1. |
Tell Me Off
03:03
|
|||
|
All the voices in my head were as loud as they get. I begged them to tell me off. All the words that I said were preceded by dread. Tiptoe in place and time. On a canvas that’s blank, I roll around in the paint. No direction can be wrong. Once a babbling saint who’s broken restraint from projections that led me on. In my mind I think I’m alive. In my mind I think I’ll survive. I tend to destroy more than create. Redirected fate. Resurrected state. Now I’m sculpting mountains with a phantom limb. Lined up in perfect form. Now I’m lengthening shadows at 10am with my back on the living room floor. From a cloud that is gray, I wring out all the rain. Clean off the streets where I’m lost. I’m planting the seed. I’m moving my feet. I’m breaking free. In my mind I think I’m alive. In my mind I think I’ll survive. I tend to destroy more than create. Redirected fate. Resurrected state. Get out of my way ‘cause I’m moving like a wrecking ball. So sick of this place so I make a new one up instead until the end. I tend to destroy more than create. Redirected fate. Resurrected state.
|
||||
2. |
Lower Primate
02:25
|
|||
|
Free of the leash and kicking up dust. Disarrange before we’ll adjust. Millions of years to evolve before us. Some of us reject it. Rejected. We can follow scent, but we’re acting senseless. We can rest our heads, but in our beds we’re restless. All my friends are drug addicts. All my friends are alcoholics. All my friends are pessimistic. Some of us. All of us. We’re the ones who reject it. Rejected. We can follow scent, but we’re acting senseless. We can rest our heads, but in our beds we’re restless. I don’t feel guilty. Clean skin in the Dead Sea. I don’t feel guilty. No kin. No breed. I’ll do as I fucking please. We can follow scent, but we’re acting senseless. We can rest our heads, but in our beds we’re restless.
|
||||
3. |
Electric Kool-Aid
02:43
|
|||
|
Swallow the dose. Savor the taste. Dissolve into a chemical haze. Orbit the globe. Shift different shapes. Break down the walls of a spiritual maze. The panic grows. Slip out of phase. Tumbling down a neon staircase. Lay in the road and turn to waste. I’m just another fucking head case. The cops can smell my fear. The LSD rings in my ears. Run circles in a house of mirrors. I’ll never make it out of here. Barking dogs bite at my feet. Swallow the dose. Savor the taste. Dissolve into a chemical haze. Orbit the globe. Shift different shapes. Break down the walls of a spiritual maze. The panic grows. 1-2-3. LSD. 1-2-3. LSD. Swallow the dose. Savor the taste. Dissolve into a chemical haze. Orbit the globe. Shift different shapes. Break down the walls of a spiritual maze. The panic grows. Slip out of phase. Tumbling down a neon staircase. Lay in the road and turn to waste. I’m just another fucking head case. Deep fry my brain when given the chance to. I’ll plead insane at heaven’s gates. An angry God taking no lip.
|
||||
4. |
Live and Die in the City
02:54
|
|||
|
Our moans form a static. Sings me to sleep in traffic. I enjoy being paranoid. I’m completely at ease. We live and die in the city. Bred in the streets. At home in the havoc. Always a creature of habit. Fill the void with a stranger’s voice. We scream through our teeth. We live and die in the city. Bred in the streets. Head down in the underground. Too close for comfort. Face down in a flower mound. Wait for the rapture. Destroy this fucking town. Burn it to the ground. Destroy this fucking town. Burn it all down.
|
||||
5. |
Pez
03:03
|
|||
|
We are gathered here today to listen to each other complain. Signals misfire in our brains so we will always self-medicate. Dope man. Give me the dope, man. Dope man. I can’t cope, man. If pain is a religion then I’m your reverend. Speaking to a bored congregation who sleeps through my sermon. This can’t be worth it. I take my medicine and let it kick in. Dope man. Give me the dope, man. Dope man. I can’t cope, man. Dope man. Give me the dope, man. Dope man. I can’t cope, man. Dope man. Life’s a joke man. Dope man. I’m fucking broke, man. Dope man. Give me the dope, man. Dope man. I’ve given up hope.
