Choir bang
Song generated By ✨Song.do
v1
@ Clifford Packer
2026-06-23 01:46:44
Lyrics
She finds him at the livery off Route 12,
a black haired gentleman with a blaze like a question mark,
"You sure?" written in white across his forehead.
He doesn’t nicker. He nods.
Like he’s been expecting her.
Like he’s read her Yelp reviews.
First ten minutes? Magic.
She swings up bareback, no saddle, no pretense,
Just Tiffany and the horse and the myth of this time it’ll work.
He steps light. He listens.
He doesn't even side-eye at her rambling about Kaleb ,
Or when she calls him
"Bun Bun, my final Bun Bun,"
like trying to name him can pin him to the ground.
Would be humourous if it wasn't so pathetic, so...
[Chorus]:
Even the wind doesn’t laugh.
Because it’s not funny
---------------
then she pulls out the Marlboros.
Not even lit yet.
Just the idea of them.
the promise of that first drag,
the premonition of that flicked cherry.
The horse’s ears twitch.
Not back.
Forward.
Like a man hearing his name called
from a better life.
A higher calling.
[Chorus]:
The black horse doesn’t laugh.
Even the wind doesn’t laugh.
Because it’s not funny
-----------
then he shifts.
No buck. No drama.
Just a slow, deliberate kneel,
like a king granting clemency,
like a bouncer showing her the door.
She hardly notices it happening—
one second she’s almost lighting up,
the next she’s on the ground,
deposited gentle as a sleeping child,
The cigarette—still unlit—
dangles from her lips like a sad little flag.
[Chorus]:
Tiffany doesn't laugh.
The black horse doesn’t laugh.
Even the wind doesn’t laugh.
Because it’s not funny
----------
She's all
"Bun Bun, my love! I have cheese nips"
As enticing and engaging as a sack of wet laundry.
He blinks back.
Then he turns—
not a run, not a bolt,
a stroll,
like he's late for a tennis match.
He walks fifty feet to the dude ranch line,
Standing.... Patiently..... Swaying and humming...
and never looking back.
Smiling kids start clamoring for a ride.
Their excitement, immense,
but...
[Chorus]:
The children don't laugh.
Tiffany doesn't laugh.
The Black horse doesn't laugh.
Even the wind doesn’t laugh.
Because it’s not funny.
---------------
He's great with kids.
Gives trail rides.
He's paid in soft crab apples.
Sometimes tiffany's there
Leaning on a fence post.
Longing in her eyes saying
"that's my bun bun"
The ranch hands smile at her,
but....
[Chorus]:
The ranch hands don’t laugh.
The children dont laugh.
Tiffany doesn't laugh.
The Black horse doesn't laugh.
Even the wind doesn’t laugh.
Because it’s not funny
---------------
The ranch hands don’t laugh.
The children dont laugh.
Tiffany doesn't laugh.
The Black horse doesn't laugh.
Even the wind doesn’t laugh.
The ranch hands don’t laugh.
The children dont laugh.
Tiffany doesn't laugh.
The Black horse doesn't laugh.
Even the wind doesn’t laugh.
Because it’s not funny.
a black haired gentleman with a blaze like a question mark,
"You sure?" written in white across his forehead.
He doesn’t nicker. He nods.
Like he’s been expecting her.
Like he’s read her Yelp reviews.
First ten minutes? Magic.
She swings up bareback, no saddle, no pretense,
Just Tiffany and the horse and the myth of this time it’ll work.
He steps light. He listens.
He doesn't even side-eye at her rambling about Kaleb ,
Or when she calls him
"Bun Bun, my final Bun Bun,"
like trying to name him can pin him to the ground.
Would be humourous if it wasn't so pathetic, so...
[Chorus]:
Even the wind doesn’t laugh.
Because it’s not funny
---------------
then she pulls out the Marlboros.
Not even lit yet.
Just the idea of them.
the promise of that first drag,
the premonition of that flicked cherry.
The horse’s ears twitch.
Not back.
Forward.
Like a man hearing his name called
from a better life.
A higher calling.
[Chorus]:
The black horse doesn’t laugh.
Even the wind doesn’t laugh.
Because it’s not funny
-----------
then he shifts.
No buck. No drama.
Just a slow, deliberate kneel,
like a king granting clemency,
like a bouncer showing her the door.
She hardly notices it happening—
one second she’s almost lighting up,
the next she’s on the ground,
deposited gentle as a sleeping child,
The cigarette—still unlit—
dangles from her lips like a sad little flag.
[Chorus]:
Tiffany doesn't laugh.
The black horse doesn’t laugh.
Even the wind doesn’t laugh.
Because it’s not funny
----------
She's all
"Bun Bun, my love! I have cheese nips"
As enticing and engaging as a sack of wet laundry.
He blinks back.
Then he turns—
not a run, not a bolt,
a stroll,
like he's late for a tennis match.
He walks fifty feet to the dude ranch line,
Standing.... Patiently..... Swaying and humming...
and never looking back.
Smiling kids start clamoring for a ride.
Their excitement, immense,
but...
[Chorus]:
The children don't laugh.
Tiffany doesn't laugh.
The Black horse doesn't laugh.
Even the wind doesn’t laugh.
Because it’s not funny.
---------------
He's great with kids.
Gives trail rides.
He's paid in soft crab apples.
Sometimes tiffany's there
Leaning on a fence post.
Longing in her eyes saying
"that's my bun bun"
The ranch hands smile at her,
but....
[Chorus]:
The ranch hands don’t laugh.
The children dont laugh.
Tiffany doesn't laugh.
The Black horse doesn't laugh.
Even the wind doesn’t laugh.
Because it’s not funny
---------------
The ranch hands don’t laugh.
The children dont laugh.
Tiffany doesn't laugh.
The Black horse doesn't laugh.
Even the wind doesn’t laugh.
The ranch hands don’t laugh.
The children dont laugh.
Tiffany doesn't laugh.
The Black horse doesn't laugh.
Even the wind doesn’t laugh.
Because it’s not funny.
Style of Music
150 BPM, 1960s doo-wop chord progression, 4-part backing harmony, avant-garde, math, erratic 7/8 time signature, alternating polyrhythms, unpredictable sudden tempo shifts, complex syncopation, broken robotic groove, monotone male speech synthesis, robotic TTS singer, flat mechanical cadence, uncanny-valley, staccato delivery, pixelated audio vocals, Yamaha SW1000XG, Creative Labs AWE64 Gold, Windows 98 Christian Theme, 4-bit ADPCM, Aliased 22kHz, Dry Hardware Reverb Hall 1, Zero Sub-Bass, spoken-word-to-pitch, un-swung mathematical phrasing, asymmetric rhythm, glitched cadence