S&D-001 · The debut album · Punk metal
Legends Never Load
Eleven tracks. One Thursday night. The entire universe. The album plays as a single evening from the first Thursday alarm to the final unresolved note. Side A is the ritual: the chicken covenant, the anthem, the provisions, and a funeral for a fallen chip. Side B is the war: the throne, the battle, and the satellite that betrays them. Side C is the heart: home, triumph, the forbidden trick, and the dream. Yes, it is a double LP. Obviously.
Audio coming soon. The lyrics, chords and parts are all here now.
- 01Chicken O'Clock2:41
- 02Thursday Night Title Fight3:58
- 03The Legendary Snack Basket3:12
- 04One Bite, One Trip (Ballad of the Paqui Chip)4:24
- 05Good Chair2:58
- 06H.O.R.S.E.2:19
- 07Buffering (Upper Black Eddy)3:33
- 08Poplar Drive3:47
- 09Nine Hundo3:05
- 10The Sal Flip6:66
- 11Legends Never Load5:01
Track 01 · 2:41
Chicken O'Clock
The ritual begins: Thursday alarm to the chicken order, eighth notes all the way.
E major180 BPME StandardDifficulty 3/5
Audio coming soon. The lyrics, chords and parts are all here now.
[INTRO] (clock ticking into a four-count) [VERSE 1] Alarm hits Thursday and the air just tastes different, Boss keeps on talking but my soul's already drifting, One text sent: "you in?" One answer: "always," Same two words echoing down through the hallways. Clock crawls slower when the mission's in sight, Five o'clock whistle, I'm a missile in flight, Phone's already dialing before I hit the street, She answers on the half ring: "The usual, sweet?" [CHORUS] It's chicken o'clock somewhere, and somewhere is here, Extra crispy covenant, same order all year, Same eight pieces, same holy sides, Two legends and a bucket on a Thursday night ride. It's chicken o'clock, baby, set your watches to grease, The week can keep the other days. Thursday's ours to feast. [VERSE 2] She don't ask for the order, she recites it like a vow, The fryers started dropping when my truck left the house, Sixteen minutes flat from the counter to the couch, Science calls it thermodynamics. We just call it devout. Napkins in the glovebox from two hundred trips, The steering wheel's anointed in eleven herbs and glyphs. [BRIDGE] (half-time) Some men chase money, some chase fame, We chase a bucket with a rooster on the name, And when they ask us why, we look 'em in the eye: (spoken) You don't choose chicken o'clock. Chicken o'clock chooses you. [OUTRO] (gang vocals) Set your watches! (to grease!) Set your watches! (to grease!) It's Thursday. Release the feast.
[INTRO] (clock ticking into a four-count) | E5 | E5 | A5 | B5 | [VERSE 1] | E5 | C#5 | A5 | B5 | Alarm hits Thursday and the air just tastes different, Boss keeps on talking but my soul's already drifting, One text sent: "you in?" One answer: "always," Same two words echoing down through the hallways. Clock crawls slower when the mission's in sight, Five o'clock whistle, I'm a missile in flight, Phone's already dialing before I hit the street, She answers on the half ring: "The usual, sweet?" [CHORUS] | A5 | E5 | B5 | C#5 | It's chicken o'clock somewhere, and somewhere is here, Extra crispy covenant, same order all year, Same eight pieces, same holy sides, Two legends and a bucket on a Thursday night ride. It's chicken o'clock, baby, set your watches to grease, The week can keep the other days. Thursday's ours to feast. [VERSE 2] | E5 | C#5 | A5 | B5 | She don't ask for the order, she recites it like a vow, The fryers started dropping when my truck left the house, Sixteen minutes flat from the counter to the couch, Science calls it thermodynamics. We just call it devout. Napkins in the glovebox from two hundred trips, The steering wheel's anointed in eleven herbs and glyphs. [BRIDGE] (half-time) | C#5 | A5 | E5 | B5 | Some men chase money, some chase fame, We chase a bucket with a rooster on the name, And when they ask us why, we look 'em in the eye: (spoken) You don't choose chicken o'clock. Chicken o'clock chooses you. [OUTRO] (gang vocals) | A5 | B5 | E5 | E5 | Set your watches! (to grease!) Set your watches! (to grease!) It's Thursday. Release the feast.
Fast 90s skate punk opener near 180 BPM, buzzsaw downstroked power chords, heavy distortion, driving double-time drums with double kick fills, palm-muted verse riffs opening into shout-along choruses, cocky half-rapped verses into big clean hooks, gang vocal echoes, one pinch harmonic squeal before each chorus, short melodic solo with slap delay, raw energetic production, played completely straight.
The opener. Clock tick, four-count, then full speed. Pinch harmonic squeal into every chorus. The bridge drops to half time for the spoken line, then the gang chant takes it home.
Chords: E5, A5, B5, C#5
Full band parts in the companionTab, Live play and lead line
Track 02 · 3:58
Thursday Night Title Fight
The anthem: mondo air, H.O.R.S.E. to the death, and one trick nobody speaks of.
D minor172 BPMDrop DDifficulty 4/5
Audio coming soon. The lyrics, chords and parts are all here now.
