-Credits-
Written By: Kaize, Dez, and David Daze
Produced By: David Daze
Mixed By: David Daze

Down

Down (feat. Dez & David Daze)

This dark, soulful pop ballad infused with blues elements is an emotional epic—one that delves deep into the raw, tumultuous terrain of human resilience, unity, and redemption. Performed by a powerful female vocalist with a voice that bleeds sincerity and strength, the track fuses haunting minimalism with soaring melodic swells, crafting a sonic atmosphere that is at once intimate and cinematic.

The song opens with a whispered, sultry monologue layered in subtle reverb, setting a tone both mysterious and poetic: “She prayed for peace… But all the gods were silent. So I answered instead… Not as an angel—But as her demon.” These lines serve not just as a chilling prelude, but as a metaphorical statement about the contrast between divinity and humanity—the divine silence in the face of chaos, and the flawed but determined mortal response.

The first verse immediately grounds us in the ashes of destruction: a world unraveling beneath the weight of blindness and emotional numbness. But within the darkness, the song uncovers light—not a passive hope, but an earned, battled-for kind. Lyrics like “In the darkness, we saw the light / United by fear, we chose to fight” reveal the duality of trauma and triumph. The vocal performance in this section is controlled but emotionally loaded, capturing both fragility and defiance.

As the first chorus rises, the instrumentation expands with gospel-like harmonies and subtle blues guitar licks, underscoring the central theme: “I’m only human, after all.” It’s not an excuse—it’s an anthem. Human limitation is not a weakness here, but a catalyst for communal strength. The message is clear: despite devastation, unity and courage can prevail.

The second verse brings in vocal stuttering—“I-I-I-I d-d-don’t b-b-believe”—as a deliberate emotional device, signaling hesitation, trauma, and suppressed truth breaking through. It's a raw moment that adds authenticity and texture to the narrative. Here, the production adds tension with swelling pads and distant choral echoes, while lyrically, the fire metaphor dominates: hate is tempting, but love is chosen. As the world burns, the heart resists—“Yet compassion burned bright instead.”

The second chorus feels more urgent and redemptive, lifting higher both vocally and emotionally. With the flames as a backdrop, hope is no longer a fragile thing—it’s a force of survival. This chorus emphasizes emotional elevation: “Together we healed, extinguished hate.” The production might introduce layered background vocals, earthy percussion, or distorted synth textures, highlighting the sonic evolution of the track.

In Verse 3, the song transcends linguistic and geographic boundaries, transitioning into a bilingual reflection. Alternating between English and German, it expands the message to a global level: “Hearts united, souls set free / Herzen vereint, Seelen befreit.” The shared language becomes music itself—a universal rhythm of human connection. The instrumentation here may soften momentarily to spotlight the lyrics, then build gradually toward a final emotional crescendo.

The final chorus is nothing short of transcendent. The structure of the music mirrors the lyrical message—this is the climax, both musically and thematically. Every previous element converges here: the imagery of fire and flood, the invocation of language and silence, and the recurring declaration of shared humanity. “We rose as one, hearts aligned / In love and unity, our souls entwined.” The production likely reaches its fullest here—layered instrumentation, sweeping harmonies, and a resolute vocal performance that asserts: despite everything, we survived—and we did so together.

After All

This track is a blistering lyrical onslaught—a fusion of raw personal testimony, elite wordplay, and multilingual aggression. It chronicles the journey of an Icelandic-born warrior who battled from the frozen tundras to the depths of naval warfare, from flipping eggs in the galley to earning a white coat in medicine, all while keeping a mic lit with prophetic fire. It's not just a rap; it's a declaration of survival, transformation, and spiritual vengeance.

Opening with a razor-sharp intro, the artist sets the tone with “Yo, check my vitals—mind’s in overdrive…”, immediately placing the listener inside the mind of someone too fast, too real, and too volatile to ignore. The first verse is a snapshot of the past, blending mythic references with hard-earned confidence—“Tengo fuego en mi lengua, soy el trueno del verso” affirms his bilingual dominance, while “Even pressure make diamonds when the beat goes cold” reminds us that greatness is forged under stress.

The first chorus is an aggressive mantra of resilience and purpose: “I breathe in lightning, exhale pain…”—a nod to the energy that fuels every bar and the pain that drives every performance. The second verse accelerates into high-gear with a staccato, high-speed delivery, showcasing the artist’s tongue-twisting mastery and mental sharpness. Lines like “I’m wired with wires that spark when I'm writin'” fuse imagery of technology and divine fury, reinforcing the theme of being more than human—a living cipher coded for chaos.

The second chorus strips back the bravado for a darker, more introspective edge, revealing that the true cost of success is isolation and emotional scars. It gives way to Verse 3, a reflective bilingual section that puts trauma front and center. Spanish lines like “Las heridas que cargo no tienen reverso” ("The wounds I carry have no reverse") dive deep into the emotional toll of resilience and rise.

The third chorus lifts everything with a triumphant, almost mythic tone—“I rose with the flame, I broke every chain…”—a victory cry for anyone who’s ever clawed their way out of the abyss with blood on their hands and fire in their chest.

