[Part 1 – POV: Capitaine Cash-Noix, écureuil de Limoilou, 400M$ en Dogecoin, manteau en fourrure de castor recyclé par Gucci]
Ayo, c’est l’Capitaine Cash-Noix, j’ride un drone DJI custom en forme d’noix d’cajou
J’viens d’spotter l’crime du siècle dans l’quartier Saint-Roch:
Un osti d’technicien Bell qui coupe NOTRE câble de fibre optique privé
Câble qu’on a payé nous-mêmes en 2018 avec les profits du crash crypto de Terra-Luna
Ça passe direct dans l’érable centenaire, 10 gigabits symétriques, on trade en 0,3 ms, tabarnak!
J’appelle la squad sur le canal Discord “#Opération-Noix-Infini”:
« Boys, on a un traître humain qui joue dans nos fils, on monte l’opération “Fibre de la Vengeance”! »
On arrive en escouade: six écureuils en fatbike électrique, lunettes Oakley, AirPods Max en or rose
On apporte: 3 kilos de beurre d’arachide crémeux, du sirop d’érable collant, pis une douzaine d’œufs pourris d’Halloween
J’fais un wall-ride sur l’camion Bell, j’crache une barre direct dans l’oreille du tech:
« Yo, mon homme, t’as touché au backbone d’la nation écureuil, t’es mort financièrement! »
On grimpe l’poteau en 4 secondes chrono, on badigeonne TOUT l’câble de beurre + sirop
Le gars en bas crie: « Câlisse, quessé ça?! »
On lance les œufs pourris dans l’trou d’ventilation d’son casque, direct sur la face
Puis on remplace son câble par NOTRE câble, blindé Kevlar, couleur or 24 carats
On laisse un Post-it fluo: « Propriété privée des Écureuils Millionnaires Locaux – Touche pas, hostie »
On part en wheelie collectif, on burn du caoutchouc imaginaire, on drop un NFT live de l’attaque
Refrain (deux voix qui s’entrechoquent comme des cymbales)
Cash-Noix: « J’trade tes larmes en short sur ton REER, mon gars! »
Tech Bell: « J’fais juste mon job, osti d’rat en Red Bull! »
Cash-Noix: « Ton job vient d’se faire racheter par mon holding “Noix & Fils Inc.”, bienvenue chez nous, sacrament! »
Part 2 – POV: Kevin “Kev” Tremblay, tech Bell 3e génération, 38 000$/an, lunch dans un Tupperware, fier de jamais avoir payé l’tribute]
J’suis pogné sur Saint-Joseph, 9h17 du matin, j’coupe une vieille ligne pour installer du 10G
J’feel une vibration bizarre, comme si l’ciel m’regardait d’un air bête
Soudain, un escadron d’écureuils en fatbike débarque, full drip, full menace
Y’ont l’air de sortir d’un vidéoclip de Snoop pis Dr. Dre, mais version poil pis queue
J’essaie d’parler calmement: « Les gars, c’pas personnel, c’juste du câble… »
BAM! Un œuf pourri direct dans l’front, j’goûte l’enfer de l’an passé
Y badigeonnent mon beau câble propre de beurre d’arachide, j’vois ma vie défiler
J’glisse sur l’trottoir, mon casque plein d’jaune, mon ego en miettes
Y’accrochent une pancarte sur mon camion: « Sponsorisé par la dette mondiale des écureuils »
J’appelle mon boss en pleurant: « Y m’ont fait un drive-by de beurre, chef… »
Y m’répond: « Kev, paye ton tribute comme tout l’monde, osti, on r’commence-tu à zéro? »
Dernier refrain – les deux qui riment en même temps, chaos total
Cash-Noix (sur le toit du dépanneur, mégaphone en noix):
« J’te laisse la facture de nettoyage, 1,2 million, payable en peanuts rôties! »
Kev (couché dans l’beurre, téléphone cassé):
« J’va mettre du cayenne full fort dans l’prochain câble, vous allez chier des flammes, bande de ostis capitalistes à queue! »
Cash-Noix & la gang (en chœur, déjà en train d’partir en limo-écureuil):
« Trop tard, mon Kev, on a déjà miné ton IP, ton crédit est à nous, bienvenue dans l’ère des Noix! »
Beat drop final: bruit d’un camion Bell qui redémarre en crissant, couvert de beurre, avec une GoPro d’écureuil collée sur l’pare-brise qui filme encore

Le Câble de Fibre Optique, Sacrament!

