Wasp Hunt

Partyschwein fetzt! Groovy Beats und hotte lines, Schweinegeil!

Partyschwein (feat. Mary We)

Pillagers of the Elven Seas Gone Punk (Demo)

This is a special Revenge of the Sith of May edition of our dormant podcast where we talk about the 20th anniversary limited edition re-release of Star Wars Episode III — Revenge of the Sith. It's a wide ranging conversation that eventually touches on every thought any human being has ever had. It's way longer than we thought it would be. I'll add a list of some topics talked about when I get a chance. -jose

The Special Oobah Oobah Revenge of the Sith of May Episode

unclaimed

.
.
.
Lithospere is a one-man project by P∆N, that started in 2023 and lasted until 2025. The project aims to criticize and interpret artificial arts, imitating the mass layer. Hence the name of the project, which emphasizes the indispensability of humanity.
.
The tracks on the album do not feature a single real instrument, they were all made in a program called Guitar Pro 8. The cover was created by ChatGPT, in 2025.

SUBDUCTION

This is the breakfast.
Two rolls on a tray.
No butter that melts,
No joy in the day.
You wake with a hunger, a sparkle, a need —
But you’re served dry dough and fiscal greed.
No fruit, no egg, no gentle delight —
Just a crack from the crust and fluorescent light.

🎶 This is the breakfast —
Born of pure fear.
Designed by a man who won’t get near.
A breakfast so careful, so cruel, so tight,
It whispers: “You’re not staying another night.”
He counts the rolls like bars of gold —
Two per guest, no more — be bold! 🎶
(He watches. He knows. He smiles so small.)

There’s the butter — two cubes in a line,
Chilled to the core, refusing to shine.
The jam? A teaspoon, hermetically sealed,
A red little circle of nothing revealed.
No knife that cuts. No toast that sings.
Just the echo of value-stripped offerings.
A ritual of lack, perfected with pride —
By the man in the back who never once tried.

He built a system.
Two rolls. Two cups.
Two sighs per guest.
And no syrup.
Day after day, he stands and he stares,
While people chew slowly through breakfast despairs.
He could give more.
He won’t.
He never will.

🎶 This is the breakfast —
A shrine to control.
A minimal feast with maximum toll.
No yoghurt, no pastry, no slice of reprieve,
Just guests with wide eyes who silently leave.
He stands at the counter, proud of the lack,
And dreams of more savings
as they don’t come back. 🎶
(This isn’t stinginess. It’s strategy.)

He built a hotel,
with rooms full of air…
And a breakfast
that says:
"I don’t care."
No smile.
No jam that glows.
Just
Two
Rolls.
And he knows.

The Hotel Breakfast

And there stood Anton Pfeffer, the back-line bard,
Who wrote a soft sonnet — but passed it too hard.

We didn’t need poetry, we needed a wall.
But what we received… was our premature fall.

Joseph Švejk’s revenge – tears on the Austrian bench,
Anton Pfeffer’s back pass, a treacherous wrench.
To Klaus Lindenberger, in panic and clench —
Joseph Švejk’s revenge – tears on the Austrian bench.

Enter Michal Bílek, no mercy, no flair,
Just a penalty low, like a bureaucrat’s stare.
Thirty-first minute — remember it well,
The moment we tripped into group-stage hell.

No Krankl, no Prohaska, no legends to call,
Just Austria shrinking like paint on the wall.
Rodax looked haunted, Herzog looked pale,
Even the mascot gave up with a wail.

George Smith, the Scotsman, his whistle a dirge,
And Bílek, unblinking, began our purge.
Lindenberger dove, but too late, too wide,
As hopes for the Round of Sixteen just died.

Joseph Švejk’s revenge – tears on the Austrian bench,
That moment when faith took a merciless drench.
A nation reduced to an awkward clench —
Joseph Švejk’s revenge – tears on the Austrian bench.

From Vienna to Graz, we sat stunned in our chairs,
Clutching warm beer and muttering prayers.
While the Czechs took the field with socialist grace,
We fiddled with tactics like cream on the face.

Anton Pfeffer, forgive us if we sigh,
But your back pass still echoes in every Styrian cry.
The sun mocked us loud, in that Florentine dome,
As Italy watched — and we staggered home.

Josef Švejk's Revenge - Tears on the Austrian Bench

His voice assaults, and somehow… wins.

You pray for silence, maybe rain,
But here he comes with his refrain...

🎶 Germans number one, he shows how it’s done!
With a mic in his hand and a face like the sun.
No shame, no fear, no pitch control,
He warbles and conquers every soul.
Germans number one—your nightmare has begun. 🎶

He rhymes “moon” with “balloon”, then “heart” with “cart”,
You feel a small stroke in your brain and heart.
Yet grannies swoon and teens all cheer,
You shout “Why, God, why is he here?”

He sings of schnitzel and dreams of fame,
While every verse sounds just the same.
Still every chart he climbs with pride—
A Schlager beast, you cannot hide.

You change the station, break the dial,
But here he comes in Schlager style...