Then comes the bonus section—a raw, unfiltered origin story told in brutal, personal detail. Born in Iceland and hardened by the unforgiving elements, the artist raps about earning U.S. citizenship, joining the Navy, surviving mental warfare, and finding redemption through love and medicine. The line “Hands that healed came from hands that bled” becomes a thesis for the entire track: this isn’t about stardom—it’s about turning suffering into salvation.

The aggressive chorus with a stutter effect mirrors the mental glitches, trauma, and the firestorm of emotion that defined the artist’s rise. “Y-y-you shoulda known I was comin’…” hits like a war chant—bold, defiant, and unrelenting. This leads into Verse 2, a bilingual, venomous clapback against fake prophets and social media egos, where legacy matters more than likes: “Fuck clout, I want legacy / I want gods to remember me.”

The second alternate chorus rides in on a haunting melody and underscores the battle-worn transformation with surgical precision—“Now I walk through fire in a patient’s shirt” symbolizing the duality of healer and warrior.

The final outro closes with a cold, calm dagger to the throat: “So next time you mention the name, speak with respect.” The final line—“Now my prophecy loud — remember my words”—cements the track as a personal gospel, a record of pain, defiance, healing, and fire that won’t be forgotten.

This song is more than music—it's a legacy in motion, a lyrical warpath through trauma, triumph, and truth.

Pulse of Prophet

FIESTAS TXANTREA '25

"Last of My Legacy" is a searing, soul-bearing trap-rap masterpiece by TDC—a female artist unafraid to bleed truth into the mic. Born from unspeakable loss and hardened by generational grief, this track is a battle hymn for the broken, the left-behind, and the ones still standing. Carved from pain and delivered with venom, “Last of My Legacy” honors the dead not with tears, but with bars—each one forged from real wounds and real strength.

The opening line hits like a gunshot: “I lost my father, mother, brother, sister, grandmother Grandfather. I’m the last of my fucking legacy.” There’s no filter, no warm-up—just trauma laid bare, raw and unflinching. With that one sentence, she sets the stage: this isn’t a story of survival—it’s a warning to the world that even alone, she’s a force. She’s not broken. She’s built different.

In Verse 1, TDC takes us into the memories. Her father taught her grit, her mother gave her the gift of voice, her brother taught her to fight, her sister helped her feel, and her grandmother instilled spiritual fire. All of them are gone—but their fingerprints are all over her identity. Her voice is heavy but precise, filled with emotional weight. There’s no room for pity—just legacy. Grief is her inheritance, and she’s wearing it like armor.

The first chorus punches hard: “I ain’t ask for this crown, I was born in the flame. Buried love in the dirt, rose up through the pain.” It’s a battle chant laced with trauma and triumph. Each chorus in the song is unique, crafted to reflect her shifting emotional states—rage, reflection, resolve. She doesn't cry over their loss—she becomes their resurrection.

Verse 2 delivers a chaotic energy, using the stutter effect to show mental fragmentation. Her cadence glitches, stumbles, and then bites down with fury. It’s like hearing grief break through clenched teeth. She calls out those who glamorize trauma for clout. There’s nothing poetic about funerals, nothing aesthetic about loneliness. This verse is her breaking point—and her breakthrough.

The second chorus slows down, allowing a vulnerable tone to rise: “I’m the echo in the room, I’m the silence in their names. I’m the bloodline they forgot, I’m the fire that remains.” It’s haunting and melodic—a spiritual moment where she connects with the dead, reminding listeners that though they’re gone, their essence fuels her every move. It’s not just memory—it’s inheritance.

Verse 3 is a poetic gut-punch. She confesses the weight of being the last—of shouldering a name, a story, a future alone. There’s strength here, but also mourning. She speaks about photos that no longer have context, birthdays that pass quietly, and pain that has nowhere to go but into her lyrics. Grief doesn’t end. It transforms. And she’s living proof.

In Verse 4, she weaves in her cultural background, shouting out the women who raised her and the spirits that protect her. Her tone shifts from reflective to defiant. She’s not just surviving—she’s rewriting the bloodline. She spits with purpose: “My pain ain’t pretty, my scars ain’t for show. This legacy don’t fade, I make it glow.” It’s one of the most powerful moments on the track.

Each chorus evolves, taking on different tempos and emotions. The final chorus is like a thunderclap: “You don’t earn this voice in a studio booth. You earn it in courtrooms, hospitals, truth.” It’s the sound of a woman who’s been through it all and is still unshaken. She doesn’t just rap—she testifies.

And then comes the outro, cold and final: “You should’ve known my legacy wasn’t ending… Bitch, you should’ve known.” It’s a closing door, a final breath, and a warning shot all in one. She doesn’t ask for recognition—she takes it. Her presence alone is proof that the story isn’t over. In fact, it's only beginning.

Last OF My Legacy

“Fueling the Fire” is a two-part emotional rap epic by TDC, blending aggressive trap with soft screamo and raw vulnerability. Across its full arc, the song delivers a visceral, human experience—a descent into rage and trauma that slowly transitions into healing, love, and rebirth.