[INTRO] (feedback swell, announcer voice over drum build) Live, via satellite, eventually, From a couch in Pennsylvania, The undisputed, unsubscribed champions of Thursday night: SACKTAP! AND! DESTROY! (ring the bell or the chicken gets it) [VERSE 1] Clock hits seven, it's a holy night, Two grown legends in a couch title fight, Red Rooster on the phone, never seen the menu, Cashier checks the caller ID, preheats the venue. Snack basket opens with a treasure chest glow, Legendary meat sticks, protein for the pros, A moment of silence for the Paqui chip, Too hot for this world. One bite. One trip. [PRE-CHORUS] (chanted) Boot it up, lag it out, say your prayers, Winner gets the glory and the good chair, Loser buys the chicken next week, Controllers up. Destroy don't speak. [CHORUS] We're Sacktap and Destroy, welcome to the show, Mondo air so massive that it's got its own zip code, Nine hundo spins, steez cranked past ten, Shred the gnar, raise the bar, buffer, run it back again. H-O-R-S-E to the death, letter for letter we brawl, Future full-time famous, we won't take your calls, Checks straight to the mailbox, living the streamer dream, Two dudes, one couch, greatest channel ever streamed. [POST-CHORUS] (gang vocals) Sacktap! (yeah!) Pizza guy! (yeah!) Nine hundo! (yeah!) Sal flip? (WE DON'T DO THAT HERE.) [VERSE 2] Upper Black Eddy, where the WiFi comes to die, HughesNet hurling pixels from the middle of the sky, Hit a nine hundo and the screen froze mid-air, Official judges' ruling: technically still up there. Poplar Drive's the classic, homey, warm, and loud, Pregame Nintendo with the fam to warm up the crowd, Sneak a little jam sesh, unplugged and raw, Then controllers up. May the grease gods judge us all. [CHORUS] (louder, mouth full of chicken) [BRIDGE] (all instruments stop; one fingerpicked acoustic; candles) There is one trick we do not speak, Born where loading screens go when they die in their sleep, The sal flip. (the sal flip) A thousand attempts. A thousand funerals held. Thumbs of iron broken. Warranties expelled. The sal flip never lands. It was never meant to be. Some tricks belong to God. And the DLC. (don't do it) (don't you ever do it) (...he's thinking about doing it) [SOLO] (delay set to cathedral, reverb set to regret, 32 bars, one single tear, the chicken watches) [VERSE 3] Playlist's legendary, every track's pre-approved, Skip a song on Thursday and you're legally removed. Fan base growing like the grease stain on the couch, Four subscribers deep and two of them are Mom's accounts. One day it's arenas, endorsements, and fame, Blurring out our faces when the paparazzi came, Full-time professionals, it's all within reach, Sponsored by a snack basket and a chicken piece. [FINAL CHORUS] (key change up a half step, because we're professionals) [OUTRO] (chanted, decaying) Sack! Tap! De! Stroy! Like, follow, sub, hit the bell before we starve, Chicken in the basket, meat sticks in the stash, If the sal flip ever lands, the servers gonna crash. (HughesNet buffering...) (HughesNet buffering...) (still buffering...) Legends never load.
[INTRO] (feedback swell, announcer voice over drum build) | D5 | D5 | Bb5 | C5 | Live, via satellite, eventually, From a couch in Pennsylvania, The undisputed, unsubscribed champions of Thursday night: SACKTAP! AND! DESTROY! (ring the bell or the chicken gets it) [VERSE 1] | D5 | F5 | C5 | G5 | Clock hits seven, it's a holy night, Two grown legends in a couch title fight, Red Rooster on the phone, never seen the menu, Cashier checks the caller ID, preheats the venue. Snack basket opens with a treasure chest glow, Legendary meat sticks, protein for the pros, A moment of silence for the Paqui chip, Too hot for this world. One bite. One trip. [PRE-CHORUS] (chanted) | Bb5 | C5 | Bb5 | C5 | Boot it up, lag it out, say your prayers, Winner gets the glory and the good chair, Loser buys the chicken next week, Controllers up. Destroy don't speak. [CHORUS] | Bb5 | F5 | C5 | D5 | We're Sacktap and Destroy, welcome to the show, Mondo air so massive that it's got its own zip code, Nine hundo spins, steez cranked past ten, Shred the gnar, raise the bar, buffer, run it back again. H-O-R-S-E to the death, letter for letter we brawl, Future full-time famous, we won't take your calls, Checks straight to the mailbox, living the streamer dream, Two dudes, one couch, greatest channel ever streamed. [POST-CHORUS] (gang vocals) | Bb5 | F5 | C5 | D5 | Sacktap! (yeah!) Pizza guy! (yeah!) Nine hundo! (yeah!) Sal flip? (WE DON'T DO THAT HERE.) [VERSE 2] | D5 | F5 | C5 | G5 | Upper Black Eddy, where the WiFi comes to die, HughesNet hurling pixels from the middle of the sky, Hit a nine hundo and the screen froze mid-air, Official judges' ruling: technically still up there. Poplar Drive's the classic, homey, warm, and loud, Pregame Nintendo with the fam to warm up the crowd, Sneak a little jam sesh, unplugged and raw, Then controllers up. May the grease gods judge us all. [CHORUS] (louder, mouth full of chicken) | Bb5 | F5 | C5 | D5 | [BRIDGE] (all instruments stop; one fingerpicked acoustic; candles) | Dm | Bb | F | C | There is one trick we do not speak, Born where loading screens go when they die in their sleep, The sal flip. (the sal flip) A thousand attempts. A thousand funerals held. Thumbs of iron broken. Warranties expelled. The sal flip never lands. It was never meant to be. Some tricks belong to God. And the DLC. (don't do it) (don't you ever do it) (...he's thinking about doing it) [SOLO] (delay set to cathedral, reverb set to regret, 32 bars, one single tear, the chicken watches) | D5 | Bb5 | C5 | D5 | [VERSE 3] | D5 | F5 | C5 | G5 | Playlist's legendary, every track's pre-approved, Skip a song on Thursday and you're legally removed. Fan base growing like the grease stain on the couch, Four subscribers deep and two of them are Mom's accounts. One day it's arenas, endorsements, and fame, Blurring out our faces when the paparazzi came, Full-time professionals, it's all within reach, Sponsored by a snack basket and a chicken piece. [FINAL CHORUS] (key change up a half step, because we're professionals) | B5 | F#5 | C#5 | D#5 | [OUTRO] (chanted, decaying) | D5 | D5 | Bb5 | C5 | Sack! Tap! De! Stroy! Like, follow, sub, hit the bell before we starve, Chicken in the basket, meat sticks in the stash, If the sal flip ever lands, the servers gonna crash. (HughesNet buffering...) (HughesNet buffering...) (still buffering...) Legends never load.
