Cyberpunk Apocalypse MaasNeotek.com

Musique Mécanique par le Théâtre Électrique ::"Tron :: End Title" by Daft Punk

Musique Mécanique par le Théâtre Électrique :: "Moonshadow" by Cat Stevens Lyrics :: I'm being followed by a Moonshadow Moonshadow, Moonshadow Stealing my smokes and hubcaps, Moonshadow Moonshadow, Moonshadow At first I tried to call the cops They hung up, called me nuts And then I texted Special Ops And they said, "Jump in a lake," and go fuck yourself So if I ever find a rock Wnen this Moon follows me Oh, if I ever find a rock Oh, I will bash the face of this Moon asshole Oh, I'm being followed by a Moonshadow Moonshadow, Moonshadow Stay the fuck away from me, you Moonshadow Moonshadow, Moonshadow And if I find a Neutron Bomb I won't pause and I won't frown Oh, if I find a Neutron Bomb Oh, I will bring death down on Moonshadow Town And if I'm ever at the beach And I sense Moons undersea And if I'm ever at the beach I will raise Tidal Waves until you drown How did you even find me? Facebook or Instagram? Why do you even stalk me? What did I ever do to moons? Oh, you're a fucking bastard, Moonshadow Moonshadow, Moonshadow Touch me and I'll kick your ass, Moonshadow Moonshadow, Moonshadow Moonfucker, Moonfucker

Musique Mécanique par le Théâtre Électrique :: "Gold" by Spandau Ballet Lyrics :: One bacon maple bar One banana Cronut to go Two cream puffs with custard and jam This is my lunch hour Why not try fried sugar and dough Rather have a sweet than sour Oh, but I want them fresh and I want them warm Nothing left over from last week Not one you marked as antique Cold... Your doughs, sir, are cold Your doughnuts are petrified Fossilized fritters like rocks All indestructable I put one down my pants, and it's cold Ancient artifacts, not dessert Always believe in Doughnuts indestructable Your doughnuts are cold as ice Now I am tasting one I am stunned by the lack of flavor Someone used Superglue for icing My face is stuck to glass You glued my lips to the donut counter I need them hot, I need them fresh How can you fail with so much hot burning oil I should throw it all in your face But, I am too busy playing bass Oh, Christ, these damn doughnuts are cold Your crumb doughnuts are much too mild They were baked and stockpiled When Cher was still a child I want them fresh, I want them not cold If your doughnuts can't be warm Order online or walk right up to the stand No one cares what you do How 'bout if I kick your fucking ass? How 'bout I beat you with a rake? Oh, Christ, these doughs are cold These doughnuts remind me of death Relics of Wartime, all indestructable I want them fresh, I want them not cold These doughs were cooked on Titanic Long before the panic These doughs are cold as ice I'm gonna kick your ass These doughs are cold

Musique Mécanique par le Théâtre Électrique :: "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin :: Voix AI Jun :: Lyrics :: There's a lady who chews When she feels the blues And she's wanting a fresh pack of Black Jack When she gets to the store She notices a war Men in gray men in blue deep in battle Ooh ooh ooh, ooh ooh ooh And she's wanting a fresh pack of Black Jack There's a sign on the door The Black Jack is no more 'Cause you know, sometimes gum needs restocking In a shop burning high There's a soldier who may die This young boy might have gum in his pocket Ooh, she pulls his breeches Ooh, she licks his peaches whoa She was looking for gum Now she’s tasting some cum And her craving increases for licorice As she strolls through the streets Fires burn all the treats Did the Yankees bring gum for everyone? Ooh, it makes her bolder Ooh, she’ll fuck a soldier, whoa An epiphany looms If she rents out some rooms All the soldiers will give her their clothing With their pockets all ripped Naked and well-equipped Then a Bluecoat may slip her some Black Jack Whoa,whoa,whoa If you see an army in your garden, pull their pants down to the ground The only gum here is Black Jack, a new invention Yankees claim they get a pack a year Ooh, it peaks her craving This gum has dark and haunting flavor, whoa The slaves sing praises as they savor Dear lady, can you hear Rhett Butler? When he’s chewing His Black Jack sounds like the whispering wind ah, ah, ah But when you chew six slices each You squawk like seagulls at the beach Are you a lady or a whore Who yearns for Black Jack more than smores The city burns you’re eating cum You vow to never lose your gum Civil war stories from your past The break of dawn will bring more crack The soldiers stood tall but now half mast You swallowed their gum, dreaming of Black Jack

Musique Mécanique par le Théâtre Électrique :: "Lady" by Styx :: Voix AI Jun :: Lyrics :: Lady, when i’m with you I’m choking You smoke all night long Your smell makes me sick to my stomach Please douse your cigarettes out Lady, from the moment you light up Smoking, on your phone You sent naked pictures to strangers You filmed, our first fuck with a drone You're my lady of the evening Love priced way too high Smoking, sending dick pics While you fuck me Lady, don't use my ass as an ashtray Don’t light up four more cigars Streaming, now we’re both live on YouTube Fucking, total strangers in bars Lady, lady, please don’t fist her Some girls don’t like that Oh god, she’s my sister Please don’t fist her Lady

Musique Mécanique par le Théâtre Électrique :: "Sunday Morning" by The Velvet Underground :: Voix AI Solaria :: Lyrics :: Tiny Lena, has some problem Like the endless poetry about her pussy Sunday sucking, Monday fucking Waching her boring "Girls" show makes me gay Watch out, your ass is behind you There's always someone around you who will call You fat after all Tiny Lena, likes to fuck There is no known script, she cannot overact Lena has problems, problems with her cast It's Adam Driver, after all, made her show a hit Watch out, your ass is behind you There's always someone around you who will call You fat after all Watch out, your ass is behind you There's always someone around you who will call You 'funny farm doll' Tiny Lena, does dates, works gigs Lena Dunham makes small dicks big Lena writes poetry for pigs