Part I begins as an explosive confession, laced with pain, profanity, and fury. It’s a cathartic purge of everything the artist has lost and endured. The production is heavy with bass and industrial percussion, fused with sporadic melodic breaks and soft screamo segments that heighten the emotional turbulence. TDC’s lyricism in this section is both brutal and poetic, leaning into sophisticated wordplay and college-level vocabulary to depict grief, abandonment, rage, and mental fragmentation. Verses oscillate between haunting reflection and manic expression, using elevated language not to hide emotion, but to articulate it in layers—making listeners feel every angle of her truth.

The hooks vary in style and structure, never repeating, reflecting the ever-shifting storm of thoughts in the artist’s mind. Her verses show a human teetering on the edge—grappling with betrayal, internal demons, and societal pressures—while the transitions into soft screamo scream with emotional honesty rather than performative anger. There's nothing artificial here. It's not just rap. It’s therapy through music. The outro to Part I leaves listeners in the ashes of rage, holding only silence and unresolved pain.

Then comes the shift.

Part II opens with a line that feels like a sigh after the storm:
"But wait… it’s not all bad through loss of life. God put in their place someone to replace."
The tone transforms. The instrumental slows, and in place of dissonance comes ambiance. The once-erratic drums soften into heartbeat patterns. And the voice that once roared now speaks with reverence.

Here, TDC introduces the soul who reignited her—her wife.

The second half of the song becomes a love letter written in lyrical gold. TDC raps and sings about loyalty, truth, and emotional intimacy with profound maturity. Every word feels carefully chosen to honor the one who brought peace into her storm. She paints her wife not as a savior, but as a mirror—someone who reflects her best self even when she forgets what that looks like. The language remains complex and articulate, yet deeply accessible to anyone who has known the redemptive power of real love.

A standout feature in Part II is a full verse in Russian, offering an intimate moment that feels personal, sacred, and untranslatable in its emotional weight. It’s a direct message to her wife—soft in tone but massive in meaning. This cultural and linguistic shift adds depth and authenticity, solidifying how real and far-reaching their bond is.

The final chorus blends soft screamo with a tender melody, creating a climax that fuses both halves of the song: pain and peace, rage and love, destruction and rebirth. It doesn’t feel like a “happy ending” as much as it feels like evolution.

The final line of the track says it all:
"You don’t just fuel the fire… you are the fire. And in your flame, my soul found its reason to survive."

"Fueling the Fire" is more than a song. It’s a journey through grief, identity, healing, and the rawest form of love. It doesn’t just tell a story—it lives it. TDC shows that through unfiltered expression, artistic risk, and sophisticated lyricism, music can transcend genre to become something painfully, beautifully human.

Fueling T The Fire

"F.Y.F (Fuck Your Feelings)" is not just a track—it’s an eruption. Written by TDC and featuring the unleashed voice of Britney, the alter protector within her Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) system, this song is a full-frontal rage anthem and therapeutic outburst for anyone who’s been hurt, used, misunderstood, or taken for granted. It’s a scream from deep within—raw, furious, and unfiltered.

The song opens with an eerie callout:
“Hey Britney… yeah, you. Want to express yourself?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
And from that moment, Britney grabs the mic—and all hell breaks loose.

Britney is the voice you hear when TDC’s done being polite. When fake apologies, passive-aggressive insults, and manipulative lies have piled too high, Britney doesn’t ask for space—she takes it. She names names in spirit:

The crybabies who weaponize their sadness.
The bitches who smile in your face but rip your soul out behind closed doors.
The hoes who act like victims but play predators.
The pussies who throw rocks and run when challenged.
It’s rage. It’s protection. It’s power.

Set against a dark, grinding trap beat with echoing distortion and militaristic pacing, the verses tear through insecurities and betrayals like bullets against a steel-plated vest. Every tear becomes a scar. Every scar becomes a trophy. Every word a weapon.

Throughout the song, TDC uses vivid imagery to express the emotional labor of always being strong for others, while her own feelings are disregarded.
“I take their shots—deadass like I’m bulletproof / Each tear’s a decoration in the war I lose.”

The middle section of the song slows briefly, not to calm the storm, but to pull the listener deeper into the mental warzone. It’s a dark introspection about what it means to carry everyone’s pain while having no room for your own. TDC illustrates the torment of being emotionally chained up—whether she speaks up or stays silent, it always ends with her bleeding.

As the song explodes again, Britney unleashes her final attack—reclaiming her space, drawing the line, and daring anyone to cross it.

The outro leaves a chilling mark:
A moment of silence… for the haters. Hope that silence reminds you—you never broke me. You made me."

F.Y.F

Mix Pumping Tribe 168bpm
Reprise du mix après des mois sans toucher a mon controler.
Dommage que je sois qu'un putain de tdc mdr

Mix Pumping Tribe - "dommage que tu sois qu'un putain de tdc"

"Star Citizen" by TDC ft. Jessica is more than just a rap anthem—it’s a galactic declaration. Inspired by the boundless universe of Star Citizen, this track plunges you into the outlaw syndicate lifestyle lived by the notorious TDC faction. Every verse flows like quantum fuel through stealth thrusters—aggressive, sleek, and calculated.