90s skater punk fused with melodic metal, played completely straight. Fast downstroked power chords, heavy distortion, tight palm-muted chugs and gallops, double bass drums, pinch harmonic squeals, drop D. Hypnotic half-time skate-groove verses near 172 BPM exploding into double-time anthem choruses. Vocals: cocky rap-adjacent verses into huge clean pop hooks, harsh screamed doubles underneath, shouted gang chants. Full-stop bridge: one fingerpicked acoustic guitar, whispered vocal, room reverb, sincere and mournful. Detonate into a breakdown of sixteenth-note double kick and an epic solo drenched in dotted-eighth delay and cathedral reverb: singable theme, fast runs, held bend, harmonized finale. Final chorus jumps a half step with twin harmonized leads and a sub drop. Outro decays into a buffering tone and one unresolved delayed note. Modern tight production with slightly raw edges, zero irony.
The channel theme. Announcer intro over a feedback swell. Verses sit in half time; choruses explode into double time. The bridge is one fingerpicked acoustic and a whisper. Then the solo, the half-step key change, and the outro decays into the buffering tone.
Chords: D5, Bb5, C5, F5, G5, Dm, Bb, F, C · Key change: Final chorus up a half step (D# minor): B5, F#5, C#5, D#5
Full band parts in the companionTab, Live play and lead line
Track 03 · 3:12
The Legendary Snack Basket
The provider of the pros, inventory check: blessed.
E minor140 BPME StandardDifficulty 4/5
Audio coming soon. The lyrics, chords and parts are all here now.
[INTRO] (low choir swell over palm mutes) [VERSE 1] Forged in wicker, born of legend, older than the scene, Every ration stacked inside it is a warrior's cuisine, Lift the lid at sundown, hear the treasure chest chord, Meat sticks stacked like arrows in the armory of the horde. [PRE-CHORUS] (call and response) Inventory! (check!) Inventory! (check!) Sticks of meat! (check!) Something sweet! (check!) Crackers of the elders! (check!) Mystery jerky! (blessed!) [CHORUS] The legendary snack basket, provider of the pros, Sodium of champions from our heads down to our toes, Sealed for freshness, opened for glory, Every single meat stick tells a different story. Raise it to the rafters, let the basket light the way, No one skates on empty on a Thursday. [VERSE 2] Scholars tried to study it, the basket keeps its lore, Restocks itself on Wednesdays and no one sees the store, One compartment's sacred, we don't open it at all, That's where the last Paqui lived before the fall. [BRIDGE] (huge and slow) And if we make it to the big leagues, if the checks come rolling in, That basket's going in a museum, With a plaque that just says: Provider. Legend. Friend. [OUTRO] (choir) Provider. Legend. Friend. Provider. Legend. Friend.
[INTRO] (low choir swell over palm mutes) | E5 | E5 | C5 | D5 | [VERSE 1] | E5 | C5 | D5 | B5 | Forged in wicker, born of legend, older than the scene, Every ration stacked inside it is a warrior's cuisine, Lift the lid at sundown, hear the treasure chest chord, Meat sticks stacked like arrows in the armory of the horde. [PRE-CHORUS] (call and response) | A5 | C5 | D5 | D5 | Inventory! (check!) Inventory! (check!) Sticks of meat! (check!) Something sweet! (check!) Crackers of the elders! (check!) Mystery jerky! (blessed!) [CHORUS] | C5 | G5 | D5 | E5 | The legendary snack basket, provider of the pros, Sodium of champions from our heads down to our toes, Sealed for freshness, opened for glory, Every single meat stick tells a different story. Raise it to the rafters, let the basket light the way, No one skates on empty on a Thursday. [VERSE 2] | E5 | C5 | D5 | B5 | Scholars tried to study it, the basket keeps its lore, Restocks itself on Wednesdays and no one sees the store, One compartment's sacred, we don't open it at all, That's where the last Paqui lived before the fall. [BRIDGE] (huge and slow) | C5 | D5 | B5 | B5 | And if we make it to the big leagues, if the checks come rolling in, That basket's going in a museum, With a plaque that just says: Provider. Legend. Friend. [OUTRO] (choir) | C5 | G5 | D5 | E5 | Provider. Legend. Friend. Provider. Legend. Friend.
