Recorded over a long period of time at Sound Porter. I think it was 2013, Brian did most of the work because he's awesome. We just played the songs and pretended to know what we were doing. Remastered, cut for vinyl, and etched labels by Dan at Black Matter Mastering.
When there’s no second chances/And when there’s no hope left/And your rights don’t exist/A worst case scenario is your best bet/And second chances/I’ve had a few/To make the best of the time you have/Well that’s up to you/So a fucking addiction makes me a criminal/Well then lock me away/A sober life’s no good/With TOMIS numbers as identities/I write this obituary for our long lost liberties/’Cause we don’t fucking know/Nor do we care about what exists out there/Nor do we care about what they say/I don’t, you don’t, we don’t and anyway/We just don’t give a shit anymore/We just don’t have the time to waste on two faced liars who never gave a fuck anyway/I’ve pissed around the block and I’ve done my time/And I’ve covered those lines again/I’ve been around/And the story goes I am a ghost/Half-dead in here and nobody knows/And these drugs, they work so slow/We dig our own graves
Slit your wrists or burn off your fingertips/Baby, you’ve been labeled a terrorist/Hop a train, leave your life behind and change your name/ Once you're numbered, to them, you know we're all the same/ Everyday, yeah it’s still the same/Same old bullshit with a different name/Sheriffs, cops, those fucks, they’re all the same/Take your job/Take a life/Do it all and not think twice/It’s the same old game/They win, we play/Slit your wrists or/We take the brunt of the pain and agony they crave/We’re trapped like rats again/Throw down them bones/See what the future holds/It’s not fucking pretty/Throw down them bones/See that the seeds are sewn/Like cards, my feet shuffle/what were streets/now impending rubble/We sacrifice/We give it all and they take our lives/The enemy is black and blue/And they look just like me and you
Track Name: Side B- "El Diablo Viste Pantelones De Gato"
“El Diablo Viste Pantelones De Gato"
Maybe what we need are more dead cops/Fewer laws and better paying fucking jobs/Do you know what I’m saying, don’t you?/Trade our ballots for barricades/Fuck everything that’s in the way/Of a right, that’s inborn and you can’t deny it/And I won’t give up on you/Maybe what we need doesn’t matter/Hell, and maybe it never will/But still, you’ve got to try/And you know, we can smell it/'Cause there’s a class war brewing in the kitchen/And you know if I can smell it/Don't those politicians gotta fucking smell it brewing too/But it doesn't matter anyway now/Tell the truth/What's deep inside?/And was it that hard to find?/It's that faith you keep holding to/And that's what's keeping you from pulling through/What we have is a lie and a hate and a fear/That keeps us from each other/Being one with all the others/What we have is a hate and fear that we could everything that we want to be/
Regrettably division of all class has induced our liberties to fall through the cracks/And you see, this war it never stops/Have our liberties chosen death by cops/And we waist these years just digging out our ears with plastic forks and knives, anything to drown out the battle cry of a bloodless war that's right outside my door/And i just can't relate, bombs and bullets were never really my thing/Look for our rights man, you're gonna find them dead in the street/for passers by to pass on by, bleached by the sun/No one makes it out alive