At the helm of this formidable organization is Tiny, known across the 'verse as the Queen of TDC. She's the creator, the ruler, the heartbeat of this elite syndicate. With her commanding presence and a mind sharper than a disruptor cannon, Tiny built TDC from space dust into a faction of feared pirates and respected traders. She doesn't just run TDC—she is TDC.

This song tells the story of a rogue pilot living that pirate life, patrolling asteroid belts, waiting for targets, and making moves with surgical precision. It's an anthem for every renegade player out there, especially those who fly blacked-out corvettes and speak in code over encrypted comms. It captures the thrill of zero-G heists, the tension of cloaked ambushes, and the relentless grind for dominance.

The RSI Perseus, featured as the centerpiece of the cover art, is the ship of legend. Satin black hull for maximum stealth. Ghosted engines for silent strikes. Armed to the teeth with twin hammer-class turrets and reinforced armor plating, this ship isn’t just a tool—it’s a weaponized statement. It's Tiny’s throne in the stars, and her enemies learn quickly: you either pay her price, or you vanish.

Jessica adds a fierce edge to the track, representing the unwavering loyalty within the crew—every line she spits is a warning, a code, a tribute to the life they've chosen. The chemistry between TDC and Jessica mirrors the synergy of a well-coordinated drop-in strike: precise, brutal, and beautiful.

Lyrically, "Star Citizen" weaves references to in-game lore with real-life metaphors. It’s intellectual but raw, dense with double entendres and polished like a high-tier power plant. It’s a celebration of the grind, the hustle, and the risk of being a space outlaw with style.

This is more than a song. It’s a digital legacy. It’s a message to every citizen of the 'verse: TDC is here. We fly silent. We strike loud. We never miss.

Star Citizen

"Good Men, Foul Bitches, Hoes & Walking Contradictions" is not just a song—it's a raw, unapologetic lyrical manifesto. TDC and Jessica dive deep into the emotional battleground between modern relationships, respect, and the unraveling of what it means to be a “man” in a world filled with weaponized femininity.

This track unfolds in four dynamic movements, each building in intensity, intellect, and impact. With no filters and no apologies, it speaks to the silent emotional suffering of good men, and the chaotic hypocrisy of the women who tear them down while expecting them to still stand tall.

Part 1: The Soft Beginning / The Molten Core
It begins gently, almost like a lover’s letter—a thank-you to the good men who continue to give love despite being disrespected, misjudged, and emotionally drained. The only chorus in the entire composition praises their patience, heart, and strength. But like lava beneath ice, the tone shifts—rage surfaces. Jessica explodes with college-grade insults, fury, and explicit language targeting the “foul bitches” who turn devoted lovers into broken monsters. She calls them out for disrespecting loyalty, for treating men like disposable tools, and for expecting servitude with no reciprocity. The message is brutal but deeply honest.

Part 2: The Breakdown – “Why Men Leave”
Now the track gets analytical and surgical. Jessica, still in full flame, breaks down exactly what a man's silence means. It's not weakness. It’s control. It's love holding back rage. Each line tears through the misunderstandings and manipulation tactics some women use, showing that when a man walks away, it’s often because he's too strong to hit, too wise to stay, and too broken to speak. This part is clinical rage, still poetic, but soaked in truth.

Part 3: The Schooling – “You Think You Don’t Need a Man?”
This part is the heart and soul of the project. Jessica, now the narrator of wisdom, speaks from a first-person feminine perspective, showing how to treat a man right. She speaks of honoring his efforts, loving him in silence, supporting him emotionally, and not cutting down his masculinity. This is no pick-me speech—this is the voice of a woman who understands the value of a good man and refuses to let society demonize him. She lays out everything men want but are afraid to ask for. Every bar hits home—spiritual intimacy, emotional safety, quiet respect, peace of mind.

This isn’t just a diss song. It’s a call to emotional justice. It’s a war cry for good men to stand tall and for toxic women to self-reflect. It’s an aggressive warning: real love has limits. Even the kindest hearts get fed up.

TDC and Jessica don’t just perform—they embody the very emotions most people are afraid to admit. Every line is lived experience. Every verse is a therapy session turned into sonic warfare. This is horror, this is heartbreak, this is holy rage.

It’s real.

Good Men, Foul Bitches, Hoes & Walking Contradictions

“Level Up (Jessica Heat)” isn’t just a remix — it’s a lyrical power play. Inspired by Ciara’s original empowerment anthem “Level Up,” Jessica takes the concept to new territory, weaving autobiographical truths, fiery rap flows, and elite-level bars into a two-part track that builds from emotional storytelling into full-throttle sonic combustion.

Where Ciara brought bold dance vibes and female empowerment through infectious chants, Jessica brings fire and intellect, sharpened with aggressive cadence, trap influence, and explicit truth. Every word hits like a shot of adrenaline—there’s no filler, no filter. It’s growth told through raw grit.