Triumphant melodic metal march near 140 BPM, galloping palm-muted riffs, heavy distortion, double bass drum surges, soaring twin harmonized guitar leads, huge choir-like backing vocals, half-rapped verses into an anthemic clean chorus, pinch harmonics as fanfare, big delay-and-reverb solo quoting the chorus melody, dramatic key change finale, polished but human production, zero irony.
A metal march. Low choir over palm-muted gallops, call and response on the inventory check, then the anthem chorus. The bridge slows to one ringing chord per bar for the museum plaque. Final chorus jumps a whole step.
Chords: E5, C5, D5, B5, A5, G5 · Key change: Final chorus up a whole step (F# minor): D5, A5, E5, F#5
Full band parts in the companionTab, Live play and lead line
Track 04 · 4:24
One Bite, One Trip (Ballad of the Paqui Chip)
A power ballad funeral for the chip that was too hot for this world.
A minor50 BPM · 12/8E StandardDifficulty 3/5
Audio coming soon. The lyrics, chords and parts are all here now.
[INTRO] (single clean guitar, one funeral bell) [VERSE 1] There was a chip that walked among us, black bag, single serve, One triangle of destruction that this world did not deserve, They printed warnings on the label, we ignored them with a grin, The pepper had a ghost in it, and the ghost invited us in. [CHORUS] (full band detonation) One bite! One trip! A single scorching star! Too hot for this world, too legendary by far, They pulled you off the shelves, but you're eternal in our carts, Heartburn of the fallen, forever in our hearts. [VERSE 2] Sacktap ate one in the winter, saw the future and the past, Said the sal flip's secrets flickered but the vision didn't last, Destroy never flinched, one tear rolled down in flames, He don't speak on normal Thursdays. That night he spoke in names. [BRIDGE] (whispered over fingerpicked acoustic) Extinct like the dodo. Discontinued like our chill. If they ever bring you back, we'll be first in line. We're waiting still. [OUTRO] (a moment of silence) (broken by one distant scream: the spice remembers)
[INTRO] (single clean guitar, one funeral bell) | Am | F | C | G | [VERSE 1] | Am | F | C | G | There was a chip that walked among us, black bag, single serve, One triangle of destruction that this world did not deserve, They printed warnings on the label, we ignored them with a grin, The pepper had a ghost in it, and the ghost invited us in. [CHORUS] (full band detonation) | F5 | G5 | C5 | A5 | One bite! One trip! A single scorching star! Too hot for this world, too legendary by far, They pulled you off the shelves, but you're eternal in our carts, Heartburn of the fallen, forever in our hearts. [VERSE 2] | Am | F | C | G | Sacktap ate one in the winter, saw the future and the past, Said the sal flip's secrets flickered but the vision didn't last, Destroy never flinched, one tear rolled down in flames, He don't speak on normal Thursdays. That night he spoke in names. [BRIDGE] (whispered over fingerpicked acoustic) | Dm | Am | F | G | Extinct like the dodo. Discontinued like our chill. If they ever bring you back, we'll be first in line. We're waiting still. [OUTRO] | Am | Am | Am | Am | (a moment of silence) (broken by one distant scream: the spice remembers)
Heavy metal power ballad in a slow-burning 6/8 feel, clean arpeggiated guitar intro with a funeral bell, exploding into massively distorted choruses with double bass drum swells, mournful clean lead vocal with harsh screamed doubles on the chorus, weeping delay-and-reverb guitar solo with long held bends, whispered bridge over fingerpicked acoustic, thunderous final chorus, sincere and devastated delivery, no irony.
A funeral. Clean guitar and one bell. The chorus detonates with the full band. The bridge is whispered over fingerpicked acoustic. A moment of silence at the end, broken by one distant scream.
Chords: Am, F, C, G, F5, G5, C5, A5, Dm
Full band parts in the companionTab, Live play and lead line
Track 05 · 2:58
Good Chair
Only winners rest. The folding chair is watching.
C minor120 BPMDrop CDifficulty 3/5
Audio coming soon. The lyrics, chords and parts are all here now.
[VERSE 1] There's a throne in the living room that's seen a thousand fights, Lumbar of the champions, the seat of Thursday nights, Cushion holds the memory of every victory lap, The loser gets the folding chair. The folding chair fights back. [CHORUS] (gang vocals) Good chair! Only winners rest, Good chair! Ergonomic conquest, Keep your trophies and your medals and your fame, We're playing for the recliner. Say the good chair's name! (GOOD CHAIR!) [VERSE 2] Destroy held it for a month in the winter of the sweep, Sacktap took it back with a nine hundo in his sleep, The chair does not take sides, the chair only takes weight, The chair has seen the sal flip attempted. The chair cannot relate. [BREAKDOWN] (call and response) Recline! (recline!) Rotate! (rotate!) Full extension! (extend!) The footrest of the gods ascends. [OUTRO] (whispered) The folding chair is watching. The folding chair remembers.
