A physical copy of W.H.Y.G.O.D.W.H.Y. with album art by Chris Naderer and Chris Cropper.
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lyrics
:
I'm sick and fucking tired of being uninspired
Be a disciple, be a soldier, keep it simple, mediocre
I'll eat the toaster, cause I ain't got the bread
I don't know where I'm headed cause I lost my head
Lost my meds, but didn't lose the addiction
We wouldn't be so different if we had the same prescriptions
We're victims, restricted to existence
Wait, what's the difference? The symptoms are intrinsic
Get with it, the sickness is contagious
My head's a mental hospital, can't do much but be patient
Vacation until I'm vacant so my head can better breathe
Singing songs in the shower that I'd been screaming in my sleep
I'm in too deep, and slowly getting deeper
I wish I could remember dreams, I'm a heavy sleeper
So whats cheaper? Heroin or happiness?
I wish I had an abacus I guess I'll take a stab at this
Grab the kids, hide them in the closet with your skeletons
Tell them we're irrelevant, and the televisions eloquent
To hell with friends, my life's a game of solitaire
The universe is infinite but maybe we're too small to care
All is fair, in love, war, and self delusion
Banging your head against a writer's block can seem therapeutic
I swear it's music, even if poorly recorded
If it has enough heads behind it, it's surely supported
The score's not important, we all had a fun time
Playing in toxic waste, soaking up sunshine
But we're all one mind, made up of cells that kill each other
The body don't need consciousness, sleepwalking isn't really slumber At least that's what my doctor tells me.....
The grass is green. Like gasoline
Since the day I didn't wake up, been livin the dream. x2
Hating your life's a full-time occupation Getting a second job could cause complications
Have patience, these vagrants display great persuasion
We're sadists that hate this, convey each statement verbatim
We're bums, but we're fun. We've got gunk in our lungs
I'm the son of a son of a son of a son
It's my heritage, I'm scared of this; my father's a drum
We talk processed nonsense, call it a song on a bun
Well if it's wrong to be dumb, let's arrest the population
Prescribe abomination, the common domination
A higher concentration of exhaust pipe dreams
The world's mine, I swear, I just lost the keys
Wanna see a magic trick? Watch! I'll unravel quick.
Gimme the next course, a dead horse, I'll saddle it.
You could be the catalyst. You could sink my battleship
You could be the cloud in the sky that makes us shadow-less
Ace of spades up my sleeve, so my hands are free to fold with
I fought the law, but the law didn't notice
A rose is a rose, and a poem is a moment
But neither of those can choke your opponent......shit.
The grass is green. Like gasoline.
Since the day I didn't wake up, been livin the dream x2
I'm sick and fucking tired of aspiring to expire
& applying to ply the empire until I'm dead or I'm retired
I'm required to run full speed at walls
over and over, expecting different results
We're just the typical talk, dripping with cynical slop
We're ill like lepers, we're the shepherds of a fictional flock
But the rituals lost. No one remembers to dance.
So we've written this thought, like there was ever a chance
So here's another dull verse for ya'll to enjoy!
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Jack.
Two emcees deliver poetically driven verses over progressive arrangements that reflect sweeping lyrical concepts. The six-
piece group is fronted by lyricists Happy Tooth and Dug and multi-instrumentalist Ryan Liptak. Their debut album is called W.H.Y.G.O.D.W.H.Y.
"Definitely something different in a sea of sames." -Ara Hawkins, Virago Magazine.
"Fuck Happy Tooth & Dug" - Father John Misty...more
This compilation of remixes of songs from DJ Format & Abdominal’s “Still Hungry” runs from pounding boom-bap to elegant jazz. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 28, 2017
