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{lo-fi electric piano with vinyl crackle and distant
knife chops}
Standing in the kitchen at twelve past midnight,
In an oversized tee that's a little too tight.
Purple eyeshadow smeared on the pillowcase,
We're winning the war at our own damn pace.
Skechers sandals lined up by the front door,
Not trying to impress anybody anymore!
Slice the tomato, drop a pinch of sea salt,
If our lives are a mess,
it's nobody's fault. We’re making a hit right here on the kitchen
floor!
We’re locking the locks and we’re bolting the door!
With a podcast playing and a snack in hand,
We are running the most exclusive club in the land.
It’s domestic, it’s lazy,
it’s fiercely true, Welcome to the birth of the brand-new Tiguidou!
(Spoken casually):
"Wait, guys, the consultants say this genre is going to trend on
TikTok by Thursday..." "Should we care?"
"Absolutely not, let's go eat more Cadbury."
{snappy drum roll
drops right back in}
Absolute commercial innovation.
Absolute domestic sovereignty.
Tara, Captain Quinn, and the hyper-tuned marketing crew.
{kettle whistle fading into
warm vinyl}