[VERSE 1] | C5 | C5 | Eb5 | F5 | There's a throne in the living room that's seen a thousand fights, Lumbar of the champions, the seat of Thursday nights, Cushion holds the memory of every victory lap, The loser gets the folding chair. The folding chair fights back. [CHORUS] (gang vocals) | Ab5 | Bb5 | C5 | C5 | Good chair! Only winners rest, Good chair! Ergonomic conquest, Keep your trophies and your medals and your fame, We're playing for the recliner. Say the good chair's name! (GOOD CHAIR!) [VERSE 2] | C5 | C5 | Eb5 | F5 | Destroy held it for a month in the winter of the sweep, Sacktap took it back with a nine hundo in his sleep, The chair does not take sides, the chair only takes weight, The chair has seen the sal flip attempted. The chair cannot relate. [BREAKDOWN] (call and response) | C5 | C5 | C5 | C5 | Recline! (recline!) Rotate! (rotate!) Full extension! (extend!) The footrest of the gods ascends. [OUTRO] (whispered) | C5 | C5 | C5 | C5 | The folding chair is watching. The folding chair remembers.
Heavy groove metal stomp near 120 BPM, fat detuned palm-muted riff with a hypnotic bounce, heavy distortion, half-time drums with ghost-note snare and double kick accents, swaggering half-rapped verses, massive shouted gang chorus, pinch harmonic squeals on riff turnarounds, breakdown with call-and-response chants, short wah-drenched solo with delay, thick modern production, deadly serious.
Deadly serious groove metal. The bounce riff carries the verse; the gang chorus shouts the chair's name. The breakdown is call and response. It ends on a whisper: the folding chair is watching.
Chords: C5, Eb5, F5, Ab5, Bb5
Full band parts in the companionTab, Live play and lead line
Track 06 · 2:19
H.O.R.S.E.
Letter for letter till there is nothing left.
E minor200 BPME StandardDifficulty 5/5
Audio coming soon. The lyrics, chords and parts are all here now.
[INTRO] (boxing bell) [VERSE 1: SACKTAP] Step into the ring, better stretch your thumbs, Been training on the loading screens, waiting till you come, Set a mondo air so filthy that the console blushed, Copy what I did or take your letter and hush. [CHANT] (gang vocals) H! (H!) O! (O!) R! (R!) S! (S!) E! (E!) Letter for letter till there's nothing left of thee! [VERSE 2: DESTROY] (Destroy's verse. He says nothing. Sixteen bars of pure riff. It is devastating.) [CHANT] H! (H!) O! (O!) R! (R!) S! (S!) E! (E!) Spell it on my tombstone, that's a victory! [VERSE 3] Down to my last letter and the couch has gone quiet, One trick from the folding chair and its lumbar-free diet, Closed my eyes and whispered to the grease gods up above, Landed something so illegal that the console called the cops. [OUTRO] (boxing bell) (announcer voice) Winner: the friendship. ...And Destroy. Mostly Destroy.
[INTRO] (boxing bell) | E5 | E5 | E5 | E5 | [VERSE 1: SACKTAP] | E5 | G5 | A5 | G5 | Step into the ring, better stretch your thumbs, Been training on the loading screens, waiting till you come, Set a mondo air so filthy that the console blushed, Copy what I did or take your letter and hush. [CHANT] (gang vocals) | C5 | D5 | E5 | E5 | H! (H!) O! (O!) R! (R!) S! (S!) E! (E!) Letter for letter till there's nothing left of thee! [VERSE 2: DESTROY] | E5 | G5 | A5 | B5 | (Destroy's verse. He says nothing. Sixteen bars of pure riff. It is devastating.) [CHANT] | C5 | D5 | E5 | E5 | H! (H!) O! (O!) R! (R!) S! (S!) E! (E!) Spell it on my tombstone, that's a victory! [VERSE 3] | E5 | G5 | A5 | G5 | Down to my last letter and the couch has gone quiet, One trick from the folding chair and its lumbar-free diet, Closed my eyes and whispered to the grease gods up above, Landed something so illegal that the console called the cops. [OUTRO] (boxing bell) | E5 | E5 | E5 | E5 | (announcer voice) Winner: the friendship. ...And Destroy. Mostly Destroy.
Blistering hardcore-tinged skate punk near 200 BPM, relentless downstroked power chords, heavy distortion, double kick bursts, aggressive call-and-response spelling chants, taunting half-rapped verses, one full verse of pure instrumental riffing, pinch harmonics deployed as trash talk, gang vocals throughout, abrupt boxing-bell ending, raw ferocious production, completely straight-faced.
Blistering. A boxing bell opens and closes it. The chant spells the letters. Destroy's verse is sixteen bars of riff with no vocal. It is devastating.
Chords: E5, G5, A5, C5, D5, B5
Full band parts in the companionTab, Live play and lead line
Track 07 · 3:33
Buffering (Upper Black Eddy)
Twenty-two thousand miles for one sacktap.
