1. |
Bird Strike
03:33
|
|||
|
The plane goes down as the sun goes up
The daylight’s delayed because the sky turned black
A bird struck the engine and explodes into dust
the plane fell faster than the west gate bridge
The sound of screams were heard from the ground
The sound of sirens replaced the screams
Nose dived into the sand dunes,
Among the killing fields near botany bay
The rotted remains of Harvey Jones and Mark Johnston
were were ejected from the earth where they lay
People flocked - to see the wreck - What they saw made them
turn the colour of bad shit
The passenger plane once impressive and white
Was now a tangled mess of video tape
—---
Smouldering coals of the charred remains
Crackle and pop like a dusty LP
The stench of the smoke, petrol, blood and the shit
Mix with the smell of the ocean breeze
—---
When, 1 bird took down the other,
400 lives lost in the blink of an eye
What’s left looks like a Francis Bacon,
Paramedics don’t know where to start
The world kept spinning around and the waves keep crashing down
The birds kept flying high, The planes keep crashing down
As the sun went down another plane went up
What are the odds
As the sun went down another plane went up
What are the odds of twice in one day
BIRD STRIKE / BIRD STRIKE
|
||||
2. |
Trapped in Time
02:48
|
|||
|
The 60’s came and went but you’re still standing here
The hippies all changed but you still persevere
They passed the buck when they past their prime
But you still act like you’re trapped in time
Punks stood on the edge but you’re in between the flags
They jumped off the cliff and left you holding their bags
They passed the buck when they changed their mind
But you still act like you’re trapped in time
The punishment for the crime?
You’re trapped in time!
The new romantic sound of new wave came to town
They were screaming down the highway, while you were broken down
You were Paul Simon When they wanted Simon Le Bon
You were Dave Evans, but they always wanted Bon
The punishment fits the crime
You try to escape, but you can not get away
You’re trapped in time
You’ll never escape, you try to escape, but you can’t get away
Can’t fast forward or rewind
Trapped In Time
|
||||
3. |
The Ostrich
02:11
|
|||
|
What are you doing there?
With your head in the sand
Are you a rodent, or a man?
The persona you put on in public
latched to your true self
The parasite took over and left you to die
Suffocated, coagulated
Decapitated, Dissociated
Sucked you dry, and left you to die
Avoiding information when expecting confrontation
Real bright, Hiding in plain site
What are ya doing with your head in the sand, mate?
What are ya, an Ostrich?
Freddy, you little ferret. You snivelling little shit!
You may call it ignorance
Or you can call it lack of discipline
Even if I say I’ll change,
I’ll be the same til I die, for the rest of my life
|
||||
4. |
MAU
02:12
|
|||
|
Shove your head into the ground
Try your best to find the sound
It’s a subterranean bottomless pit
That’s why it’s called the underground
Any punk with half a brain
Doesn’t care about Egg or Chain
It’s just internet people trying to make
A thing just like dole wave
It may not be New York, Berlin, Or any of the rest
Dagger eyes from all other scenes, even from the Midwest
Clench your hand into a fist
When you’ve got a grip then don’t resist
Lose yourself and dance around
The feeling of the underground
Everyone knows the Saints came first
They took the sound like it was Patty Hearst
It’s a growing, ever evolving sound
Modern Australian Underground
|
||||
5. |
Living on a Crust
01:56
|
|||
|
Handout after handout makes me feel so sick
What’s the sound of music without Creative Vic?
Where’s the motivation without guaranteed bucks
You don’t rely on talent, discipline or luck
The modern day musician, getting paid for gigs
It’s beyond all recognition to live on the skids
You don’t rely on talent, discipline or luck
Where’s the motivation without guaranteed bucks
The modern day musician, getting paid in gigs
It’s beyond all recognition to live on the skids
It’s just human condition your choice is a must
On your knees, begging the state’s investment trust
To fund future tours and guarantee your bucks
You don’t want to be hand to mouth, living on a crust
|
||||
6. |
Annoying Riffs
02:31
|
|||
|
25 year olds with annoying riffs, sing about paying taxes
The confusion of their youth and living in share houses
According to their lyrics they like jumping trains and rolling cigarettes
They sing it with conviction, they sing without experience, inside their minds, their lexicon is Shakespearean, their overflowing egos are inflated with delirium
35 year olds with annoying riffs sing about politics
Rising interest rates, their selfish world views and according to all of their lyrics,
they suffer from anxiety and are up to their neck in problems
And every second sentence they say, sounds like a fucking poem.
