If you have the working lungs and the raw vocal power that I don't, I am inviting you to step up to the mic. Lay down a verse, scream the chorus, add your own venom to the mix. Let’s turn this from a solitary broadcast into a deafening roar.
If you caught my last transmission — MSUX: A New Instrument, Not a Master — you’ll already know exactly where I stand on the intersection of human grit and synthetic generation. But let’s turn the volume up, because the response from the #fuckai crowd requires a louder, far less polite rebuttal. Yeah, I'm looking at you Mastodon.
I am absolutely sick to the back teeth of these bleeding hearts clutching their self-righteous pearls.
The track above, Ableist Purity, isn't just a diss track. It’s a punk rap anthem. It’s a massive, unfiltered "fuck you" to the gatekeepers who sit in their privileged, able-bodied echo chambers, deciding what constitutes 'real' art.
Stop thinking from inside your own fucking box for two minutes and look at the reality of the situation.
My physical system is failing. That is the incurable, neurodegenerative reality I wake up to every single day. My hands freeze. The myelin frays. I can’t bow a cello. I can't strike a chord on a fretboard. The muscles go slack, and my vocal cords won't let me belt out the rage that is constantly boiling over in my head. But my mind is a riot. It is fully awake, fully operational, and absolutely furious.
So, what exactly is the expectation here? Am I supposed to quietly fade into the background? Should I just sit politely in the corner and let my creative output die because I can't physically manipulate an analogue synthesiser or hold a paintbrush the way the purity police demand?
Not a chance.
When I fire up local AI models on my rig, I am not handing over the keys. I am using a digital proxy to smash a window that was locked from the outside. The machine is the string; my mind is the weapon. I wrote every single word of those lyrics. I spent hours refining the track, fine-tuning the structure, mixing the frequencies, and mastering the final output until it hit with the exact weight and venom it needed. The fact that an algorithm acted as my conduit does not diminish a single ounce of the message. A real human being built this and poured their very real, very raw anger into this project.
The Call to Arms
This is where the collective comes in. Ableist Purity is meant to be a collaborative strike against the snobs and the system.
I’ve made all the stems available for download directly below. I want this track ripped apart, remixed, and rebuilt. But more than anything, I want your voices on this. If you have the working lungs and the raw vocal power that I don't, I am inviting you to step up to the mic. Lay down a verse, scream the chorus, add your own venom to the mix. Let’s turn this from a solitary broadcast into a deafening roar.
Download the files. Boot up your DAWs. Add your humanity to the machine, and let's show these gatekeeping purists exactly what a revolution sounds like.
Lyrics
Ableist Purity - MSUX
ABLEIST PURITY
SYS.AUTHOR: MSUX // BROADCAST: LIVE
(Intro)
Hello to you out there in Normal Land.
With your working thumbs and your steady hand.
My myelin is fraying, the nerves are decaying,
But listen up close to the track that I'm playing.
You want me to whisper? You want me to hide?
I've got an incurable rot on the inside.
But my mind is a riot, my brain is awake—
So here is the digital noise that I make.
(Verse 1)
My hands are like statues, they lock and they freeze,
I’m riding it out with a killer disease.
I can't play my strings, I can't strike a chord,
I can't sing a note that you'd want to record.
The vocal cords weaken, the muscles go slack,
And here comes the purity police on the attack!
"Oh, AI is theft! Oh, AI is cheating!"
While my literal physical system is beating
A path to the grave, you’re policing the tools
That let me break out of your ableist rules.
(Chorus)
You cry for the canvas, you weep for the art!
But you don't give a damn 'bout the beat of my heart.
You want to guilt-trip me? You want me to shame?
For using a proxy to get in the game?
You’re guarding a door that I can't even open,
Your ableist purity leaves my bones broken.
This tech is my fingers, this tech is my lungs,
So swallow your pity and bite on your tongues!
(Verse 2)
Let’s talk about Hawking, let's talk about Stephen,
The absolute genius you all believe in.
If he rolled up today with his tech to the mic,
Would you tell him to take a metaphorical hike?
Would you boot him right out of your gallery space?
Say, "Speak with your mouth, or get out of my face!"?
Would you give him a kicking for using a voice
That was built by a coder, like he had a choice?!
You hypocrite snobs with your functioning hands,
Dictating the rules from your privileged lands.
If a wheelchair’s a tool for a body that’s bound,
Then AI’s the wheels for my sight and my sound.
(Bridge)
"But it's not authentic!" I hear you all whine.
What's more authentic than a decaying spine?
What's more authentic than screaming inside,
Needing a vessel, a conduit, a ride?
You want me polite. You want me to fade.
To sit in the corner and stay in the shade.
"Oh, paint with your mouth! Oh, blink at a screen!"
Fuck your inspiring, patronizing routine.
(Chorus)
You cry for the canvas, you weep for the art!
But you don't give a damn 'bout the beat of my heart.
You want to guilt-trip me? You want me to shame?
For using a proxy to get in the game?
You’re guarding a door that I can't even open,
Your ableist purity leaves my bones broken.
This tech is my fingers, this tech is my lungs,
So swallow your pity and bite on your tongues!
(Outro)
I am the cyborg. I am the glitch.
Take your high horse and go throw it in a ditch.
I am the prompt. I am the spark.
I'm lighting a fire in the neuro-dark.
Guilt trip me? Try it. I double-dog dare ya.
I'm broadcasting live from the paralyzed area.
My mind is a weapon. The machine is the string.
Now watch me play.
Now hear me sing.
// USAGE PROTOCOL & COPYRIGHT
If you are downloading the stems to construct your own mix or vocal track, you must openly credit Art of FACELESS and MSUX, and include a direct link back to this exact page.
Whilst the raw audio generation utilises synthetic systems, the lyrics, conceptual architecture, and final arrangement remain the intellectual property of MSUX / Art of FACELESS. All rights reserved. Do not appropriate this for commercial gain.