But this remix has a backstory of its own. Jessica’s wife, TDC (a fellow artist and lyrical juggernaut), made a bet:
“I bet you can’t nail that Nicki voice.”
Jessica took that personally. The result? A relentless vocal delivery channeling the theatrical boldness of Minaj—but with her own style. She didn’t just nail the voice, she owned it. TDC lost the bet. Badly. And the fire behind that challenge is felt in every line.

The first half starts strong, but elegant—an acknowledgment of humble beginnings. Jessica opens up her story with confidence but calm: a girl born into chaos, platinum blonde, crystal-eyed, seen as cute by the world but forged internally by storms.

Her words float but punch. There’s something soft in the cadence, but the bars land heavy. From childhood to the moment she steps into womanhood, she makes it clear: she’s self-made. No silver spoon. Just scars, brilliance, and the will to evolve.

Here’s where the track erupts. With the chant "Ay, ay, ay...", Jessica transitions into a moment of pure energy. Every “level up” becomes a new verse and chapter in her evolution:

Birth: A prodigy born into sin, turned powerhouse.
Education: From school to dual degrees, stacking PhDs and bachelor’s like trophies.
Love: Proposing to and marrying her wife—dropping $12K on a ring, not for flex but for forever.
Service: Joining the Navy, mastering every skill from cooking to combat.
Navy SEAL: Earning elite status through grit, not luck—becoming unstoppable.
Medicine & Legacy: Using her education to save lives, fulfilling a dream, and preparing for the next phase.
But what truly sets Part Two apart is the increase in her rap speed.
Her verses double in pace, the rhythm becomes more intricate, but her delivery stays crystal clear. This isn’t just for hype — it’s a calculated display of how Jessica’s brain doesn’t skip a beat. Her flow doesn’t lag, trip, or miss. It mirrors her real-life cognitive power — the same mental sharpness that earned her doctorates and elite military status.

She uses this speed to energize, intimidate, and inspire. It’s her trademark.
Many of her tracks showcase this—where others stumble, she accelerates. It’s more than flow; it’s a cerebral weapon.
She doesn’t rap fast to impress.
She raps fast to prove that her mind is miles ahead.

THEME & DELIVERY
"Level Up (Jessica Heat)" is empowering and ruthless.
It speaks to discipline, resilience, and authentic transformation. This remix goes beyond glow-up culture—it’s about fighting, building, surviving, and becoming something dangerous, beautiful, and unforgettable.

Where Ciara’s was a party, Jessica’s is a march.
A war cry in stilettos.
A love letter to growth wrapped in TNT.
She levels up not for fame—but for survival, for legacy, and for love.

Level up

“Drop a Gear & Disappear” by TDC ft Jessica is more than just a high-octane anthem for riders — it’s a lyrical homage to the raw adrenaline of the road and the tight brotherhood (and sisterhood) found in the rider community. Inspired directly by a TikTok comment on a preview video for “Adrenaline,” this track was born out of real connection, real speed, and real emotion.

The phrase “Drop a Gear & Disappear” hit like thunder — it encapsulated everything TDC had been writing about: that split-second decision to twist the throttle and vanish from fear, pain, and the bullshit of everyday life. What started as a comment quickly became a concept, then a mission. This track answers that call with hard-hitting trap production, distorted 808s, and fast-switch verses that reflect the chaos and clarity found in motion.

Jessica leads the vocals with her signature aggressive yet poetic delivery, rapping from the seat of a sportbike as if her life depends on it. The lyrics touch on themes of:

Group rides and loyalty — “We don’t leave each other behind.”
Running from trauma and cops — “Sirens in my mirrors, but my speed got no regrets.”
Deadly crashes and unbreakable resolve — “We crash hard, love harder, and keep fucking riding.”
Whether it’s the rush of flying through tunnels at night, the wind trying to rip your soul from your body, or the code of the road between riders who live by risk, this song is a call to every rider who finds therapy in chaos and peace in horsepower.

The title is repeated like a mantra throughout the track — a declaration, a coping mechanism, and a war cry. “Drop a gear… and fucking disappear.” It’s an escape and a comeback rolled into one throttle-happy scream.

At its core, this track stands as part of a larger body of work in the “RPM For Blood” album — a project written by TDC and brought to life by voices like Jessica’s and Missy’s. It’s a dedication to riders who’ve faced trauma, loss, depression, and yet still find life at 100 mph. If “Adrenaline” was the ignition switch, “Drop a Gear & Disappear” is the nitrous shot.

Drop A Gear & Disappear

"Need An Umbrella" by TDC is a powerful, unapologetic anthem that pulls no punches when it comes to tackling one of the most controversial and divisive topics of our time—gender identity and the manipulation surrounding it. The song blends intense trap core with elements of soft screamo to create a sound that’s raw, emotionally charged, and impossible to ignore. With this track, TDC takes a bold stance, challenging the growing belief in multiple genders and exposing the dangers of societal manipulation, especially when it comes to children. The song addresses how the confusion and brainwashing have been allowed to spread unchecked, with far too many people too scared to speak the truth.

