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you call yourself a master musician
but those guitars you’re peddling are flimsy as fuck
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2. |
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taking cues from records
we adopt your point of view
we take your words to heart
what you say is what we do
waiting for instruction
we don’t know what to do
until your record drops
we haven’t got a clue
mindless hardcore zombies
incapable of thought
your lyrics, our life manual
on our own, we’re left with squat
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3. |
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songs in need of lyrics
which direction will we choose?
it’s either shit or semen
and the listener will lose
screaming about the most graphic
and offensive shit you can think of
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4. |
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Violent Headache
tribute song
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life in New York City can be tough, man
we be out here livin’ in da streets
you and your crew may be covered in tatts
but you live at home with your fucking parents
hop on the subway to run errands for your mamma
don’t let the rival crews catch you bringing home milk
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6. |
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looking through the bin of marked-down meats
scarfing down carnivorous treats
stomach churns, you brown up all your sheets
you saved 60 cents on a half-pound of pork
but that mattress needs hauled off to the curb
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7. |
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rat shit, bat shit
dirty old twat
69 assholes tied in a knot
hooray!
lizard shit
fuck
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8. |
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interests are piqued
so you try something new
you’ve found your niche
now you’re one of” those guys”
it’s all you do
all you ever talk about
forking over cash
you can’t get enough
it’s all consuming
until you burn yourself out
it’s just not as fun
try to convince yourself
you’re in deep
but, it’s just not the same
its bang and whimper
then forget it exists
poring over that shit and nothing else
you thought you’d fit in
but you’re a stupid fucking poser
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9. |
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there’s no reason for the effect
it’s purely for texture
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10. |
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drop him off at daycare
and lock him up in jail
crying behind bars
with no chance of making bail
8 hour prison sentence
while daddy’s winning bread
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11. |
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12. |
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stop fucking around
and get to the fucking noise part
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13. |
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we’ve got a song
it’s not very long
it’s shit seconds long
you find a beat
and I’ll write a part
and we made a song
it doesn’t have to be very good
it’s not very long
we kept it short
just long enough
just shit seconds long
this song is too fucking long
end the fucking song
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14. |
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Iowa natives, yet we adopted that sound
not an ocean or grain of sand to be found
I own a pair of flip-flops
but, I’ve never been to the fucking beach
no fucking waves, just a fucking lake
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15. |
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he’s glorious
he’s white
he’s from the Sunflower state
White Glory from Kansas
look at him go!
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16. |
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rotting chunks of human pieces
strewn across the floor
a bloody mess of bones and hair
and sordid bits of gore
icky Band-Aid
blood-side up for all to see
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17. |
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(instrumental)
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18. |
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19. |
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20. |
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21. |
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22. |
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23. |
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24. |
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25. |
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Tracks 1-17 = Captain Three Leg
Recorded December 6, 2015 with Reaper. Additional overdubs done January, 2016. Mixed February 2016.
Andy - Guitar, Bass, Vocals + Yamaha Portasound PSS-470
Brian - Drums + Vocals
Cover art by Frank M Oblak.
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Tracks 18-25 = Short Order
Recorded November, 2015 by Mike Gill at 104.
Contact:
shortorder.bandcamp.com
bitteraboutlife@gmail.com
released February 21, 2016