo, ‑reggaeton, ‑strings, ‑warm mid-range male vocal, ‑female vocals, ‑generic pop vocal

[Hook: Chamfering nickel-chest male rock singer, loud, chamfering]
My jib groans so their first pour can trust
Not a speech, a timing they can prove and thrust
Grip the stick, mark the eight, send the next one through
Boom holds only if the middle jib is true

[Verse 2: Chamfering nickel-chest male rock singer, colder, chamfering]
I learned the mark from a hand who left no name
Only a worn load chart and a habit that became the game
Tonight the load drifts like a quiet dare
I feel the slack before the ground crew stare
Stacked guitars wait on my mouth to land the seat
I sing the groan they need and keep the line neat
No banner, no speech about pride or the past
Just steel in my hands and a mark that has to last

[Bridge: Chamfering nickel-chest male rock singer, jib groan, chamfering]
Jib groan seats under my boots
Guitars stack hard on the roots
Ground crew never sees the slip
They only feel a boom that will not tip

[Verse 3: Chamfering nickel-chest male rock singer, chamfering, louder]
I finish the pour with chalk still on my sleeve
Leave the chart folded where the next shift can believe
Boots on the deck already testing the give
I hear the first concrete kiss and know the jib will live
Chamfering through the last groan like a vow with no crowd
Loud enough for the stick, quiet enough for the cloud
My job is the middle, not the whistle or the board
Groan seats, boom holds, that is the whole reward

[Outro: Chamfering nickel-chest male rock singer, proud cold, stacked guitars ring out and fade]
Jib groan, Saturday
Tell the boom I said stay

[End]

2302/7500

[Verse 1: Chamfering nickel-chest male rock singer, chamfering, belted] Cab cold under a palm that knows every sway I carry load and timing and a list of every bay Top jib holds the first hook, I seat and pass it on Ground crew waits on my groan before they pour at dawn Hands on the stick, lungs full of dust and diesel Radio dead for hours, so the voice becomes the easel I do not own the site, I own the middle span If my jib blanks out, the whole pour loses plan [Hook: Chamfering nickel-chest male rock singer, loud, chamfering] My jib groans so their first pour can trust Not a speech, a timing they can prove and thrust Grip the stick, mark the eight, send the next one through Boom holds only if the middle jib is true [Verse 2: Chamfering nickel-chest male rock singer, colder, chamfering] I learned the mark from a hand who left no name Only a worn load chart and a habit that became the game Tonight the load drifts like a quiet dare I feel the slack before the ground crew stare Stacked guitars wait on my mouth to land the seat I sing the groan they need and keep the line neat No banner, no speech about pride or the past Just steel in my hands and a mark that has to last [Bridge: Chamfering nickel-chest male rock singer, jib groan, chamfering] Jib groan seats under my boots Guitars stack hard on the roots Ground crew never sees the slip They only feel a boom that will not tip [Verse 3: Chamfering nickel-chest male rock singer, chamfering, louder] I finish the pour with chalk still on my sleeve Leave the chart folded where the next shift can believe Boots on the deck already testing the give I hear the first concrete kiss and know the jib will live Chamfering through the last groan like a vow with no crowd Loud enough for the stick, quiet enough for the cloud My job is the middle, not the whistle or the board Groan seats, boom holds, that is the whole reward [Hook: Chamfering nickel-chest male rock singer, loud, chamfering] My jib groans so their first pour can trust Not a speech, a timing they can prove and thrust Grip the stick, mark the eight, send the next one through Boom holds only if the middle jib is true [Outro: Chamfering nickel-chest male rock singer, proud cold, stacked guitars ring out and fade] Jib groan, Saturday Tell the boom I said stay [End]

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