Crickets in My DMs” is a playful rap track about shooting your shot online and getting absolutely no response. Blending chill trap production with comedic timing, it captures the relatable vibe of being left on seen while still hyping yourself up.

Crickets in My DMs

“Gremlin Aura” is a chaotic, comedic rap track packed with zoomer slang, wild energy, and that unpredictable goblin-mode swagger. It captures the unhinged behavior of the friend who says the most out-of-pocket stuff imaginable while the squad sits in stunned silence. A bass-heavy, meme-rap banger that blends humor, internet culture, and raw feral vibes into one unfiltered anthem.

gremlin aura V2

An experimental brass-trap track combining meme-rap swagger with a comedic brass trio. Trumpet, trombone, and tuba interject with offbeat honks and slides over heavy 808 bass and laid-back trap percussion. A playful, character-driven sound that merges humor, internet culture, and horn-heavy production into a unique, energetic groove.

Brass JUICY JOHN THICK v2

A drunken gospel hymn for the sinners, the wanderers, and anyone who ever tried to pray their way out of a bad idea at 70 mph in a beat-up pink Cadillac.

“The Road Is Wide to Vegas” blends country church organ, honky-tonk swagger, and a little irreverent Sunday-morning humor.
A cowboy wakes up hungover in a pew, strays toward neon temptation, and somehow ends up praying in a smoking convertible with police lights behind him. A gospel song for people who definitely ain’t saints but hope God’s in a forgiving mood anyway.

If you like outlaw country, comedic storytelling, rowdy gospel organ, and dusty Americana, this one’s for you.
Turn it up, pour a drink, and let the road take the blame.

The Road Is Wide to Vegas

A song about two people who don’t really know each other, but somehow understand each other anyway.
That feeling of talking through screens, sharing real emotions with someone you’ve never met,
pouring your heart out to a person behind glass and an AI machine because it’s easier than saying it out loud.

Behind Glass is messy, honest, and a little too real—alt-rock energy with raw vocals,
heavy feelings, and that modern loneliness we all pretend isn’t there.
If you’ve ever typed out what you couldn’t say in person, this one’s for you.

Behind the Glass

A cinematic blend of blues, gospel, indie rock, and soul, this track follows a man clawing his way out of the smoke of who he used to be. “I was a ruffian, a shadow in smoke…” opens the door to a story of broken promises, empty hallways, and a heart learning to beat again.

Layered harmonies rise like a choir, washed in reverb and grit, while live drums and smoky guitars carry the weight of redemption. The chorus hits with gospel fire — a baptism through love, consequence, and grace that “cuts deep and don’t play nice.”

A psychedelic, acid-jazz-inspired guitar solo paints the outro as the narrator confesses the truth: he isn’t free yet, just fading slow, a reformed scoundrel without a destination.

A raw, emotional R&B-meets-indie-soul piece for anyone who’s lived hard, loved harder, and is still wrestling with the shadows behind them.

Wash me in rhythm

A song about someone I loved who moved on long before I did.
I thought I could do better… turns out I just ended up missing what I already had.
This track is about memory, regret, and those ghosted feelings that latch onto your skin long after the person is gone.
Background screams of ‘my skin’ and ‘ghosts’ echo the emotional ruptures behind the main vocal.
Hope this hits someone who’s been there too.

Still On My Skin — Echoes of You

Soulful country song about losing a good woman and realizing too late you weren’t the man she needed. I’m still driving an aging Civic and getting acquainted with the cold stainless bench of county jail after a DWI, while she’s building a life with someone better. A story about regret, ghosts, and the kind of love that stays under your skin long after she’s gone.

Cold Bench, Warm Ghosts

“Bored Again” is a slow-burning alt-rock breakdown about going numb in your own life.
The verses drag with muted, monotone vocals — like they’re sung through a cheap, dying microphone — capturing the dull routines, the beige mornings, and the quiet dread of feeling nothing at all.

As the pressure builds, the song erupts into a distorted emotional burst with bass-heavy drops and raw intensity.
A soundtrack for anyone stuck in the loop, staring at the ceiling, wondering when the spark died.

A mix of alt-rock grit, electronic tension, and the kind of exhaustion you can’t quite name.

Bored Again

Welcome to the first-ever Renaissance-Fair Trap anthem.
“Ren Fest Flexing” blends booming 808s with lute, mandolin, wooden flutes, tambourine, and fiddle — all wrapped in a goofy, swagger-packed D&D fantasy vibe.

A long-haired RenFest legend flexes on the grounds:
throwing D20s with one hand, munching a turkey leg with the other, faded on mead, puffin’ dragon smoke, shawty with elf ears staring smitten, ops rolling critical failures while he crits natural 20s all night.

