In music, a pasticcio or pastiche is an opera or other musical work composed of works by different composers who may or may not have been working together, or an adaptation or localization of an existing work that is loose, unauthorized, or inauthentic.
The term is first attested in the 16th century referring both to a kind of pie containing meat and pasta (cf. pastitsio) and to a literary mixture; for music, the earliest attestation is 1795 in Italian and 1742 in English. It derives from the post-classical Latin pasticium (13th century), a pie or pasty.
In the 18th century, opera pasticcios were frequently made by composers such as Handel, for example Muzio Scevola (1721) and Giove in Argo (1739), as well as Gluck, and Johann Christian Bach. These composite works would consist mainly of portions of other composers' work, although they could also include original composition. The portions borrowed from other composers would be more or less freely adapted, especially in the case of arias in pasticcio operas by substituting a new text for the original one.
Standing at the machine every day for all my life
I'm used to do it and I need it
It's the only thing I want
It's just a rush, push, cash
Standing at the machine every day for all my life
I'm used to do it and I need it
It's the only thing I want
It's just a rush, push, cash
Standing at the machine every day for all my life
I'm used to do it and I need it
It's the only thing I want
It's just a rush, push, cash
Rush, push, rush, push, rush, push, rush, push
Standing at the machine every day for all my life
I'm used to do it and I need it
sit down and fire away,
i know it's tricky when you're feeling low,
when you feel like your flavour
has gone the way of a pre-shelled pistachio...
i know you're weighed down
you're fed up with your heavy
your boots
laced with melancholy notion's all you own...
i do - like sugar - tend toward the brittle and sticky when spun
and i know my demeanor
has gone the way of a photo left out in the sun...
so i try to keep myself in lillies and flax seeds...
oh what a folly- fooling just yourself...
sit down and smoke away,i wouldn't knock it till you're in them shoes
oh watch as ours subtlety blows away as a blusher gives way to a bruise...
but seemly, we'd freely make a trade-off
a dry rot to take the weight off