Make Your Own Stupid Video ~ Poetry / Lyrics ~ Stereo Types Stereotypes

Make your own stupid video.
Make your own stupid video.
Bad light, good joke.
Bad light, good joke.

Air guitar prophecy.
Air guitar prophecy.
Band shirt smoke.
Band shirt smoke.

Show your drummer.
Show your van.
Show your sound guy.
Show your band.

Jack-AL did it.
Jack-AL did it.
Scan Deer too.
Scan Deer too.

Make your own stupid video.
Make your own stupid video.
Find your band
In the joke.

Do not wait for perfect.
Do not wait for clean.
Do not wait for someone else
To build your little scene.

Grab a phone.
Grab a friend.
Grab a cable
With a questionable end.

Grab a shirt.
Grab a light.
Grab the joke
And hold it tight.

Make your own stupid video.
Make your own stupid video.
Bad light, good joke.
Bad light, good joke.

The singer wants a close-up.
The guitarist wants sparks.
The drummer wants a wide shot
So they see who works hard.

The bass player stands sideways.
The wizard looks insane.
The side door saint is smoking
In the edge of the frame.

Make your own stupid video.
Make your own stupid video.
Show your drummer.
Show your van.

Show your sound guy.
Show your band.
Show the joke
That got out of hand.

Jack-AL heard
“make your own stupid video”
As “bake your cone, cupid radio.”

Cupid radio.
Cupid radio.
Now the love songs
Smell like smoke.

No.
No.
That is not the line.
But the caption made it
Fun this time.

Make your own stupid video.
Make your own stupid video.
Bad light, good joke.
Bad light, good joke.

No studio.
No crown.
No budget.
No town.

No perfect take.
No perfect hair.
No perfect band.
We do not care.

Post the chorus.
Post the fall.
Post the van
And clip it all.

Post the wrong words.
Post the shirt.
Post the drummer
Doing all the work.

Make your own stupid video.
Make your own stupid video.
Find your band
In the joke.

Jack-AL did it.
Jack-AL did it.
Wrong words lit it.
Wrong words lit it.

Make your own stupid video.
Make your own stupid video.
Do not polish
All the smoke.

One for the singer.
One for the van.
One for the sound guy.
One for the band.

One for the side door.
One for the crowd.
One for the wrong words
Said too loud.

Make your own stupid video.
Make your own stupid video.
Bad light, good joke.
Bad light, good joke.

Air guitar prophecy.
Air guitar prophecy.
Band shirt smoke.
Band shirt smoke.

Show your drummer.
Show your van.
Show your sound guy.
Show your band.

Make your own stupid video.
Make your own stupid video.
Find your band
In the joke.

Cumberland Punks ~ Poetry / Lyrics ~ Stereo Types Stereotypes

Cumberland Punks.

Cumberland Punks.
Home tone loud.
Home tone loud.

Small town stage.
Small town stage.
Sidewalk crowd.
Sidewalk crowd.

Baltimore Avenue.
Baltimore Avenue.
Old brick bones.
Old brick bones.

Mountain echo.
Mountain echo.
Punk heart grown.
Punk heart grown.

Cumberland Punks.
Cumberland Punks.
Name it.
Chant it.

Print it.
Carry it.
Name it.
Chant it.

We are not polished.
We are not clean.
We are not waiting
For some faraway scene.

We got old roads.
We got hard luck.
We got cracked amps
In a half-dead truck.

We got front steps.
We got back doors.
We got basement bands
And uneven floors.

Cumberland Punks.
Cumberland Punks.
Home tone loud.
Home tone loud.

Small town stage.
Small town stage.
Sidewalk crowd.
Sidewalk crowd.

Jack-AL heard
“Cumberland Punks”
As “crumbling bunks”
And “cucumber monks.”

Cucumber monks.
Cucumber monks.
Praying in the alley
With the basement punks.

No.
No.
That is not the phrase.
But the crowd is chanting
Cucumber for days.

Cumberland Punks.
Cumberland Punks.
Baltimore Avenue.
Old brick bones.

Mountain echo.
Mountain echo.
Punk heart grown.
Punk heart grown.

The singer wants a city.
The drummer wants the time.
The guitarist wants a stack
And a hill to climb.

The bass player holds the sidewalk.
The wizard bends the air.
The side door saint knows everybody
Who ever stood there.

