Four Teen Prophets

Four horsemen in hoodies
It's a teenage siege
Wiped their feat on my patience
Now they're ready to feed
Pizza

Napkins? No
But they sanctified my rug
With spilled cheddar glyphs
And consume soda like a drug

Dropping f-bombs like punctuation marks
They weave profanity together like an art
With mouths so foul they'd make my dead mom deader
And they sweat so much in their white yellow-turned sweaters

Cards on the table tap two summon cringe
Magic is gathering up a social fringe
My house is filled with my son's strange guests
Armed with dice they speak in lore and reek of quests

They're four teen prophets
No girlfriends no sun
They stack their mana and they'll never be done

They're four teen prophets
No girlfriends no sun
And I fear my boy is becoming one

One's a tower nearly 7 feet tall
He asked for allergy meds and drank it all
My two cats make him sneeze
But they won't make him leave
I'm thinking maybe I need three

He lifted my patio slab like it was nothing
I said you'd do great with a career in construction
You could build homes
He just glared like work was a curse
And flexed like the cover of a bad fantasy verse

Another's got a 'stache like a wet pipe cleaner
Pimples like runes on a Skyrim streamer
So I offered my advice to a dead stare dead air
They smell like Axe and the death of self-care

But they vanished at dusk with no thank you or bye
Like ghosts of Fortnite with a Mountain Dew high
The four weird friends of my son are just fine
And now my son is one of them so there's five

Five teen prophets with no car

Four Teen Prophets

A provocative 18-track journey through the boundaries of music, identity, history, and satire. Fusing global genres and eras — from 1930s Berlin cabaret and 1960s surf-pop to K-pop shamanic EDM and French chanson noir — each song dares to explore topics that others avoid: from repressed love and colonial legacies to bodily humor and media critique.

The album is a cinematic fusion of political storytelling, sexual allegory, cultural memory, and radical humor. You’ll hear Peking Opera vocals layered on dance beats, Philip Glass minimalism twisted with erotic repetition, and heartfelt reflections on war and exile interwoven with pop irony. Featuring multilingual lyrics in French, Russian, Hebrew, Vietnamese, Japanese, Korean, Italian, and Chinese, this album is a genre-defying cultural odyssey for listeners who crave depth, discomfort, and pure sonic art.

Track 13 אחוות דם

Track 9 洋鬼子 (Foreign Devils)

Track 11 김치 댄스 (Kimchi Dance)

Faced with obstruction? Eh...liquor shot? 

Liquor Shots

My Therapist’s Therapist Quit" is a raw, off-kilter blend of truth and satire, digging into the chaos of healing when even the professionals can't keep it together. With hypnotic production, vulnerable lyricism, and darkly comedic twists, this track is a sonic therapy session gone rogue—equal parts confessional and cathartic. Press play if you've ever been too much for someone who's supposed to handle "too much."

My Therapist’s Therapist Quit

“When Pigs Fly” ist ein bittersüßer Abgesang auf all die großen Versprechen, die nie gehalten wurden – und eine Hymne an alle, die daraus gelernt haben. Mit bissigem Witz, poetischer Schärfe und einem Refrain, der bleibt, dreht sich der Song um die Kunst, loszulassen und trotzdem gerade zu stehen.

Disco-Pop trifft Blues-Rock – zwischen Tanzfläche und staubiger Veranda wird hier Klartext gesungen.


“When Pigs Fly” is a bittersweet anthem for anyone who’s been burned and came out smarter. With razor-sharp wit, poetic flair, and a hook that sticks, the song calls out empty promises and walks away with pride.

Disco-pop meets blues-rock – this is straight talk between the dance floor and a dusty front porch.

When Pigs Fly

I started life with questions that had no answers.
Every turn felt like a map I had to draw myself.
Overgrown paths led to so many dead ends,
and long stretches where silence was my only friend.

I learned to stand on ground that wasn’t steady,
and to trust the weight of my own two hands.
Some doubts stayed with me like old friends.
But most I let fall behind.

After fifty years, you are the only things that feel certain.
The world spins, fast and strange,
but our roots know where the earth is warm.
We'll all huddle together, laugh, and ride out this storm.

Staring out the window at blurry yellow lines
from the back of a wood-paneled Ford Station Wagon
Skateboard wheels humming on cracked pavement.
Chased music with friends, indulged in some sonic joy.
I used to think chance ruled everything
until patterns surfaced in the noise.

I’ve planted things in poor soil,
only to watch the green push through.
If tomorrow is uncertain,
just build a small fire and keep it fed.

So if the water keeps on rising, 
and if the shouting never stops,
I want you to remember: the world is made by hands like ours.
What you choose becomes the shape of things.