🎶 Germans number one, he shows how it’s done!
He sings like a kettle, but the damage is none.
With sparkle in eye and sequins that blind,
He’s the end of taste, yet the hope of his kind.
Germans number one—just try not to run. 🎶

Ooh baby… I serenade you…
Like a schnitzel in the sun…
I am your melody…
Your lactose-intolerant fantasy…

🎶 Germans number one, he shows how it’s done!
You beg for mercy, but he’s just begun!
He croons, he grunts, he fake-cries too,
And somehow that still charms a few.
Germans number one—Lord help us, he won. 🎶

Germans’ Number One

Woke up in Linz, heart full of cream,
Pastry for breakfast, life is a dream.
Calories callin', I’m givin' in,
Butter on my soul, sugar on my chin.
Church bells ring and strudel sings,
Every café's got forbidden things.
"Just one bite" — oh what a lie,
Three hours later, I can’t button my fly.

Bikinis cry, my jeans have snapped,
I’m doughy, slow, and proudly trapped.
No regrets, just jam and gin,
So let the cinnamon sins begin...

🎶 Let’s get fat! Avoid to be thin!
Open your mouth and dig it in!
Linzer Torte, kiss my skin —
Swallow the shame, let the feast begin!
🎶 Let’s get fat! Avoid to be thin!
Open your mouth and dig it in!
No turning back, no discipline —
Linz made me thick, and that’s my win!

Torte in the morning, cookies at noon,
Pastry parade got me howlin' at the moon.
The waiter smirks, says "One more slice?"
I say, "Load it up — don’t ask me twice."
I skipped the climb to the Pöstlingberg,
Wheeled up instead — what a juicy jerk.
Instagram's full of my dessert shrine,
Abs? Never had 'em. But look at this strudel line.

Schnitzel’s dead, this town’s for cakes,
Where dreams are made of butter lakes.
No abs, no shame, just dough and sin,
Now pipe that cream straight to my chin...

🎶 Let’s get fat! Avoid to be thin!
Open your mouth and dig it in!
Linzer Torte, kiss my skin —
Swallow the shame, let the feast begin!
🎶 Let’s get fat! Avoid to be thin!
Open your mouth and dig it in!
No turning back, no discipline —
Linz made me thick, and that’s my win!

Sweet defeat… in every bite.
Heavy love… through every night.
Let the frosting write my fate,
Pastry gods, don’t let me skate...

🎶 Let’s get fat! Avoid to be thin!
Open your mouth and dig it in!
Body’s a temple? Mine’s a bin!
Of jam and love and diet sin!

Let's Get Fat in Linz

Post your pain with a glittery quote 💅
Scroll, swipe, cry in the club — then post a laugh.

“Plastic World” is a glitch-pop meltdown for anyone drowning in fake smiles, scam culture, and the algorithm.

🧠 Stream it. 🎭 Vibe with it. 😵‍💫 Stupify yourself.

By Roi_Noob — for the chronically online.

Plastic World

Blubber

Bezkryloe Sushestvo

Sample of traditional Jewish folklore song "Hava Nagila". Israel isn't a real state. Free palestina dude

Hava Nagila

[Verse 1]  
Let’s find a time that works for all  
One team’s waking, one’s in a brawl  
I propose 8 AM CST  
But that’s 2 AM in Budapest  

[Chorus – steel drums and smooth sax]  
Timezone roulette, place your bet  
Will we meet or just forget?  
Add to calendar, roll the dice  
We might sync... in the afterlife  

[Verse 2]  
Some say “Wednesday,” some say “wrong”  
That date invite’s twelve hours long  
Outlook’s weeping, Google’s fried  
I’m three meetings deep, but dead inside 

Timezone Roulette

Blessings

Hey Roi_Noob here !

I’m a small songwriter that’s use SUNO AI to make my musics come to life.

I’m a French Canadian, so my song may be as French or English.

If you like what I do and would like me to create you some lyrics feel free to text me.

—————————————————————————

Hey moi c’est Roi_Noob !

Je suis un petit compositeur, qui utilise SUNO AI pour donner vie à ses chansons.

Je suis Québécois, donc mes musiques sont souvent sois en français, sois en anglais.

Si vous aimez mes chansons et que vous voudriez que je vous crée des paroles, n’hésitez pas à me contacter.

t h i s i s t h e u n o f f i c i a l ( o f f i c i a l ) i r o n i c t a l e s s o u n d c l o u d p a g e


< m a n a g e d b y o z o n e >

https://soundcloud.com/djofulssveinn-208739295

Nina & Jose are married and perform improv comedy at The Torch Theatre in Phoenix, Arizona. In this silly & dumb podcast titled Nina & Jose in Bed Discussing "Ironic" by Alanis Morissette, Nina & Jose are in bed analyzing & discussing the lyrics of "Ironic" by Alanis Morissette. The audio is raw AF — unedited and probably not sounding great — and has no intro and no outro. Enjoy the sounds of silence!

Lyricist, songwriter, and composer based out of Toronto, Canada.

New tracks tagged #Ironic