Le Câble de Fibre Optique, Sacrament!.

Yo, listen up, this ain't no fairy tale, it's my hell in a cell,
Québec City streets turned nightmare, where the shadows swell.
I was slangin' pills, synthetics poppin' like fireworks in July,
Till these three beasts rolled up, eyes glowin', ready to make me cry.
First off, two giants, Jimmy and Johnny, built like tanks on paws,
Franky the runt barkin' orders, settin' off their jaws.
They in full leather, patches flashin'—Hells Angels, Raccoon City crew,
Bottom rocker "Raccoon City," top "Hells Angels," skull and wings too.
Spleen says "Shiva," diamond "0.1%," colors red and white blaze,
Bustin' through my door like T-Virus rage, leavin' me in a daze.
They knew every spot—under the floor, in the walls, behind the fridge,
Sniffed out my stash like pros, no mercy, no bridge.
Took all the chems, the meth, the tabs, the synthetic fire,
Left me with weed, hash, shrooms, opium—plant-based empire.
Counted my cash, precise as hell, snatched 10% for the Québec due,
Said, "Pay up or face the squirrels, punk—we watchin' you."
Feed the surveillance squirrels? I laughed, thought I was tough, no fear,
Ignored those bushy-tailed spies, sippin' my beer.
But oh man, they came back swingin', iced my porch with frozen spite,
Raided my pad, stole all the nuts, acorns gone in the night.
Woke me from dead sleep, cyan pepper blast to the face,
Burnin' eyes, chokin' lungs, squirrels dancin' in the haze.
Bling-wearin' rodents, chains and rings, aggressive as hell,
Jumpin' from trees, bitin' ankles, turnin' my life to a spell.
Public plaza attack, they swarmed like a furry storm,
Nippin' at heels, scratchin' arms, leavin' me torn.
I ran screamin' to the cop shop, beggin' for shield,
"Squirrels after me! Giants in vests! This ain't no drill!"
Babblin' my sins, admittin' the deals they never knew,
Local slanger spillin' guts, PTSD breakin' through.
Now I'm locked in this cage, starin' at walls that close in tight,
Refusin' to call it a dream, but giants and squirrels? That can't be right.
T-Virus twisted 'coons, enforcin' the Atlantic Union law,
Replacin' my poison with nature's high, leavin' me raw.
Yo, Jimmy's rage, Johnny's silence, Franky's sly command,
Turned my empire to dust, with a paw-print brand.
Squirrels in bling, watchin' every move I make,
Hauntin' my nights, keepin' me wide awake.
Québec City's fallin' to this furry regime,
Montréal city-state, NL joinin' the dream.
But me? I'm done, shattered soul in this pen,
Prayin' for peace, but the nightmares won't end.
Crazy? Yeah, but it's real—feed the squirrels or pay the price,
In this T-Virus world, where beasts rule the vice.