"Need An Umbrella" is not just about calling out the confusion surrounding gender, it’s also a defense mechanism for those who are being manipulated into believing that biology can be ignored. It's a voice for those who feel trapped in a world where their beliefs are mocked and twisted, a voice for the children who are being manipulated, and for anyone who feels lost in the storm of false information and societal pressure. The umbrella in the cover art symbolizes protection from the storm and the rain, but also serves as a reminder that sometimes, even the most well-intentioned protections aren’t enough. The lightning still strikes, exposing the raw, unfiltered truth of our biology, and in the process, revealing who we truly are. It’s a call to stand firm in the face of the storm, even when it feels like the odds are against us.

Jessica’s vocal delivery on this track is at her peak. Her speed and delivery are unmatched, and yet, you can hear the strain in her voice, a reflection of the emotional depth of the song. Her voice carries the weight of depression, anger, and frustration perfectly, as she delivers each line with relentless energy and conviction. The duality of the song is present in the lyrics, with one side of the track aimed directly at those who believe in multiple genders, calling out the manipulation and false narratives being spread. On the other side, the song acts as a defense for those who feel lost or brainwashed, offering a voice to the voiceless, and a call to arms for the truth.

The song tackles the societal manipulation head-on, acknowledging that the world is full of confusion, yet refusing to remain silent. The manipulation goes beyond just gender; it’s the way society has been molded to accept lies and falsehoods as truths. "Need An Umbrella" exposes the dangerous propaganda that’s been used to control minds, especially the minds of our children, and how we’ve been conditioned to accept these lies without questioning them. It's a reminder that we must always stand up for what’s right, even when it’s hard, and even when it’s not popular.

With a hard-hitting trap core sound that’s blended with the raw emotion of screamo, the song takes the listener on a rollercoaster of aggression, frustration, and passion. The bass-heavy beats and dark, gritty sound are perfect for the theme of the song—facing the storm head-on, no matter the cost. Jessica’s performance is nothing short of stunning, and her delivery feels personal, as if she’s speaking directly to the listener, urging them to rise above the confusion and embrace the truth, even when it feels like the world is against them.

The track doesn’t shy away from the heavy issues at hand; it faces them with a courage and strength that’s rare in today’s world. With each verse, TDC lays bare the manipulation and falsehoods that have spread like wildfire, from the lies surrounding gender identity to the way society has been brainwashed into accepting these lies as truths. It’s a direct challenge to anyone who’s been manipulated, a plea for clarity and truth in a world that’s drowning in false narratives.

This song is a must-listen for anyone who refuses to stay silent in the face of manipulation, and for anyone who believes that the truth must always prevail.

Need An Umbrella

Category 12 is more than just a song — it’s the final form of everything TDC has built leading up to this moment. This track is the embodiment of chaos, power, and truth. It fuses the emotional warfare, anti-manipulation mindset, and raw aggression from all previous TDC records into one apocalyptic soundwave. It’s a lyrical hurricane — devastating, untamable, and built to destroy the soft-spoken lies that have festered in modern culture.

The song opens with an emergency broadcast alert: the storm has a name — Jessica — and she’s not just a metaphor, she’s a declaration. Hurricane Jessica is the physical form of rage, truth, and destruction, targeting weakness, lies, and emotional entitlement. She’s nature’s revenge — a violent reckoning aimed at the manipulation and confusion being force-fed to society, especially to the youth.

From the very first verse, TDC makes it clear: this storm is coming for everything you built on false identity, fragile pride, and emotional fragility. This isn’t just about gender confusion, fake friendships, or political correctness — this is an all-out war on brainwashing, soft egos, and those who demand respect but give none in return. Category 12 doesn’t aim to educate the ignorant — it aims to expose and erase them.

The beat drives forward like a tidal surge, filled with 808s and haunting trap melodies. It's loaded with dark guitar riffs and stormy soundscapes that mirror the destruction Jessica brings with her. Every bar is precise, cutting, and laced with venom. There’s no room for comfort here, no space for sensitivity. This is cold, calculated demolition of what society has made sacred: emotional coddling, weaponized identity, and the silencing of hard truth.

What makes Category 12 even more impactful is that it’s not just a diss track to society — it’s a culmination. Every song that came before — Deadly, Need An Umbrella, State of Decay, and others — laid the groundwork for this. The themes of betrayal, mental manipulation, identity delusion, and corrupt morality are all pulled into this one explosive record. TDC doesn’t hold back, not even a little. The message is simple: truth doesn’t ask for permission, and storms don’t apologize.

Jessica, as the metaphor, is relentless. She rips through towns, minds, and movements. She targets fake love, pretenders, and the mentally weak who hide behind outrage rather than face accountability. She is the physical embodiment of the pain caused by being silenced, mocked, or falsely accused for speaking the truth. She’s not here to make peace — she’s here to end cycles.

And just when you think it’s over, the outro drops a chilling broadcast: she’s not done. She’s global now. The next target? Russia. A bold, provocative close to a track that feels less like a song and more like a movement being born in flames.

