    [Intro] (Sample of a needle scratching across a record, then a heavy, distorted synth pulse kicks in) (Spoken, dry:) "Oh, I'm sorry... am I interrupting your 'process'?"

[Verse 1] You call it rubbish, you call it slop You’re waiting for the digital heart to stop A vicious brow-beating, a purist's moan About a 'soul' that you claim to own. But your guitar is sleeping in a velvet bed While all these melodies are screaming in my head.

[Pre-Chorus] You say it's a crime, a hollow design But you’re losing the race at the starting line. If I put down the mouse and I walk away Who’s gonna play the songs that save my day?

[Chorus] So make me a banger, pure and true! I’m sure that’s what you want to do. A sonic eruption, a vibrant blaze Give me something more than your 'vintage' haze. If the 'real' is better, then prove me wrong— I’m still waiting for your 'perfect' song.

[Verse 2] You sneer from the tower of your ivory keys While I’m building empires with binary ease. You’re sweating over wood and rusted strings While I’m imagining a thousand wings. You say I’m 'cheating', I say I’m free From the ego of your 'authenticity.'

[Bridge] (Music cuts to a thin, pathetic acoustic strum, then stops) (Voice becomes cold, direct:) You say you're the vessel, you've got the 'heart' But where is the music? Where do I start? To find the rhythm, the soul you claim... Or is your 'talent' just a brand name? Since you're the 'musician,' where is the shop? I want to buy the art you’re telling me to stop. (Pause) ...I thought so.

[Guitar Solo - Chaotic, Bit-Crushed]

[Chorus] So make me a banger, pure and true! I’m sure that’s what you want to do. A sonic eruption, a vibrant blaze Lost in the music, in countless ways.

[Outro] (Fast, rhythmic, fading into a glitch) Where's the shop? Where's the link? Where's the soul? (Scoff) I’ll just make it myself. (Sudden silence)