Local shift

Yo, listen up, this ain't no fairy tale, it's my hell in a cell,
Québec City streets turned nightmare, where the shadows swell.
I was slangin' pills, synthetics poppin' like fireworks in July,
Till these three beasts rolled up, eyes glowin', ready to make me cry.
First off, two giants, Jimmy and Johnny, built like tanks on paws,
Franky the runt barkin' orders, settin' off their jaws.
They in full leather, patches flashin'—Hells Angels, Raccoon City crew,
Bottom rocker "Raccoon City," top "Hells Angels," skull and wings too.
Spleen says "Shiva," diamond "0.1%," colors red and white blaze,
Bustin' through my door like T-Virus rage, leavin' me in a daze.
They knew every spot—under the floor, in the walls, behind the fridge,
Sniffed out my stash like pros, no mercy, no bridge.
Took all the chems, the meth, the tabs, the synthetic fire,
Left me with weed, hash, shrooms, opium—plant-based empire.
Counted my cash, precise as hell, snatched 10% for the Québec due,
Said, "Pay up or face the squirrels, punk—we watchin' you."
Feed the surveillance squirrels? I laughed, thought I was tough, no fear,
Ignored those bushy-tailed spies, sippin' my beer.
But oh man, they came back swingin', iced my porch with frozen spite,
Raided my pad, stole all the nuts, acorns gone in the night.
Woke me from dead sleep, cayenne pepper blast to the face,
Burnin' eyes, chokin' lungs, squirrels dancin' in the haze.
Bling-wearin' rodents, chains and rings, aggressive as hell,
Jumpin' from trees, bitin' ankles, turnin' my life to a spell.
Public plaza attack, they swarmed like a furry storm,
Nippin' at heels, scratchin' arms, leavin' me torn.
I ran screamin' to the cop shop, beggin' for shield,
"Squirrels after me! Giants in vests! This ain't no drill!"
Babblin' my sins, admittin' the deals they never knew,
Local slanger spillin' guts, PTSD breakin' through.
Now I'm locked in this cage, starin' at walls that close in tight,
Refusin' to call it a dream, but giants and squirrels? That can't be right.
T-Virus twisted 'coons, enforcin' the Atlantic Union law,
Replacin' my poison with nature's high, leavin' me raw.
Yo, Jimmy's rage, Johnny's silence, Franky's sly command,
Turned my empire to dust, with a paw-print brand.
Squirrels in bling, watchin' every move I make,
Hauntin' my nights, keepin' me wide awake.
Québec City's fallin' to this furry regime,
Montréal city-state, NL joinin' the dream.
But me? I'm done, shattered soul in this pen,
Prayin' for peace, but the nightmares won't end.
Crazy? Yeah, but it's real—feed the squirrels or pay the price,
In this T-Virus world, where beasts rule the vice.

Local shift.