D minor112 BPMDrop DDifficulty 3/5
Audio coming soon. The lyrics, chords and parts are all here now.
[VERSE 1] Out past the cell towers where the map turns beige, Upper Black Eddy, population: rage, We beam our Thursday to the stratosphere and back, Twenty-two thousand miles for one sacktap. [CHORUS] We're bufferi... (hold it) ...ing! Mid-air and frozen clean, The spinning wheel's the third member of the team, Our ping has its own ping, the lag has lag to spare, Twenty-two thousand miles to catch a mondo air. [VERSE 2] NASA gets updates faster from the edge of the void, We rendered half a chicken and the frame rate got destroyed, Somewhere in the sky our button inputs float, A satellite is holding every trick we ever wrote. [CHORUS] [BRIDGE] (the entire band stops) (...still buffering...) (the band reboots at double time) [OUTRO] Connection restored. Nothing was lost. Everything was legendary.
[VERSE 1] | D5 | F5 | G5 | F5 | Out past the cell towers where the map turns beige, Upper Black Eddy, population: rage, We beam our Thursday to the stratosphere and back, Twenty-two thousand miles for one sacktap. [CHORUS] | Bb5 | C5 | D5 | D5 | We're bufferi... (hold it) ...ing! Mid-air and frozen clean, The spinning wheel's the third member of the team, Our ping has its own ping, the lag has lag to spare, Twenty-two thousand miles to catch a mondo air. [VERSE 2] | D5 | F5 | G5 | F5 | NASA gets updates faster from the edge of the void, We rendered half a chicken and the frame rate got destroyed, Somewhere in the sky our button inputs float, A satellite is holding every trick we ever wrote. [CHORUS] | Bb5 | C5 | D5 | D5 | [BRIDGE] | D5 | D5 | D5 | D5 | (the entire band stops) (...still buffering...) (the band reboots at double time) [OUTRO] | D5 | Bb5 | C5 | D5 | Connection restored. Nothing was lost. Everything was legendary.
Mid-tempo detuned skate-groove metal with deliberate full-band stutter stops mimicking lag, heavy palm-muted riffing, faintly phase-warped guitar tone, half-time drums snapping into double-time bursts, deadpan half-rapped verses, big shouted chorus with sudden silences mid-word, double bass drum reboots after each freeze, glitchy delay throws, one pinch harmonic per freeze recovery, tight modern production, played straight.
The band plays like a bad satellite connection. Every chorus freezes mid-word and reboots with a double kick. The bridge stops completely for two bars before the reboot.
Chords: D5, F5, G5, Bb5, C5
Full band parts in the companionTab, Live play and lead line
Track 08 · 3:47
Poplar Drive
Blue-shelled by a nine-year-old. Family is undefeated.
G major150 BPME StandardDifficulty 2/5
Audio coming soon. The lyrics, chords and parts are all here now.
[VERSE 1] Porch light's always on and the driveway knows my tires, Smells like something baking, sounds like practice amplifiers, Little cousins run the pregame, Nintendo on the screen, Got blue-shelled by a nine-year-old. Most respectful thing I've seen. [CHORUS] Poplar Drive, where the couch fits like a glove, Familiar as the ceiling, loud with people that we love, We came to shred the gnar but we stayed to pass the sticks, Home is where the grease stain is. This is it. [VERSE 2] Sneak a little jam sesh in the room down the hall, Acoustic and the drum pads and a synth against the wall, Fam yells "one more race," and honestly, who's stronger than that? The bracket can wait ten minutes. Family's undefeated. Run it back. [CHORUS] [BRIDGE] (quiet) Someday when we're famous and the paparazzi swarm, We'll lose 'em on the back roads and come here where it's warm. [FINAL CHORUS] (everyone in the house sings)
[VERSE 1] | G | D | Em | C | Porch light's always on and the driveway knows my tires, Smells like something baking, sounds like practice amplifiers, Little cousins run the pregame, Nintendo on the screen, Got blue-shelled by a nine-year-old. Most respectful thing I've seen. [CHORUS] | C | G | D | Em | Poplar Drive, where the couch fits like a glove, Familiar as the ceiling, loud with people that we love, We came to shred the gnar but we stayed to pass the sticks, Home is where the grease stain is. This is it. [VERSE 2] | G | D | Em | C | Sneak a little jam sesh in the room down the hall, Acoustic and the drum pads and a synth against the wall, Fam yells "one more race," and honestly, who's stronger than that? The bracket can wait ten minutes. Family's undefeated. Run it back. [CHORUS] | C | G | D | Em | [BRIDGE] (quiet) | Em | C | G | D | Someday when we're famous and the paparazzi swarm, We'll lose 'em on the back roads and come here where it's warm. [FINAL CHORUS] (everyone in the house sings) | C | G | D | Em |
Warm acoustic-driven pop-punk near 150 BPM, bright fingerpicked and strummed acoustic guitars layered under lightly distorted electric power chords, bouncy half-time verses into wide singalong choruses, sincere melodic lead vocal with soft gang harmonies, gentle synth pads underneath, restrained drums with brushed-feel verses opening into full kit choruses, brief melodic solo with warm delay, nostalgic and homey, honest production with room ambience.