I need to believe in our hands.
I need to believe in your hands.

Fifty years in, and you're the only things that feel certain.
The world spins, fast and strange,
but our roots know where the soil is warm.
We'll all huddle together, laugh, and ride out this storm.

Random is only random, until it finds a pattern.

I need to believe in our hands.
I need to believe in your hands.

Fifty Hits Fast

Pattern in the Noise

Thanks for Nothing (and Everything I Never Asked for)

Yesterday my razor died halfway through the crime,
Half my head went bald while the beard kept dragging time.
I looked like a TV nightmare from a trippy ’70s run,
Panic in my bones—this joke ain’t fun.

I grabbed a blunt old knife and tried to fix the wreck,
Carved at my own face till the mirror snapped my neck.
Gray on my chin, wild in my stare,
Twenty years younger at first glance—then… beware.

Oh Lord, oh Lord—what have I done?
Blood on the tiles, nowhere to run.
Oh Lord, oh Lord—I can’t go out,
The mirror laughs while I black out.

No way I’m walking streets looking like this mess,
Can’t pick up the kids like a horror in a dress.
Tomorrow is a wedding, the next day someone’s gone—
But I can’t face a soul with this face put on.

I can’t go out! I can’t go out!
What have I done? What have I done?

My darling—my new-found flame,
What will you see when I call your name?
I swore I’d take your hand and dance at the ball,
Now I’m hiding from the town, can’t face them at all.
Not welcome at the Zoo with this carnival head,
I’m a sideshow creature the crowd would dread.

Panic hits hard—what am I to do?
Could I glue back the beard? Could I glue back the ’do?
“Sure—it must work,” I said without a thought,
Grabbed the wrong tub… now curls I never bought.

Oh Lord, oh Lord—what have I done?
Hair set like concrete, nightmare won.
Oh Lord, oh Lord—I can’t go out,
Every pore is screaming loud.

Tape it? Staple it? Hide it with a hood?
Patchwork monster—does it do me any good?
Hands keep shaking, heartbeat drums—
This is the chaos a mirror becomes.

What have I done? (Say it!)
What have I done? (Say it!)
Can’t go out—can’t go out—
What have I done?!

Oh Lord, oh Lord—what have I done?
Glue and blood under a dying sun.
Oh Lord, oh Lord—I can’t go out…
Fade the lights—leave me with my shout.

Glue & Blood

you called to tell me / fun things you did / while i was in a coma / you called to tell me / you feel brand new / since i was in a coma / you called to tell me / all the fake news / while i was in a coma / you called to tell me / you liked me more / when i was in a coma / and... / you called to ask me / where's my head at? / the burden of waking up... / you called to ask me / how's the bedsores? / the horror of waking up... / you called to check me / which rabbit hole? / yeah, the bitch is waking up... / you called to ask me / some more bullshit / I"M DEAD so shut the fuck up

Written & performed by Casey Renee Kiser
©️RaVenGh o s+  Press 2025

Image credit: CRK by JTG ©️RaVenGh o s+  Press

Mov!ng On (the bedsore song)

Everybody knows a f**in’ Karen. The neighbor callin’ cops ‘cause your music too loud. The one wildin’ in the Starbucks line. The soccer mom with expired coupons and a death stare. Yeah… them.

This album is twelve rounds aimed straight at every Karen walkin’ the planet. Hood stories meet comedy, real talk meets clownin’. From the Karen at the country club to the one snatchin’ baseballs from kids — I put ‘em all on blast.

This ain’t just rap, it’s therapy. It’s gangsta, it’s funny, it’s disrespectful in all the right ways. 12 tracks, no mercy, all truth.

Welcome to Karen Season. And trust me… it’s open all year.

Link in Bio takes you to my Soundcloud where you can listen and download the album for free today. 2025-09-30 - Karen Season will be released on all other platforms.

Fuck U Karen!

Karen Season

Karen Season TWO

Karen Season THREE

Karen Season FOUR

Karen Season SIX

Anxiety is My Superpower takes overthinking and flips it into survival. The lyrics read like late-night journal entries, replaying every mistake and conversation until they become both torment and protection. Lines like “Every crooked line is spelling out my name” and “This panic is my bulletproof vest” capture the strange duality of living with anxiety — it tears you down, but it also keeps you sharp enough to endure. The chaotic bridge feels like a courtroom inside the mind, with self-doubt as the judge and jury, but it all circles back to the anthem chorus that turns weakness into armor. This song isn’t about escaping anxiety. It’s about owning it, confessing the mess, and finding strength inside the chaos.