Yo, écoute bien, c’est pas un conte, c’est mon enfer en cage,
Québec City, mes rues sont devenues cauchemar, tout l’temps en rage.
J’dealais des pilules, chimie pure qui pète comme feu d’artifice en juillet,
Jusqu’à c’que trois monstres débarquent, yeux rougeoyants, prêts à m’faire supplier.
D’abord deux géants : Jimmy pis Johnny, bâtis comme des chars d’assaut sur pattes,
Franky le p’tit qui jappe les ordres, déclenche leurs mâchoires en rafale.
Full cuir, patches qui flashent — Hells Angels, crew Raccoon City,
Bottom rocker « Raccoon City », top « Hells Angels », skull ailé qui crie.
Spleen « Shiva », diamant « 0.1% », couleurs rouge et blanc qui claquent,
Défoncent ma porte comme une rage T-Virus, me laissent dans l’black.
Y savaient tout : sous l’plancher, dans l’mur, derrière l’frigo,
Reniflaient mes caches comme des pros, zéro pitié, zéro ego.
Ont pris toute la chimie, meth, ecsta, tout l’feu synthétique,
M’ont laissé l’herbe, l’hash, les champis, l’opium — empire botanique.
Ont compté mon cash au cent près, pris 10 % pour la dîme Québec,
« Paye ou les écureuils t’trouvent, ostie — on t’regarde, tabarnak. »
Nourrir les écureuils de surveillance ? J’ai ri, j’me pensais tough, zéro stress,
J’ai ignoré les p’tits espions à queue touffue, buvant ma Molson en paix.
Mais caliss, y sont revenus en gang, ont glacé mon perron en pleine tempête,
Ont pillé mon appart, volé tous les nuts, glands disparus dans la nuit complète.
M’ont réveillé d’un sommeil de mort, poudre de piment de Cayenne en pleine face,
Yeux qui brûlent, gorge en feu, écureuils qui dansent dans l’espace.
Écureuils bling-bling, chaînes et bagues, agressifs comme l’enfer,
Sautent des arbres, mordent chevilles, transforment ma vie en calvaire.
Attaque en pleine place publique, y m’swarm comme une tornade poilue,
Me picosse les talons, me griffe les bras, me laissent tout écorché.
J’ai couru en hurlant jusqu’au poste de police, suppliant un abri,
« Des écureuils me traquent ! Des ratons géants en vestes ! Sauvez-moi, crisse ! »
J’ai craché tous mes péchés, avoué mes deals qu’y connaissaient même pas,
P’tit dealeur local qui vide son sac, PTSD qui m’faisait péter l’capot.
Maintenant j’suis en cage, barreaux froids, murs qui rapetissent,
Refuse de dire que c’était un rêve, mais des ratons capotés pis des écureuils gangsters ? Ça s’peut pas.
Raton laveurs T-Virus, qui imposent la loi d’l’Union Atlantique,
Remplacent mon poison par du naturel, me laissent psychotique.
Jimmy qui rage, Johnny qui parle pas, Franky qui dirige en king,
Ont réduit mon empire en poussière, marque de patte dans l’ring.
Écureuils en or qui surveillent chacun d’mes moves,
Hantent mes nuits, m’empêchent de dormir, zéro répit, zéro groove.
Québec tombe sous l’régime poilu, Montréal ville-État, Terre-Neuve embarque dans l’game,
Moi j’suis fini, âme brisée dans c’te cellule qui m’flamme.
Fou ? Ouais, mais c’est vrai — nourris les écureuils ou paye l’prix,
Dans c’te monde T-Virus, c’est les bêtes qui tiennent l’vice.
Tabarnak.

Shift local

Shift local.

(Verse 1 – Yo, the Setup)  
I was the firebug king, torchin’ rides left and right,  
Québec plates poppin’, lightin’ up the night.  
Whole province smellin’ like a barbecue gone wrong,  
Till the squirrels put my name in their little red song.  
Non-contributor list, yeah, I made the cut,  
No tribute paid, thought I was too tough.  
Then I hear the rumble—three Harleys so mean,  
Hells Angels raccoons, straight outta your worst dream.  
Jimmy revvin’ mad, Johnny built like a tank,  
Franky in the back yellin’ “I ain’t signin’ that, crank!”  

(Chorus – Squirrel Panic Attack)  
Now I’m in the precinct cryin’ like a fool,  
“Lock me up quick, them squirrels ain’t cool!”  
Pay the bushy mafia or get rostered for life,  
Every nut you skip is a stab from the knife!  
Crows laughin’ overhead, ravens stealin’ my fries,  
Mice in the vents plottin’, I see it in their eyes!  
Jimmy, Johnny, Franky—0.1% crew,  
Bottom rocker “Raccoon City,” top rocker “Fuck You!”  

(Verse 2 – The Two-by-Four Symphony)  
Door explodes—BOOM—Jimmy’s got a plank,  
Two-by-four swingin’ like a drunk lumberjack tank.  
“FUCK!”—smash—my TV flies through the wall,  
Goldfish doin’ backflips, lamp doin’ cartwheels, y’all.  
Franky’s dancin’ around like a hype man on crack,  
“Hit him again, Jim! He still owes the pack!”  
Johnny don’t talk, just lifts my couch one-handed,  
Found my pill stash—flushed it, now I’m stranded.  
They refill my drawers with Québec’s finest green,  
Hash bricks so fat they need their own zip code, scene!  