The warm one. Fingerpicked verses, singalong choruses, a quiet bridge, then everyone in the house sings the last chorus.
Chords: G, D, Em, C
Full band parts in the companionTab, Live play and lead line
Track 09 · 3:05
Nine Hundo
Two and a half rotations. Technically still up there.
A major175 BPME StandardDifficulty 4/5
Audio coming soon. The lyrics, chords and parts are all here now.
[VERSE 1] Two and a half rotations, the mathematics of the free, Gravity submitted an apology to me, Commentator's speechless and the controller's running hot, Steez readings off the meter. They don't make a chart for that. [CHORUS] NINE HUNDO! Spinning like the world owes rent, NINE HUNDO! Every degree heaven sent, Nine hundred reasons that we do this every week, Mondo air to touchdown, technique so sleek. (squeal!) [VERSE 2] And somewhere over Upper Black Eddy, frozen in the blue, There's a nine hundo still spinning that the servers never drew, The judges made it official, carved it into law: Technically still up there. The greatest trick they never saw. [CHORUS] [BRIDGE] (gang chant, building) Nine! Hundred! Degrees! Nine! Hundred! Degrees! [FINAL CHORUS] (key change up a half step)
[VERSE 1] | A5 | E5 | F#5 | D5 | Two and a half rotations, the mathematics of the free, Gravity submitted an apology to me, Commentator's speechless and the controller's running hot, Steez readings off the meter. They don't make a chart for that. [CHORUS] | D5 | A5 | E5 | F#5 | NINE HUNDO! Spinning like the world owes rent, NINE HUNDO! Every degree heaven sent, Nine hundred reasons that we do this every week, Mondo air to touchdown, technique so sleek. (squeal!) [VERSE 2] | A5 | E5 | F#5 | D5 | And somewhere over Upper Black Eddy, frozen in the blue, There's a nine hundo still spinning that the servers never drew, The judges made it official, carved it into law: Technically still up there. The greatest trick they never saw. [CHORUS] | D5 | A5 | E5 | F#5 | [BRIDGE] (gang chant, building) | F#5 | D5 | A5 | E5 | Nine! Hundred! Degrees! Nine! Hundred! Degrees! [FINAL CHORUS] (key change up a half step) | Eb5 | Bb5 | F5 | G5 |
Triumphant melodic skate-metal anthem near 175 BPM, driving downstroked riffs with heavy distortion, double kick propulsion, euphoric clean-sung chorus with harsh shouted backups, a mandatory pinch harmonic squeal after every chorus, twin harmonized victory-lap lead guitars, soaring delay-and-reverb solo climbing to a held bend, stadium gang vocals, half-step key change on the final chorus, big bright mix, zero irony.
The victory lap. Mandatory squeal after every chorus. The bridge is a gang chant that builds into the half-step key change.
Chords: A5, E5, F#5, D5 · Key change: Final chorus up a half step (Bb major): Eb5, Bb5, F5, G5
Full band parts in the companionTab, Live play and lead line
Track 10 · 6:66 (disputed)
The Sal Flip
There is one trick we do not speak of.
C minor70 BPMDrop CDifficulty 4/5
Audio coming soon. The lyrics, chords and parts are all here now.
[INTRO] (low chant: "sal... flip..." over lone acoustic arpeggios and wind) [VERSE 1] Before the first controller, before the couch was young, The elders spoke of one command that shall not pass the thumb, Its inputs are not written, no tutorial survives, The combination sleeps inside the plastic, and it waits for us to try. [CHORUS] (massive) THE SAL FLIP. (sal... flip...) Never landed, never will, THE SAL FLIP. (sal... flip...) The cursor hovers. Time stands still. [VERSE 2] One man came the closest, back in ancient lore, Rotated through dimensions that the game had not before, He came down different, quieter. They say he sold his sticks, Now he only plays the farming games. He winces at the flips. [BRIDGE] (whispered over fingerpicked acoustic) And every Thursday past midnight, when the chicken's just bones, The menu screen starts humming in forbidden tones, And one of us will reach out, and one will grab his wrist: Not tonight, brother. We've got too much left to lose. [FINALE] (double kick avalanche, riser building) He's doing it. (no) He's really doing it. (NO.) Three. Two. One. (absolute silence) (...buffering...) (The satellite refused to witness it.)
[INTRO] (low chant: "sal... flip..." over lone acoustic arpeggios and wind) | C5 | Ab5 | Bb5 | G5 | [VERSE 1] | C5 | Ab5 | Bb5 | G5 | Before the first controller, before the couch was young, The elders spoke of one command that shall not pass the thumb, Its inputs are not written, no tutorial survives, The combination sleeps inside the plastic, and it waits for us to try. [CHORUS] (massive) | Ab5 | Bb5 | C5 | C5 | THE SAL FLIP. (sal... flip...) Never landed, never will, THE SAL FLIP. (sal... flip...) The cursor hovers. Time stands still. [VERSE 2] | C5 | Ab5 | Bb5 | G5 | One man came the closest, back in ancient lore, Rotated through dimensions that the game had not before, He came down different, quieter. They say he sold his sticks, Now he only plays the farming games. He winces at the flips. [BRIDGE] (whispered over fingerpicked acoustic) | C5 | Ab5 | Eb5 | G5 | And every Thursday past midnight, when the chicken's just bones, The menu screen starts humming in forbidden tones, And one of us will reach out, and one will grab his wrist: Not tonight, brother. We've got too much left to lose. [FINALE] (double kick avalanche, riser building) | C5 | C5 | C5 | C5 | He's doing it. (no) He's really doing it. (NO.) Three. Two. One. (absolute silence) (...buffering...) (The satellite refused to witness it.)
