junna do juddno don't
we don't know if bullets float
tweedle dee tweedle dumb
your mum just shat on Michael's tumb.
about
A concept upon basic rythmatic departure. First, the drums are mic'd, leveled and recorded with no tempo or structural aid, for a more natural feel, a level of misconceptual indignity of no arrangement.
After the drums comes the Bass guitar, fuelled with nothing but low end and drive, creating a pocket below the bass drum that is nothing less of the warmest cloud you could ever have approaching that big round ass of yours, fuckin' perv.
after the bass is shoved up your crapper, a left guitar track is recorded, defying the laws of slowed down stoner doom Jesus Christ shit. Jesus fucking Christ shit on the floor, looses his balance, all composure, lifts the key from his pocket and jams it deep up the urethra of some rich cunt. We still don't know what was going on there, but that shits real man, we saw it with our own eyes. Then Satan cam, grabbed Jesus, said fuck this planet and they bailed. so now humanity isn't enslaved anymore and it's OK to be atheist.
then we recorded the right guitar track and I flew after Jesus and Satan and killed both of them for being dick heads in the first place.
Shove that down your gobble knob, home boi.
credits
released February 27, 2017
some indecent bastard's record label that doesn't exist. Copyright your mums cunt hole.
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