(Chorus – Squirrel Panic Attack)  
Now I’m in the precinct cryin’ like a fool,  
“Lock me up quick, them squirrels ain’t cool!”  
Pay the bushy mafia or get rostered for life,  
Every nut you skip is a stab from the knife!  
Crows laughin’ overhead, ravens stealin’ my fries,  
Mice in the vents plottin’, I see it in their eyes!  

(Verse 3 – Tribute Time, Nutty Beatdown)  
Jimmy spins the board like a helicopter blade,  
“Time to pay the squirrels, fire boy, upgrade!”  
I’m like “Acorns? Cash? What’s the fee?!”  
Franky grins, “Both, plus your dignity!”  
Squirrels in the trees droppin’ invoices like rain,  
One hits my forehead—boom—instant migraine.  
Johnny cracks his knuckles, the sound like a gun,  
I start stuffin’ twenties in a hollowed-out bun.  
Too late—rostered! Marked with a red X,  
Now every squirrel in the province wants my neck!  

(Bridge – The Great Nut Chase)  
I bolt out the back, trippin’ over my cat,  
Jimmy’s two-by-four whistlin’ “Where you at?!”  
Squirrels zipline from branches, ninja-style drop,  
One steals my shoe, another steals my sock.  
Crows dive-bomb, ravens mug me for change,  
I’m runnin’ through alleys lookin’ deranged.  
Cornered by the trio, bikes block both ends,  
Franky shrugs, “Shoulda paid, my friend.”  

(Verse 4 – Snitchin’ & Twitchin’)  
So I sprint to the RPD, screamin’ at the desk,  
“Arrest me now, my life is a mess!”  
Confessed to every fire, every match, every spark,  
But mostly I’m beggin’ for a squirrel-proof cell in the dark.  
Guard laughs, “Kid, you’re scared of rodents?”  
I whisper, “You ain’t met the ones with cutts and motives.”  
Now I flinch at every rustle, every chatter, every squeak,  
Paranoid legend—dude who got owned by critters for a week.  

(Outro – Moral of the Fur)  
Pay your squirrel tribute, stack them nuts real high,  
Or Jimmy’s two-by-four gonna teach you to fly.  
Raccoon City’s just a patch, but Québec’s their yard,  
And the squirrels run collections—believe me, it’s hard!  
From firestarter boss to a twitchy lil’ rat,  
That’s the ballad of the dude who forgot where the tribute’s at!

FireBug

FireBug.

BogueFue

https://www.spellhammer.ca
The Variant Music Studio provides, good music for our children and, everything else for the rest of us. 


As well as,
In memoriam:

François Michaud dit Saitonge 
1946 —> 8/19/1972
[François passed away on his motorcycle in Quebec, from being struck by a car. The driver was in a hurry to be somewhere and many felt the driver was likely intoxicated, the court ruling was otherwise.]

[Françis]
(R)(C)
—
A. Dawn K. 2012
I didn't know you well. You was my wife's daughter and my son's sister and I did the best I could. It's a shame you're not here. That you went home early. I hope you find this music and it brings you peace.

You called me dad, I thank you for that.

[Frank]
(R)(C)
—
Carolyn A. R. 1973-2016
"I was hoping to see you again Carolyn. I am, REALLY going to miss you.  Specially, your way of showing up the ways you did, for my entire life. I am going to miss that a, GREAT BIG, "A LOT!". My heart cries for you Carolyn. I, really hope you're able to enjoy this reggae music. I remember you telling me that you like reggae music. It is, the best I can do, given the way life is. I'm not ready to go home yet, Carolyn.  We will, see each other again though. I can promise you this much; our names might be different then, our lives will be different, but our faces, they will be the same, and "THAT!", that, is going to be a beautiful day. To see your pretty face, your hazel eyes, and hopefully, your awesome beautiful curly golden hair again. Rest well Carolyn. I'm sorry about the wait, it was never meant to be this way. All my best wishes to, Alice and Barry and the rest of the family." 

[Françis]
(R)(C)

General JFFL Saintonge
81 418 Général maintenance

Local shift

Spellhammer.ca ™

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