The sound guy knows the building.
The van knows the grade.
The merch table knows
Which promises got paid.

Cumberland Punks.
Cumberland Punks.
Name it.
Chant it.

Print it.
Carry it.
Name it.
Chant it.

No velvet rope.
No golden gate.
No perfect scene
Where heroes wait.

No big machine.
No fancy throne.
Just a loud old town
With a punk heart grown.

Cumberland Punks.
Cumberland Punks.
Home tone loud.
Home tone loud.

Small town stage.
Small town stage.
Sidewalk crowd.
Sidewalk crowd.

If the world looks past us,
Let it look again.
If the road goes through us,
Then the road is kin.

If the room gets noisy,
Let the room get true.
If the band gets foolish,
That is nothing new.

Cumberland Punks.
Cumberland Punks.
Baltimore Avenue.
Old brick bones.

Mountain echo.
Mountain echo.
Punk heart grown.
Punk heart grown.

Name it.
Chant it.
Print it.
Carry it.

Say it.
Play it.
Laugh it.
Marry it.

Cumberland Punks.
Cumberland Punks.
Still here.
Still loud.

Cumberland Punks.
Cumberland Punks.
Small town stage.
Sidewalk crowd.

TikTok Tick Tock ~ Poetry / Lyrics ~ Stereo Types Stereotypes

 

TikTok tick tock.
TikTok tick tock.
Clock on the phone.
Clock on the phone.

Fifteen seconds.
Fifteen seconds.
Drag us home.
Drag us home.

Clip the chorus.
Clip the fall.
Clip the van.
Clip it all.

TikTok tick tock.
TikTok tick tock.
Algorithm hungry.
Algorithm hungry.

Jack-AL captions wrong.
Jack-AL captions wrong.
Now the whole crowd
Sings along.

The singer wants the close-up.
The guitarist wants the flame.
The drummer wants the downbeat
And somebody to spell his name.

The bass player stands sideways.
The wizard glows blue.
The side door saint is outside
Watching smoke go viral too.

TikTok tick tock.
TikTok tick tock.
Clock on the phone.
Clock on the phone.

Fifteen seconds.
Fifteen seconds.
Drag us home.
Drag us home.

Jack-AL heard
“TikTok tick tock”
As “thick sock, brick rock”
And broke the whole clock.

Thick sock.
Brick rock.
Now the caption has feet
Throwing stones at the clock.

No.
No.
That is not the phrase.
But the crowd is posting
Thick socks for days.

TikTok tick tock.
TikTok tick tock.
Algorithm hungry.
Algorithm hungry.

Clip the chorus.
Clip the fall.
Clip the van.
Clip it all.

One clip got the singer.
One clip got the fight.
One clip got the guitarist
Bending heaven into night.

One clip got the drummer
Counting over the noise.
One clip got the bass player
Looking tired of the boys.

One clip got the wizard
Making smoke from a key.
One clip got the sound guy
Saying nothing perfectly.

TikTok tick tock.
TikTok tick tock.
Clock on the phone.
Clock on the phone.

Fifteen seconds.
Fifteen seconds.
Drag us home.
Drag us home.

No van.
No show.
No clip.
No glow.

No joke.
No phone.
TikTok tick tock.
Drag us home.

The crowd saw the chorus
Before they saw the band.
The joke hit the screen
Before it hit the hand.

The caption went crooked.
The wrong words flew.
The algorithm smiled
And the whole thing grew.

TikTok tick tock.
TikTok tick tock.
Algorithm hungry.
Algorithm hungry.

Jack-AL captions wrong.
Jack-AL captions wrong.
Now the wrong words
Are the song.

Post the van.
Post the shirt.
Post the drummer
Doing all the work.

Post the laugh.
Post the fall.
Post the part
That explains it all.

TikTok tick tock.
TikTok tick tock.
Clock on the phone.
Clock on the phone.

Fifteen seconds.
Fifteen seconds.
Drag us home.
Drag us home.

Clip the chorus.
Clip the fall.
Clip the van.
Clip it all.

TikTok tick tock.
TikTok tick tock.
The joke got legs.
The phone got shocked.

TikTok tick tock.
TikTok tick tock.
Jack-AL heard it wrong.
Now everybody rocks.