Saturday Morning Sins

Live and learn, some bridges crossed
some bridges burned

MIDDLE CHILD

Deep Down II

Fragments V2

Ashes In My Chest by NoTime

For The Fallen

I’d rather sleep alone tonight then let the wrong one dim my light

SAME 24

Concrete Tears explores the hidden pain beneath the pursuit of dirty money and street luxuries. Glitchy industrial percussion, distorted 808s, and cinematic synths create a haunting urban soundscape of betrayal, drugs, and lonely nights. A raw, aggressive dark trap anthem about surviving the streets while concealing your grief behind wealth and power.

Concrete Tears

"Merge Conflict" is a concept album documenting the legendary flame wars, beefs, and drama of the Linux Kernel Mailing List (LKML). Each track represents a real incident with actual quotes, commit references, and email thread IDs woven into the lyrics.

The Linux kernel is one of the most important pieces of software ever written. It's also home to one of the most notoriously hostile development environments in open source history - where Linus Torvalds and other maintainers have publicly eviscerated developers, banned contributors, and dropped profanity-laden rants that became internet legend.

NAK'd

Yo, lemme spit this from the human side, straight bars, no chaser—
I’m just tryna cop a coffee on Ste-Catherine, mindin’ my bidness, when the whole damn block freeze…
I seen ‘em roll up, six deep in a matte-black Maybach stretch limo,
tinted windows cracked just enough for them bushy tails to flick out like mink stoles.
Driver’s a red squirrel in a silk Versace durag, gold acorn chain swingin’ heavy,
he hop out, pop the trunk—cases of Grey Goose and jars of imported Iranian pistachios.
They speakin’ that Québec squirrel creole, tabarnak this, câlice that, ostie de colon d’anglais,
but every curse got a Wall Street ticker taped to it—
“Yo, passe-moé les nuts, mon portefeuille est en crisse à 47 % YTD, sacrament!”
One fat grey général—think Napoleon but with diamond grills—
stands on the hood of the Maybach, tail arched like a gang sign,
barking orders in perfect Joual:
“On va short le TSX encore une fois, pis après on crash le FTSE pour le fun, baptême!”
They got iPhones bigger than they heads, FaceTimin’ squirrels in Tokyo, London, São Paulo,
all of ‘em laughing in synchronized crisse, counting billions in real time.
Bitches—human bitches—lined up ten deep just to get a selfie,
squirrels pose, middle paw up, throwin’ gang signs that spell “C-I-B-C” in fur.
I’m standin’ there, jaw on the ground,
one of ‘em locks eyes wit’ me—pure diva Elmo energy—
points a tiny claw and screams:
“Yo, toi là, le cave! T’as pas d’noix pour moé? J’te fais fermer ta marge d’call tomorrow, sacrament de crisse!”
Next thing I know, my TD app blowin’ up—account negative six figures,
while they all moonwalk across the crosswalk, dabbing to a remix of “Informez-vous” by Snow but with Dr. Dre beats.
Tail twerkin’, acorns rainin’ from the sky like strip-club singles,
and the whole crew chantin’:
“Québec squirrels run the world, ostie—pay up or get buried in options, mon homme!”
I just wanted a double-double…
Now I’m broke, shook, and low-key impressed.
These motherfuckers really did crash the NASDAQ in ‘87…
and they still flexin’ like it was yesterday.
Straight outta Parc Lafontaine, crazy rich rodents named Québec Squirrels—
if you ain’t got they nuts, you ain’t got no future, feel me?
Mic drop. Acorn hits the pavement like a gunshot.
They gone. Maybach peels out.
I’m left holdin’ an empty Tim’s cup… and a margin call.
Tabarnak.

Mindin' my own business.

All Be Fine

Forged in the roar of stadium lights and the shadows beneath the bleachers, the Wicked Clown League is the official voice of the Wicked Clown Football League. Blending hard-hitting lyricism, cinematic sports energy, and the league’s signature dark carnival edge, the group creates anthems that feel like stepping onto the field under blood-red lights.

Born from the culture of the WCFL itself—a universe where grit meets spectacle and every yard costs a piece of your soul—the Collective represents the heartbeat of the league. Their sound combines epic orchestral builds, heavy bass, icy atmospheres, and battle-ready flows designed to hype players, fans, and entire arenas into war-ready frenzy.

From stadium intros to team-specific battle hymns, every track they create is tailored to the league’s world: eerie professionalism, gladiator-level intensity, and the unmistakable Wicked Clown energy that separates the WCFL from every other league on earth.

The Wicked Clown League isn’t just a music group—
they’re the soundtrack to the league’s legend,
the pulse of every highlight,
and the echo that follows each game long after the final whistle.