|
||||
6. |
Meat
02:11
|
|||
|
Suck, suck, suck ’til the bone is dry. After the gold inside it’s left hollow and wasted; to splinter for the dogs. Hoarse cough: bone in throat. A crying bitch at an empty bowl. I got some slop for that open mouth, so I’ll let you off leash for you to walk about dizzy and sick through this front yard town full of shit for you to spread around. The meat won’t dress with affection. I want the abjection. The meat won’t dress with affection. I want the abjection. Keep your peace meal. I’ll sing for my supper: a chorus for the starved. Save yourself like a calf inside a box. They say the meat tastes better that way—but I don’t care. Lick the salt off the chops for the stock. Nose up to self-serving stench, completely unaware. Hook and hang the meat to cure, but you won’t cure me. Stomach empty as your plate. Tongue heavy as smoked rings. The meat won’t dress with affection. I want the abjection. The meat won’t dress with affection. I want the abjection.
|
||||
7. |
Profit of God
02:39
|
|||
|
They hypnotized us and we bought whatever was sold. False advertisements and greed in a franchised cult. Your pockets hang low and you stay high with the profit of God. We’re not falling for it anymore. They victimized us. Sex sells in the churches too. Rampant perversion fulfilled by misguided youth. They pandered to chumps. Got the nod from the Christian right. Now they control us for the rest of our life. Politics imposed. Conquer and divide with the profit of God. Sing me this song. We’re not dying for it anymore.
|
||||
8. |
Phone Tag
02:35
|
|||
|
Everything is broken beyond repair. All I smell is gun smoke in the air. Awake to a nightmare. Freedom is a dream. Wage war on our welfare. Officers disturb peace. Phone tag you’re it. Phone tag you’re it. Phone tag you’re it. Hear out the bullshit. Society is poisoned and doesn’t care. Propaganda spoken over air. We’ll die in the crosshairs. Riot in the streets. Won’t pledge to surrender. One nation under siege. The hive mind is demented. Swarm of bees too buzzed to drive home. Our fate is cemented. Watch wars from a screen on my telephone. Phone tag you’re it. Phone tag you’re it. Phone tag you’re it. Hear out the bullshit.
|
||||
9. |
Intertwine
03:27
|
|||
|
This case of bad vibes spreads around like head lice. I’m out of advice, but we’re not throwing the fight. Tarred and feathered. Intact but battered. Keep it together. You know how it goes. Find some shelter. Supplies are scattered. Wait out the weather and feed off a host. Attach and relax. Drain out all that I’ve got. Extract then give back everything that you’ve got. Tough luck on our side, but can’t let it break our stride. When our bodies combine, our strength will double in size. If we intertwine then I think we’ll be all right. If we give a shit then I think we’ll exist forever. Tarred and feathered. Intact but battered. Keep it together. You know how it goes. Find some shelter. Supplies are scattered. Wait out the weather and feed off a host. Attach and relax. Drain out all that I’ve got. Extract then give back everything that you’ve got. Exploit and rejoice that we aren’t on our own. Appoint my voice to yours when you’ve lost your own. Parasites passing time. We will be all right. Tarred and feathered. Intact but battered. Keep it together. You know how it goes. Find some shelter. Supplies are scattered. Wait out the weather and feed off a host.
|
||||
If you like Drip-Fed, you may also like:
supported by 7 fans who also own “Drip-Fed”
Dzwit dwitz tuhluduluh AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
go to album
Burning Desire to Draw Last Breath
by Gulch
supported by 6 fans who also own “Drip-Fed”
Good times to be alive when there’s so fucking much great music around. Golden Age we are in now the digital sample rates has improved greatly and over taken anything analog 44.1 ever made. Clarity nowadays has opened the stereo field significantly just crisp cleanly placed instrument chords and drum kits are now the standard. Fucking Beautiful times to be alive. ♥️🤙🏻
go to album
supported by 5 fans who also own “Drip-Fed”
Blood 🩸 Pact is such beautiful and sad song, HF are a genre all their own, a must see live!
go to album
This Is All We Ever Get
by SPACED
Knockout debut from a Buffalo, New York-based hardcore band who like their riffs sick, their drums fast, and their choruses sticky-sweet.
go to album
Escape From New York
by Cash Bribe
New York hardcore meets classic thrash metal meets Jane's Addiction-esque alternative on the Brooklyn crushers' sensational debut.
go to album
FSR69 - Psychic Dance Routine
by Scowl
Rowdy hardcore rhythms co-mingle with catchy alt-rock hooks on the California punks' immensely satisfying 5-track EP.
go to album
