Blunt Guts
kalashnikov
special status
- Повідомлення
- 3 363
- Реєстрація
- 30.04.09
- Репутація
- 25 883
взрывной квартет из Сиракуз. сырость, злость и ненависть
Band:
Armando - Bass
Bill - Drums
Greg - Guitar
Tyler - Vocals
WE FUCKING HATE PLAYING SOBER
We were cut from a different cloth.
It's not as much about marketability as it is about being part of the punk community; we just want people to jam and relieve some stress. Playing out, maybe some weed and beer, and just crazy fun times. You're headlining a show? That's awesome, man. Pre-sale tickets for thirty bucks? Are those girls even legal? You're trying to get on Warped Tour? What's your band's name again? Oh, we're Blunt Guts; you probably wouldn't like us.
Different cloth.
PANOPTICON
Undisciplined animal in disguise.
How does it taste when you're shitting where you eat? Infantile man. Thinking the world owes you something.
Atmosphere is toxic. Victimize your loved ones. Stockholm syndrome ensues by the man who provides.
You never know what intricacies lay behind closed doors...the domestic structure is not so ideal.
Atmosphere is toxic. Imprison your loved ones. You don't deserve family or the roof over your head.
ITCH
Her scent causes ecstasy, her appearance beckons.
I've been looking for someone to help me alleviate the pressure.
Such a pristine blanket, I wonder what's underneath.
Nurturing ambiance. Invitation. Blistered spirit in need of supplement.
She's in need of supplement. Nature calls.
WHATEVER YOU CALL IT, IT SWINGS
Permanent embodiment. Deviating state of mind.
Vows etched on the canvas. Pissed on his life's foundation. Reluctant to admit hypocrisy.
He firmly believes the concept of power in numbers legitimizes his role. Pointing the finger, when he should look at himself.
Fucking futile.
LONG TIME NO SEE
Taken for granted with each word.
Camaraderie that is existent solely when it's convenient for you.
Are we only friends when in the same vicinity? At least return my phone calls, fuckhead.
NEW DAWN INTRO/TOP TEN HIP-HOP COUNTDOWN
Youth vacuum. Vacant dreams. It’s a shallow dive to reach the point. Irrelevance commoditized. Meaningless rants for the sake of rhyme.
These gloaters breed ignorance. There's no context to support.
The bass pounds. The lights flash. Pawns vacillate under an unknown voice. Irrelevance commoditized. Meaningless rants for the sake of rhyme.
Corrosion of an art’s potential… you wasted it on yourselves.
NOMAD
Evolving machinery. We are just toolmakers.
“God gives us intelligence to uncover the wonders of nature. Without the gift, nothing is possible.”
It benefits, yet encumbers, our very primal urges to survive.
SLOWLY TYING THE KNOT
Manipulation.
Obligatory feelings. Prioritization of false love. Getting dragged by the balls, and you refuse to fight it.
Opaque mind. Constriction of options.
Attaining nothing. Excavation is getting deeper. Your choice; I have no remorse. Excavation is getting deeper.
PRETEND YOU'RE WEIRD
--
FUCK CLUB CULTURE
Herds emerge on the city streets. Hormones lashing out.
The role-playing alpha male seeks his prey. Dressed-down people in fragrant clouds. Excessive bass from cars; an aural mess. Tinnitus need not be worsened by this.
Lights. Sweat. Noise. Fucking obnoxious.
No escape from this cycle of media-regurgitated garbage. Arts exploited as the DJ spins the record. Spontaneous lines of blow in the bathroom; next step: half-way house. All in good fun, but what's the purpose?
All the so-called wasted nights spent staring up at my ceiling...solitude. Eschew club culture.
We were cut from a different cloth.
It's not as much about marketability as it is about being part of the punk community; we just want people to jam and relieve some stress. Playing out, maybe some weed and beer, and just crazy fun times. You're headlining a show? That's awesome, man. Pre-sale tickets for thirty bucks? Are those girls even legal? You're trying to get on Warped Tour? What's your band's name again? Oh, we're Blunt Guts; you probably wouldn't like us.
Different cloth.
PANOPTICON
Undisciplined animal in disguise.
How does it taste when you're shitting where you eat? Infantile man. Thinking the world owes you something.
Atmosphere is toxic. Victimize your loved ones. Stockholm syndrome ensues by the man who provides.
You never know what intricacies lay behind closed doors...the domestic structure is not so ideal.
Atmosphere is toxic. Imprison your loved ones. You don't deserve family or the roof over your head.
ITCH
Her scent causes ecstasy, her appearance beckons.
I've been looking for someone to help me alleviate the pressure.
Such a pristine blanket, I wonder what's underneath.
Nurturing ambiance. Invitation. Blistered spirit in need of supplement.
She's in need of supplement. Nature calls.
WHATEVER YOU CALL IT, IT SWINGS
Permanent embodiment. Deviating state of mind.
Vows etched on the canvas. Pissed on his life's foundation. Reluctant to admit hypocrisy.
He firmly believes the concept of power in numbers legitimizes his role. Pointing the finger, when he should look at himself.
Fucking futile.
LONG TIME NO SEE
Taken for granted with each word.
Camaraderie that is existent solely when it's convenient for you.
Are we only friends when in the same vicinity? At least return my phone calls, fuckhead.
NEW DAWN INTRO/TOP TEN HIP-HOP COUNTDOWN
Youth vacuum. Vacant dreams. It’s a shallow dive to reach the point. Irrelevance commoditized. Meaningless rants for the sake of rhyme.
These gloaters breed ignorance. There's no context to support.
The bass pounds. The lights flash. Pawns vacillate under an unknown voice. Irrelevance commoditized. Meaningless rants for the sake of rhyme.
Corrosion of an art’s potential… you wasted it on yourselves.
NOMAD
Evolving machinery. We are just toolmakers.
“God gives us intelligence to uncover the wonders of nature. Without the gift, nothing is possible.”
It benefits, yet encumbers, our very primal urges to survive.
SLOWLY TYING THE KNOT
Manipulation.
Obligatory feelings. Prioritization of false love. Getting dragged by the balls, and you refuse to fight it.
Opaque mind. Constriction of options.
Attaining nothing. Excavation is getting deeper. Your choice; I have no remorse. Excavation is getting deeper.
PRETEND YOU'RE WEIRD
--
FUCK CLUB CULTURE
Herds emerge on the city streets. Hormones lashing out.
The role-playing alpha male seeks his prey. Dressed-down people in fragrant clouds. Excessive bass from cars; an aural mess. Tinnitus need not be worsened by this.
Lights. Sweat. Noise. Fucking obnoxious.
No escape from this cycle of media-regurgitated garbage. Arts exploited as the DJ spins the record. Spontaneous lines of blow in the bathroom; next step: half-way house. All in good fun, but what's the purpose?
All the so-called wasted nights spent staring up at my ceiling...solitude. Eschew club culture.
послушать:
2011 - Hug Machine Demo
2012 - Blunt Guts LP
2012 - Fukk Bar Culture split tracks
- Опис
- negative powerviolence/hardcore, Syracuse
- Країна
- Сполучені Штати Америки