Category 12 is unfiltered, unapologetic, and untouchable. It’s the eye of the storm and the storm itself. It’s for the misrepresented, the silenced, the outcast truth-speakers who aren’t afraid to call it exactly how it is — loud, aggressive, and without apology.


Category 12

Song Title: The Album
Project: RPM For Blood
Artist: TDC (Jessica + Cassy + Missy) in Full Album

The Album is the powerful opening track to RPM For Blood, TDC’s most emotionally fueled and brutally honest project to date. This isn’t just a song — it’s a declaration. Jessica sets the tone immediately with the line, “This ain’t just a playlist — this is a fucking purge,” making it clear that every bar, every scream, and every gear shift carries real weight. This is therapy set to RPMs. Gasoline meets grief. Asphalt meets agony. And it’s all delivered with the kind of raw truth only lived experience can create.

Dropping August 20th, RPM For Blood is more than an album — it’s a tribute. Each track is inspired by true stories from real riders, real losses, real pain, and real survival. Jessica and Cassy channel the emotional ride of those who heal through horsepower, pain, and memory. The entire project is an homage to the ones we’ve lost, the scars we carry, and the speed we seek to outrun our past.

In The Album, you’ll hear it all — the redline grief, the throttle-born defiance, the tears dried by wind, and the names of the fallen burned into chrome memories. From “V-Twin confessions” to “asphalt angels,” Jessica rips through the emotional gears while Cassy delivers haunting harmonies that pull it all together with chilling soul.

This song also introduces the recurring theme — RPM isn’t about racing. It’s about survival. “Don’t forget — drop a gear & fucking disappear” becomes a mantra, a reminder that sometimes, motion is medicine.

As the bridge unfolds, Jessica reminds us: each track is someone’s heartbeat. Every ride, every breakdown, every late-night throttle twist, it’s all represented here. Whether it’s grief, heartbreak, or rebirth, these tracks were made to help listeners feel, heal, and remember.

The outro hits like a love letter to the listener and the community — to every driver and rider who’s ever chosen the road over silence. “We don’t ride for fun. We ride for healing… We ride because we still fucking can.”

The Album is just the beginning.
The full release of RPM For Blood arrives August 20th, with a Spotify drop planned soon after.
Every track is a story. Every lyric, a memory.
And every bar… is fuel for the soul.

The Album ( Intro Song For RPM For Blood )

"Flirt/w Death" is the hauntingly powerful bonus track from RPM for Blood, delivering one last emotional hit before the album’s engines fade. It’s a track built on contradiction — soft and romantic in its beginnings, only to spiral into pure trap fury. A song that dances with finality but punches with survival.

It opens with Cassy’s voice gently breaking the silence, asking a now-iconic question fans have come to love:
“Jess… can you do that humming thing we all love? ‘Cause you know we all love when you start talkin’…”
And just like that — Jessica steps in and delivers it perfectly.
Like always, she nails it.

The hum enters like a ghost in the wind, a soft melody that mimics the phrase “I love you” — innocent, vulnerable, and intimate. But what we don’t realize at first is who Jessica is humming to. As the gentle beat builds, it feels like a moment of comfort, like she’s whispering to a lover. But this "lover" isn’t who we expect.

We’re listening to Jessica flirt with Death itself.

The first verse plays out like a forbidden romance. Death speaks sweetly, inviting her into its arms. Offering peace. Promising rest. A seductive presence that masks itself in compassion and warmth. It wants her to give in. To lay her pain to rest. To surrender.

But the song snaps violently into a hard-hitting, aggressive trap switch, and the true message bursts into flames.

Jessica doesn't surrender.
She retaliates.
She grabs the throttle.
And she runs.

That’s when the full force of “Flirt/w Death” kicks in. The smooth vocals are ripped away by pounding 808s, screaming hi-hats, and fast-paced bars. Jessica channels every ounce of resistance and rage, rejecting the seductive pull of death and throwing it back in its face.

"You want my soul? Then chase, hoe."
The soft-spoken flirtation becomes a fight for survival.

The lyrics don’t sugarcoat the struggle. They capture what it feels like to want to give up — and then deciding to fight anyway. Every rev of the engine is a heartbeat. Every bar is a middle finger to the grave.

This track honors those moments when death doesn’t come as a monster, but as a whisper. And this song answers that whisper with an all-out roar. Cassy supports the flow, adding ethereal balance and harmony during key transitions, highlighting the emotional duality between temptation and defiance.

“Flirt/w Death” is a farewell to the idea of giving up, a track that reminds you just how hard survival can hit. It plays out like a movie scene — one second you’re leaning in for a kiss, and the next, you’re punching through gears at 100 MPH with Death screaming behind you trying to catch up.

It’s not just a song — it’s a refusal.
A rejection.
A statement.
"If Death wants me, it better learn how to ride."

As a bonus track, it completes the emotional spectrum of RPM for Blood. This entire project is about riding through the chaos — not just on the streets, but in your head, in your heart, in your trauma. Every track has been its own confession, its own release, and Flirt/w Death is the final promise that as long as there's breath and motion, there's resistance.

