[Verse 1] 1909, Brodmann drew his lines by eye, Areas one two three, five and seven climbing high, Thirty-nine, forty, forty-three join the parietal crew, Von Economo answered back with PA clear through PH too, Naming PE, PF, PG the fields he carved with pride, The Vogts went chasing myelin threads, counting fibers side by side, Eighty-four, Eidelberg and Galaburda turned the scope, Found the inferior parietal lobe leans right — asymmetric hope. [Chorus] From Brodmann's pen to Julich's grid, Every fold has a name, every border hid, Count the cells, trace the stain, read the cortex like a page, Map by map, the brain reveals its rostral-caudal stage, PF to PG, hIP low to high, Cytoarchitecture draws the atlas of the mind's own sky. [Verse 2] But eyes get tired, borders blur, bias creeps into the draw, Schleicher's answer: let the gray-level index be the law, Ninety-nine, profiles plotted, cell density in a curve, Statistics find the seam where one field yields to the next nerve, No more guessing, no more squinting, numbers draw the line, Observer-independent mapping — objective, redefined. [Chorus] From Brodmann's pen to Julich's grid, Every fold has a name, every border hid, Count the cells, trace the stain, read the cortex like a page, Map by map, the brain reveals its rostral-caudal stage, PF to PG, hIP low to high, Cytoarchitecture draws the atlas of the mind's own sky. [Verse 3] Two thousand six, Caspers split the inferior lobe in seven, PFop, PFt, PF, PFm, PFcm — a rostral-to-caudal heaven, Angular cortex answers with PGa then PGp behind, A gradient of grain and layer, caudal growing less refined, Choi carved hIP one and two where the intraparietal sulcus bends, Richter pushed it further — hIP four right up to eight extends, Scheperjans split the superior lobe in five-Ci, five-M, five-L too, Seven-PC, seven-A, seven-P, and seven-M complete the view. [Bridge] Geyer and Grefkes walked the postcentral strip with care, Three-a, three-b, one, and two — each probability laid bare, Borders shift from brain to brain, no two folks quite the same, So the atlas keeps a hundred brains and averages the claim, Amunts, twenty-twenty, Science prints the Julich name, Probabilistic, voxel-wise — fMRI peaks find their frame. [Chorus] From Brodmann's pen to Julich's grid, Every fold has a name, every border hid, Count the cells, trace the stain, read the cortex like a page, Map by map, the brain reveals its rostral-caudal stage, PF to PG, hIP low to high, Cytoarchitecture draws the atlas of the mind's own sky. [Outro] One century of counting, layer by layer, cell by cell, Brodmann's sketch to Julich's grid — the parietal story they tell.
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