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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I'm not a renegade, no pennies saved, so my rent is paid. Follow, imitate, integrate, instigate and swallow lemonade. But these intoxicants can't be consciousness, I promise kids. Be honest with the consequence that condescends the promises. The week is starting, while the weak are still starving. We keep marching and marching to try disarming our kings heartstrings. When thunder splits where structures sit the public gets it's publicist to run with this to a government so fucking sick they cover it. So tell me a knock-knock joke, cause see I've not got hope. And it's a nonstop slope, until we're on top, broke. I've got it all figured out. I'm bigger now, people think I'm worth money. Out of school, now we're cool. Out of bed, showered too, so how are you? How ya do? Uh, gainfully employed. We built the comets and filled our wallets, but mainly we destroy. We're on top of it. We've got jobs and shit. I'm not a number I'm a decimal and I guess that that's respectable. I've got a life to live. First I'm buying in. The rest is just the condiments. So a guy walks into a bar thats too heavy to raise, so he's set in his ways, he just stays there. Replace me with computers. There's no maybes in the future.
Work really doesn't....all we're making is consumers.
We're on top of it, we've got jobs and shit. It's accomplishment I've got a problem with. Acknowledgment, is that all there is?
I'm on top of shit. I've got a job to quit. I traded confidence for incompetence. Bring common sense to live in this landfill. A signature anthill our differences can't kill. Here's to the bands neglecting fans after death. Cheers to the man collecting cans lack of debt. Cash the check, have regret, half forget. Monkey see and monkey grew up. Hungry me, hungry you, well trust me I'm another junkie too....shux. Stuck, trapped and attached to my unorthodox cubicle. Endorphins lost as usual. I feel delusional. I guess it's mutual. So hey okay obey the way they say I have to be first. Make the opiate appropriate, repeat work and eat dirt. It's either that, complete the task at last or kill the leader fast. While I breathe in trash, wheeze and gasp through my demon's mask and believe in that. Season's pass, my faiths placed in a case at the pawn shop. Cause even if you work nonstop, on tops a long shot.
We're on top it, we've got jobs and shit. It's accomplishment I've got a problem with. Acknowledgment, is that all there is? Now I've arrived, at my 9-5. I'm so happy I could die it's the first day of my life.
Now I've arrived, at my
9-5. I'm so happy I could die. I'm feeling just fine. Now I've arrived, to the rest of my life. I'm so happy I could die. I guess I could try!
We're all monkeys in denial. It was funny for a while. The metropolis took hostages, we're on top of it in a pile. I'll have several babies, with a level lady. I'll pretend to care, they'll pretend to save me, and we'll get a raise. Hip hooray! Perfected wreckage, picture framed, we're on it! It takes a man to face his destiny, turn and run from it successfully, especially the way that it was chasing him and everything. So we scramble, scramble, just to get a handful. Atlantis is in shambles and happiness is canceled. A gamble, a gamble, everythings a gamble. Don't hate us we did it for pay stubs, the rest of its made up, there's nothing we're afraid of. But the world at a standstill. We're a flying car, turned dying star. We've got id cards, we're trying hard, and we don't know just why we are. So pardon you, no pardon due. Just push the fucking button and tell em it was hard to do.
We're on top of shit, we've got jobs and shit. It's accomplishment I've got a problem with. Acknowledgment, is that all there is? x2 On top, it's a long shot. x2
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