And yes — that humming at the start?
It’s more than sound.
It’s life, choosing to go on.


Flirt/w Death Ft. Cassy & Jessica

“Can’t Go Broke. I Drip Too Hard.” is a full-throttle, bass-heavy trap mumble rap club banger that embodies the unapologetic rise from the struggle to the spotlight. Written and performed by Jessica, this track tells a confident come-up story drenched in attitude, luxury, and resilience. It’s not just about money — it’s about surviving, stacking, and staying untouchable.

The song blends hard-hitting 808s, rhythmic humming, and raspy emotional vocals to deliver a vibe that’s as catchy as it is raw. From the opening hums to the no-fucks-given verses, Jessica flexes not just her lyrical dexterity, but also her unique voice control and signature flow. She’s smooth, she's savage, and she's got receipts for every bar she spits.

The hook repeats like a mantra — “Can’t go broke, I drip too hard” — driving the point home: this isn’t flexing without foundation. This is survivor talk. Jessica taps into her own journey from pain to power, letting the world know that luxury didn’t fall into her lap — she ran that shit down.

Throughout the song, Jessica weaves in mumbling breakdowns, vocal slides, and heavy melodic humming, making this track not just a banger in the club — but a statement on the streets. There’s a humming-only verse, a no-words, just-feel-it moment, reminding listeners that sometimes emotion speaks louder than words.

“Can’t Go Broke. I Drip Too Hard.” isn’t about being flashy — it’s about being unbreakable. It’s for the ones who got laughed at and now laugh from the penthouse. It’s for the ones who remember hunger, so they never waste a crumb. And it’s definitely for the ones who know how to ride a beat like a weapon.

Whether you’re grinding, riding, or just needing a reminder that your glow can’t be dimmed, this song is your anthem. It’s vibrant, venomous, and 100% victory.

Play it loud. Feel the hum. Drown ‘em in your drip.

Can’t go broke, I Drip to hard

🎵 Song Description – "Bad JuJu" by TDC

"Bad JuJu" is a full-throttle, unapologetic trap anthem that drags you into the mind of Ivy — a newly surfaced alter from TDC’s dissociative identity system. Forged from betrayal, emotional shutdown, and the rage Viper couldn’t release, Ivy emerges as a blocker-type alter who takes full control of the front when the system is overwhelmed. And in this track, she speaks for herself.

The lyrics are delivered in the first person — aggressive, raw, and ruthless. Ivy holds nothing back as she addresses enemies, fake friends, and anyone who dared to disrespect or doubt the system. Her voice is the embodiment of don’t start none, won’t be none energy. She doesn’t want peace — she is the storm, and she’s done staying quiet while others cross lines and walk free.

The song opens with a chilling spoken intro where Ivy warns the world who she is: the firewall, the blackout, the weapon the system calls on when words aren’t enough. The beat drops into a heavy, dark trap pattern laced with distorted 808s, glitching synths, and unfiltered tension. Every bar slaps with venom — calling out betrayal, mocking weakness, and promising retaliation for every wound.

The first verse is full of striking imagery: Ivy is fireproof, venom-tongued, and chrome-hearted. She dissects lies, exposes manipulation, and lets the listener know that once she’s fronting, there’s no stopping her. Her language is unpolished, her rage is poetic, and her presence is lethal.

By the second verse, Ivy becomes even more direct. She tears through emotional gaslighting, betrayal, and pity disguised as love. She calls out hypocrites and lays down a warning: she keeps receipts, she remembers names, and if you step to the system again — she’ll make sure you regret it.

What sets this track apart is its outro verse. In a brutal, beautiful flip of power, Ivy shares the mic with Viper — not in battle, but in balance. Viper raps in Latin with surgical precision and a protector’s calm, while Ivy delivers her final bars in Japanese, still fierce but more grounded. It’s a moment of duality: protection and pain, rage and resolve, control and chaos — flowing in harmony.

Their lines are layered over a slowed-down, stormlike beat as Ivy and Viper spit bilingual verses that seal the track in flames and resolve. This isn’t just a rage track — it’s a lyrical embodiment of survival and internal power. Ivy’s voice was never meant to be pretty — it was meant to be heard, loud, unfiltered, and undeniable.

“Bad JuJu” doesn’t ask for understanding — it dares you to misunderstand and deal with the consequences.

This is not a song for the fake, the fragile, or the controlling.
This is Ivy’s voice. And now that she’s out, she’s not going anywhere.

Bad JuJu - Vipers Alter Ego

De grosses playlists et quelques mix
DEKALAGE6TEM 🔊🔊🔊 
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Matériel: DDJ-FLX4 avec MIXXX sur Fedora GNU/Linux Workstation
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Merci à Louis Delaforet pour les cover et à mon dealer pour la santé

Expressing Myself through, Lyrics and Music is my way of cooping in this world <3

PEOPLE WANNA DANCE....AND ME TOO🥳🥳🚀🔥
IG: @_marcos_lch

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