They sing it with experience, but they sing it without conviction
And every second one of them had an amphetamine addiction
According to their image they like rain jackets and puffy bright white shoes
According to their critics they’re like every other band that came before
|
||||
7. |
Gone to Gowings
03:04
|
|||
|
Sitting at home, waiting for the draft
One foot in the grave - and the other one is slipping on - a banana peel
With skin that has been ravaged by one hundred thousand plagues
As dry as a dehydrated potato
I’m going to Gowings, Going to Gowings
With a moth eaten haircut, in a world of butterflies
It’s over now, It’s over now
More cultured than the bacteria in a penicillin factory,
I’m as popular as a turd floating in a pool
I am the Australian Pope
Watching obscure corners of a busy planet
I’m going to Gowings, Going to Gowings
Time to leave
Hit the frog and toad
Jump OFF a bridge, Dive through some glass
Window pane in your hand
Jump off a roof, over the wall
Cut a hole in the roof of a tram
Hangin by your feet from the roof of a tram
Cars whizzing by your head, you slip and smash your teeth in
You smash your fucking face in
Time to leave.
Count the ridges on the keys
Beaten to a pulp on the reg
Eyes like burst plums
The ridges of a pineapple for the back of the head
You can barely stand
The screech of burst ear drums
You can barely stand
With shattered shins and busted knees
Gone to Gowings
You’ve gotta get out of this place
If it’s the last thing we ever do
It’s time to leave
Grab the wardens keys
|
||||
8. |
It's So Easy
02:55
|
|||
|
It’s easy when you’re got the funds it seems that way to me
Work my fingers to the bone for seven days a week
It’s easy when the silver spoon is placed in your mouth
Your parents do the aeroplane until you spit the food out
It’s so easy
Not for me
You’ll never have the feeling where you’ve got nowhere to go
You’ve never had the feeling when depression has overflowed
And spilt out on the floor and then it rises to your head
You spend the whole day wishing that you’d never left your bed
It doesn’t seem fair
Makes me scared
That no one cares
You’re worried about the rising rates and the future of your funds
You’re worried about anything that affects number one
In your European car you are part of the elite
While families of five or more are sleeping on the streets
It’s so easy
Not for me
It makes you think
Drives you to the drink
It’s so easy
|
||||
9. |
Another Uniform
02:24
|
|||
|
You wake up every morning and spray paint on the walls
Reciting to yourself in a slow and steady drawl
That you’re an individual and award yourself the crown
Step in front of the mirror and give yourself a frown
The studs on your jacket replaced the chain on the wallet
In 2003 you would have listened to lostprophets
You’re more of a goose than a gander,a shelf without a bracket
At the end of the day, you’re just another jock in a jacket
Fuck the kids, Stuff the scene
Living in a magazine
45 year olds with guitars
living out a teenage dream
with a face like a robber’s dog
Ugly as a hat full of arseholes
|
||||
10. |
Medical Treatment
03:07
|
|||
|
Staying in your bed all of the day and all the night
Feeling in your head that something is not right
Your throat is closing up and sweat is pouring down your face
As you approach your final day
Every time you look at me with sunken, jaundiced eyes
I get the feeling in my guts that yours devitalize
Suck the life from your soul and make your skin turn grey
As you approach your final day
Bloodshot alcoholic eyes is what you’re looking through
Bloodshot alcoholic eyes is how the world sees you
How the world sees you
You - death’s coming after you
Your shallow, wheezing breath barely goes past your tongue
Your stomach acid’s are rising up to the bottom of your lungs
Your green brown, 3D breath appears with every whisper you say
As you approach your final day
In the morning - your back is straighter than a line
By midday - scoliosis, twisted, jagged spine
In the arvo - You’re starting to decay
By nightfall - You realise that it is your final day
Death is coming after you
Coming after you
|
||||
Alien Nosejob VIC, Australia
bedroom recorder from Australia. No specific genre.
If you like Alien Nosejob, you may also like:
supported by 25 fans who also own “Turns the Colour of Bad Shit”
an antidote for the endless ai beatles hype
go to album
Hunger for a Way Out
by Sweeping Promises
supported by 21 fans who also own “Turns the Colour of Bad Shit”
The vocals in "cross me out" are other-worldly
go to album
Goodnight Neanderthal
by GEE TEE
supported by 20 fans who also own “Turns the Colour of Bad Shit”
GT > Traveling Wilburys
go to albumRising Austrian band compliment phased-out garage rock shredding with eccentric synths and lo-fi drum loops.
go to albumA massive compilation of Washington DC duo Teen Mortgage's fuzzed out, propulsive garage punk singles and EPs.
go to albumTight, funny, and politically pointed country-inflected punk jams from Los Angeles.
go to albumsupported by 19 fans who also own “Turns the Colour of Bad Shit”
I was recently introduced to the Judges thanks to a post on instagram by one of the guys from Pelican. I have not been this excited for a band since seeing the Parquet Courts for the first time. I’m stoked.
go to album