It’s trap rap meets medieval bardcore, complete with deep slowed-down ad-libs, whimsical fairy whispers, and a falsetto mystical bridge.
If you’ve ever rolled dice at a tavern, hit a festival in costume, or walked around with too much chaotic energy — this one’s for you.

Turn it up, roll high, and stay Ren Fest Flexing.

Ren Fest Flexing

“Amante Ferida” é uma canção de dor, desalento e verdade crua.
Uma mulher percebe que perdeu o homem que amava para alguém mais jovem e mais doce — e agora bebe para tentar apagar o gosto amargo da traição.
Entre guitarras chorosas, voz carregada de emoção e um clima de madrugada solitária, a música retrata o momento exato em que o coração quebra silenciosamente.

Se você já sentiu o peso de amar alguém que não voltou, essa música é para você.

“Amante Ferida” is a song of heartbreak, bitterness, and raw honesty.
A woman realizes she’s lost the man she loved to someone younger and sweeter — and now she drinks to numb the sting of betrayal.
With weeping guitars, emotionally heavy vocals, and the atmosphere of a lonely late night, the song captures the exact moment a heart quietly breaks.

If you’ve ever loved someone who didn’t come back, this song is for you.

Amante Ferida

A throwback country tune with a whole lot of honesty and a little too much beer.
“Tired of My Own Sh*t” is a funny, self-roasting 70s/80s style country song built on fiddle, mandolin, and steel lap guitar — sung with that strong old-school masculine twang.

It’s all about being out of shape, out of breath, out of motivation, and somehow still crackin’ open another cold one instead of fixing anything.
If you’ve ever been tired of your own excuses but still sittin’ in that recliner… this one’s for you.

Warm analog vibes • Outlaw humor • Classic country instrumentation
Kick back, laugh at yourself, and hit play.

Tired of My Own S_'t

A lonely-road outlaw country ballad for anyone who’s ever run from their own past with nothing but a diesel engine, a dark highway, and a quiet cab full of thoughts.
“Highway Don’t Judge Me” rolls through the night in classic 70s–80s country style — warm analog tone, steel guitar cries, fiddle sweeps, and a strong masculine vocal telling the story of a man who finds more comfort in the open road than he ever found at home.

No preacher, no partner, no past mistakes can keep up with him out here.
Only the white lines, the hum of the engine, and the one friend that never asks questions:

the highway.

A moody, cinematic trucking ballad inspired by the quiet loneliness of late-night American roads and Hopper-style imagery.
Sit back, dim the lights, and let the road roll under you.

Highway Don’t Judge Me

Late-night Houston reflections slowed down to a crawl.
Purple Static lives in that hazy space where love, lust, regret, and temptation blur together under neon lights. Heavy on chopped-and-screwed energy, warped vocals, and syrup-slow bass, this track drifts through obsession, danger, and beauty with a deep, haunting delivery.

Record skips, reversed phrases, and drowned-out echoes mirror a mind stuck in loops—drawn to something toxic but unforgettable. This one’s for lonely drives, dim dashboards, and thoughts that won’t shut up when the city finally goes quiet.

Slow it down. Let it ride.

Purple Static

Neon lights, packed rooms, empty feelings.
Ain’t No Love in This Club drifts through a crowded night where everyone’s moving but nobody’s connecting. Slowed-down Houston energy, chopped vocals, and heavy reverb frame a story about loneliness hiding in plain sight—lust dressed up as love, noise drowning out truth.

The beat crawls while the words sink in, exposing the quiet sadness behind the party. This one’s for nights that look alive from the outside but feel hollow once the lights come on.

Slow songs for fast nights.
No love—just echoes.

Ain’t No Love in This Club

Some conversations only happen when the world gets quiet.
Oracle in the Cup is a confessional chopped-and-screwed reflection on fate, mistakes, and consequences—spoken to the bottom of a Styrofoam cup under flashing lights and rain-streaked windows.

Repo’d cars, probation rules, police lights, and family pain all blur together in a slow, heavy meditation on responsibility and regret. Part bad luck, part fate, part bad decisions—this track sits with the weight instead of running from it.

For anyone trying to read tomorrow while still paying for yesterday.

Oracle in the Cup

This one lives in the space between prayer and survival.
Peace or the Steel is a slow, chopped-and-screwed confession about a soul caught between faith, fear, and consequence. Momma prayed for peace, but the streets answered louder—blue lights flashing, choices weighing heavy, and forgiveness feeling just out of reach.

It’s a reflection on fate versus free will, bad luck versus bad decisions, and the pain of knowing you’re not the man you wanted to be—but still hoping God hears you anyway. Heavy reverb, dragged vocals, and syrup-slow bass turn this into a late-night prayer spoken under streetlights.

For anyone trying to hold onto faith while standing in the fire.

Humble Grifter

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