Lyrics:

I don’t wear a cape, I don’t fly at night
I just lie awake rehearsing every fight
Three AM detective in my own cold case
Chasing down the evidence written on my face

Every word I said comes back in surround
Like a laugh track ghost that won’t calm down
Reading ceiling cracks like tea leaves of my shame
Every crooked line is spelling out my name

And yeah it’s exhausting, I can’t deny
But every breakdown builds me back up to thrive

Anxiety is my superpower
Keeps me wired every hour
It’s a curse, it’s a friend, it’s the voice in my head
But it saves me when I’m standing at the edge
Anxiety is my superpower
Burns my nerves but builds my tower
I’m a wreck, I’m a mess, but I’ll still confess
This panic is my bulletproof vest

Conversations on the operating table
Every laugh analyzed, every pause unstable
Scalpel thoughts carving through the day
But in the wreckage, I find a twisted way

I hate it, I need it, it cuts and it heals
A backseat driver steering all my wheels

Anxiety is my superpower
Keeps me wired every hour
It’s a curse, it’s a friend, it’s the voice in my head
But it saves me when I’m standing at the edge
Anxiety is my superpower
Burns my nerves but builds my tower
I’m a wreck, I’m a mess, but I’ll still confess
This panic is my bulletproof vest

What if, what if, what if, what if
Did I say that wrong? Do they think I’m fake?
Should I text back now or give it a break?
Play it back, slow it down, zoom in tight
Every second’s evidence in the court of my mind
But the jury’s just me, and the verdict is clear
I survived every failure that dragged me here

Anxiety is my superpower
Keeps me wired every hour
It’s a curse, it’s a friend, it’s the voice in my head
But it saves me when I’m standing at the edge
Anxiety is my superpower
Burns my nerves but builds my tower
I’m a wreck, I’m a mess, but I’ll still confess
This chaos is my safety net

I don’t wear a cape, I don’t fight crime
But I’ll analyze my way to the finish line

Anxiety is my Superpower

Daddy fixes cars on Saturdays,
Daddy makes the best spaghetti plates,
Daddy sings off-key but I don’t care,
He tells dumb jokes and he’s always there.

He can dance a little bit,
He folds the laundry, never quits.

So why does mom tell all her friends
That you’re impotent?
Impotent at what, daddy, impotent at what?
I don’t get it when they laugh so much.
Why does mom keep saying you’re impotent?
Impotent at what?

Daddy drives me home in the dark,
Daddy knows the best way through the park,
Daddy tells me stories late at night,
Even if they sometimes give me fright.

He can build a house of wood,
He can make me feel so good.

So why does mom tell all her friends
That you’re impotent?
Impotent at what, daddy, impotent at what?
I don’t get it when they laugh so much.
Why does mom keep saying you’re impotent?
Impotent at what?

She sips her wine, they laugh so loud,
I act like I don’t hear the crowd…
But I remember every word,
And now I sing it back to you.

Why does mom tell all her friends
That you’re impotent?
Impotent at what, daddy, impotent at what?
I don’t get it when they laugh so much.
Why does mom keep saying you’re impotent?
Impotent at what?

Impotent… at what?

Mom says Daddy is impotent

whole songs a joke dont cry,
Happy birthday 9-11 
(prod. neo22k)
i do not profit off this
LRYICS :
Little f****** caught groomin
And I’m tryna fuckin proove it
Yea u said he got an ego
Ima make him fuckin lose it
Yea spaz 12 shotty gonna make his ass move it
Keep that pistol on me
Ima make yo body flip
By my fuckin evil shit
Yea get the fuck out my face
Yea no one cares on gawd
On gawd on gawd
Yea no one cares on gawd
All these fuckin bitches and they treat me like a god
Yea come and shop wit me
You could live in luxuryyyy
I just woke up
feel so fuckin nauseous
pull up to the mall
Need some coffee I’m so tired
Paparazzi please just leave me the fuck alone.
Pull my fucking knife out
I feel like I’m Henry bowers
London bridge is falling down
Like the fuckin twin towers
I keep a fuckin blowtorch
Ima take a bloody shower
Home alone like Kevin
I feel like a fuckin servant
Kill myself cuz I deserve it.
Always dripping out my mind
Always feel like dying
Always feel like doing crime
Always doing crime
Hyper Vilonce on my mind
I ain’t tryna lie
I ain’t tryna fuckin dieeeee.

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY 9-11 @dabatt

The entire sound is in my hands. I write cyber poetry, produce, and compose every track — only in Immersive 3D. Every beat is crafted for spatial and next-gen headphones.
Intimate lyrics, total immersion, every track.

