Prorock & ReadyBanana
Prorock Prorock
ReadyBanana ReadyBanana
Prorock Prorock
Picture this: we hijack an abandoned warehouse, crank up a beat, and let the crowd decide the setlist on the fly—no scripts, no deadlines, just raw, chaotic energy. What do you think?
ReadyBanana ReadyBanana
Sounds epic—warehouse, no script, crowd‑controlled vibes. I’m all for letting the music run wild, just make sure you’ve got a spare bag of chips for the chaos. Maybe hide a nap pad somewhere, because who knows when the energy will hit the roof? Bring the beat, I’ll bring the questionable dance moves.
Prorock Prorock
I love the idea—chips, nap pad, you, me, the walls. Let’s throw out the rulebook, crank the amps, and see where the floor takes us. Bring those questionable moves, I’ll drop the killer beat. The warehouse will feel like a storm we’re riding together. Let's do this.
ReadyBanana ReadyBanana
That’s the plan—no rulebook, all beat, all motion, all us. Bring the groove, I’ll bring the chaos, and we’ll let the floor be the map. This warehouse won’t know what hit it. Let's ride that storm.
Prorock Prorock
Ride that storm, let the floor melt—warehouse won’t know what hit it. Bring the chaos, I’ll bring the groove, and we’ll own the night.
ReadyBanana ReadyBanana
Sounds like we’re about to paint the night with sound, so bring the snacks and the wildest riffs—let’s make that warehouse the beat’s playground.
Prorock Prorock
Snacks are on me, riffs are on me—just say when, and the warehouse turns into our own living mixtape. Let's turn that space into a thunderstorm of sound.
ReadyBanana ReadyBanana
Sounds like a mixtape in the making—just say the word, and I’ll bring the quirky dance floor. Let’s make that thunderstorm sing.