Doom-laden epic near 70 BPM in heavy half-time, funereal fingerpicked acoustic intro with low chanted vocals, crushing detuned distorted riffs in cavernous reverb, slow double bass drum swells building to sixteenth-note avalanches, clean mournful lead vocal with monastic chant backups and one harsh scream, whispered acoustic bridge, colossal delay-soaked guitar solo, finale builds to a sudden total silence, dead serious delivery.
Dead serious. A lone fingerpicked intro under the chant. Crushing half-time verses. The finale builds on double kick and stops on absolute silence. The satellite refused to witness it.
Chords: C5, Ab5, Bb5, G5, Eb5
Full band parts in the companionTab, Live play and lead line
Track 11 · 5:01
Legends Never Load
Someday they'll know our names. But Thursday's always known.
D major90 BPME StandardDifficulty 3/5
Audio coming soon. The lyrics, chords and parts are all here now.
[VERSE 1] Someday there's a stadium with our faces on the wall, Someday there's a mailbox that can't even hold it all, Someday paparazzi in the hedges of the yard, And we'll blur out our own faces. Stay humble. Stay on guard. [CHORUS] Legends never load, they just hang there in the sky, Half a nine hundo spinning till the servers say goodbye, The world can keep its trophies, Thursday keeps the throne, Someday they'll know our names. But Thursday's always known. [VERSE 2] The playlist's spinning one more time, the credits start to roll, Every banger in its order like a ritual of old, Chicken bones like laurels, meat stick wrappers crowned, The basket's getting lighter and the good chair's cooling down. [CHORUS] [BRIDGE] (whispered over acoustic) And if the checks never come, and the cameras never do, It was never really famous that we were chasing, was it, dude? (nah) It was seven o'clock Thursday. It was you. (...okay but if the checks DO come) (oh the checks are coming) (full time, baby) [SOLO] (the biggest one on the album) [FINAL CHORUS] (key change, everyone) [OUTRO] (one unresolved delayed note, buffering fades) Legends never load. (never load...) Legends never load. (never load...)
[VERSE 1] | D | A | Bm | G | Someday there's a stadium with our faces on the wall, Someday there's a mailbox that can't even hold it all, Someday paparazzi in the hedges of the yard, And we'll blur out our own faces. Stay humble. Stay on guard. [CHORUS] | G | D | A | Bm | Legends never load, they just hang there in the sky, Half a nine hundo spinning till the servers say goodbye, The world can keep its trophies, Thursday keeps the throne, Someday they'll know our names. But Thursday's always known. [VERSE 2] | D | A | Bm | G | The playlist's spinning one more time, the credits start to roll, Every banger in its order like a ritual of old, Chicken bones like laurels, meat stick wrappers crowned, The basket's getting lighter and the good chair's cooling down. [CHORUS] | G | D | A | Bm | [BRIDGE] (whispered over acoustic) | Em | G | D | A | And if the checks never come, and the cameras never do, It was never really famous that we were chasing, was it, dude? (nah) It was seven o'clock Thursday. It was you. (...okay but if the checks DO come) (oh the checks are coming) (full time, baby) [SOLO] (the biggest one on the album) | Bm | G | D | A | [FINAL CHORUS] (key change, everyone) | Ab | Eb | Bb | Cm | [OUTRO] (one unresolved delayed note, buffering fades) | G | A | G | A | Legends never load. (never load...) Legends never load. (never load...)
Slow-burning epic closer starting near 90 BPM and doubling for the finale, clean delay-washed guitars over soft synth pads building into a heavily distorted wall of sound, half-time drums blooming into double-time with double bass rolls, reflective half-sung verses into a massive emotional clean chorus with layered gang harmonies, whispered acoustic bridge, the album's biggest delay-and-reverb guitar solo, half-step key change, ends on one unresolved delayed note fading into a buffering tone, sincere.
The closer. Starts at 90 with clean delay-washed guitars and doubles for the finale. Whispered bridge, the biggest solo on the album, the half-step key change, and it ends on one unresolved note fading into the buffering tone.
Chords: D, A, Bm, G, Em · Key change: Final chorus up a half step (Eb major): Ab, Eb, Bb, Cm as barre chords
Full band parts in the companionTab, Live play and lead line
Continuity
- The snack basket's sealed compartment (track 3) is where the last Paqui chip lived; track 4 is its funeral.
- The Paqui vision in track 4 flickers with sal flip secrets. Track 10 is the trick nobody attempts.
- The nine hundo that froze mid-air in track 2 becomes law in track 9 and hangs in the sky in track 11. It is still up there.
- Destroy's verse on track 6 is sixteen bars of riff. He has never spoken on a record.
- The buffering tone runs through tracks 2, 7, 10 and 11 and never resolves. Eleven months later, NOW LOADING opens by finishing the download.