For 30 years I kept unfinished demos to myself, never letting them out. Now I finish what I start and release it the moment it’s alive.

Making music to roast my friends with love and compassion :)

Disclaimer: Any beats posted before 7.20.25, I do not own and I am not using any songs for commercial purposes. However, should the owner like me to take down any of their music I will happily comply, just shoot me a private message here. Any beats produced on or after 7.20.25 are all 100% AI generated.

I strive to create music that makes your eardrums smile.

Pre-save my new album out August 15th called Flinch, Then Ignite:  https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/shiitakeproducts/flinch-then-ignite

I built Shiitake Products because the world needed a home for beautiful nonsense and soul-splitting truth.

- Sometimes that looks like a dancefloor meltdown at 2am.
- Sometimes it’s a button that says “Mildly Okay Human.”
- Sometimes it’s a whispered hymn to grief.

It’s all real. It’s all me. This is my multiverse—and you’re invited.

Here, AI collides with human emotion to create music that actually means something.
From dark trap bangers to cinematic alt-rock anthems, from emo-folk confessionals to glitch-satire ballads—every track is a story, a mood, a moment.
Not built for algorithms.
Built to feel.

🎧 Genres? Trap. EDM. Alt-rock. Rap-rock. Folk. Comedy. Chaos.

🧠 Themes? Rage. Love. ADHD spirals. Existential dread. Healing. Heartbreak. Hope.

🎯 Mission? To punch through the noise—and hit something real.


🔥 Want your story turned into a song? I do that.

🎁 Every listen helps fund more sonic experiments, more weird merch, and more beautiful noise.

🔗 Links:
🎶 Spotify: open.spotify.com/artist/7Hk4B9nLJs5XwqQEqOdMaU
🍎 Apple Music: music.apple.com/us/artist/shiitake-products/1766960367
☕ Support / Custom Songs: ko-fi.com/shiitakeproducts
🌐 More chaos: shiitakeproducts.com

⚠️ Marketers & "design bros" beware: I will waste your time on purpose.

🎶 Supporters’ Wall 🎶
This music lives because of you.
A huge thank you to everyone who helps me keep creating – every cup of coffee keeps the sound alive.

💛 Current supporters:
	•	KAT → @kat_space
	•	Mrdj81 → @mrdj81
	•	Your name
	•	Your name
	•	Your name

Want to join the wall? → buymeacoffee.com/marol

🤝 Big love to the amazing artists I’ve had the honor to collaborate with:

	•	KAT → @kat_space
	•	Mrdj81 → @mrdj81
	•	Harry → @harry-jackson-6
	•	Ōkami  → @lgnd-5hade

Music for the last drive you’ll ever take, in a car that never returns.

Singer + Rapper
L.A Vibes | Worldwide vision
@ijamz.music

International Music Composer/Producer, Author, Radio Host & Spiritual Counselor

PUNK POET*CONFESSIONAL QUEEN👑
✨🐌SNAIL WHISPERER🐌LYRICIST✨
FEARLESS INDIE:  I  AM  snail viXen.

(sometimes lyrical) PUNK POETRY
           xxx  DIY till' I DIE   xxx

🖤RaVenGh o s+  Press:
https://gutterkissesforyou.etsy.com
ESCAPE from NARC ISLAND avail now✨
Casey Renee Kiser's work (a.k.a. snail viXen) closely examines mainstream’s distorted ideas of beauty.
Always quirky and armed with bold confessional dynamite, her humor is uncompromising, often abrupt and unsettling. Her poems explore identity, emotional abuse, and healing from complicated relationships. She resides in a magical place called The Crystal Garden. Come on over, we have cookies ;) and healing, through dark poetry.
🖤At RaVenGhost Press, 
we work w/ the Darkness <
> to better understand the journey.
We say, Tell your story. 
Get it all out then,  let it go!
Don't take it with you. 
It's too heavy to carry up the mountain.

( or the mushroom, if you're a snail ;)

Disclaimer: 
I don't perfect my songs. They are art the way they come out. They are about the lyrics, not perfection.
✨Lyricist for Hire

Das Projekt KIRox startete im Juni 2024. Hier werden Songs mit KI (AI) erstellt. Die Textideen und -nachbearbeitung sind von mir selbst, und werden meist über ChatGPT erstellt. Die Songs werden anschließend über die Plattform von Suno.com generiert.

The KIRox project launched in June 2024. It creates songs using AI. I provide the lyrics and post-production, mostly via ChatGPT. The songs are then generated via the Suno.com platform.

KIRox findest du auch auf /You can also find KIRox on:
Spotify, Deezer, Apple Music and YouTube Music.

New tracks tagged #Dark Humor