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Fact

by Feral Hunks

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1.
Genetic mutations rot in stomachs from the factory lines / animal prison execution will block the bowels in time / rows and rows of plastic commodities will corrupt your mind / excess consumption aides in death but still is not a crime / a faceless market won't be blamed for murder and genocide / Ancient corporate burial grounds Human remains fossilized with plastic bag neckties / undersized, withered skulls house fiber-optic lines / side-by-side the neon signs protrude as bloodshot eyes / implanted deep within the ear synthetic remote device / such grotesque renovations came from devious minds Ancient corporate burial grounds All that we will be is buried in a plastic bag in the boot of an SUV / showing no signs of organic life, just merchandise machines / no connection to reality, just fucking a flickering screen / ancient corporate burial grounds is all that we will be
2.
Cars 00:56
Damn right I'm in your way! All the way all fucking day, laughing at your clumsy steel crate. Struggling to negotiate a blocked up artery, driving round and round the block for park supremacy -- the epitome of stupidity! As I fly by from A to B on my nimble single speed, 1 driver with 4 spare seats screams out of jealousy. Boxed in and backed up and paying through the teeth, the joke's on you not me -- I ride for free. Damn right I'm in your way, all the way all fucking day laughing at your clumsy steel crate.
3.
Yuppie Longboard Cellphone ringtone Radio core 8 piece sushi 24 hour city oak tree fungicide breath ciggy butt brain the main street is driving me insane
4.
Hairy Shame 04:40
I am not supposed to be skinny, white and hairy for I am supposed to be tanned, buff and shiny at least that's what the TV and the magazines are showing me
5.
Fuckin H8rd 01:24
Open the lines of hatred let those synapses fire stain the ECG red Shake that cranium – make it hurt. Crush the eye sockets under my iron belted brow turn my skin grey with fuckin' hatred Led weights pull my lips walking the streets grinding down my molars with fuckin' hatred Stuff my ears with felt Mute the world outside and stab my memories with fuckin' hatred Fantastic films roll in my head of triumph, victory and the words I never said in fuckin' hatred
6.
Radiation leaks and floats on the wind Across the sea, and in front of me Rubbish clings to black winter tree limbs Behind the hills' silhouette, the sun sinks It burns. It burns. It burns Yellow rain falls on sunken iron roofs Seeping through clothes; sinking into skin It burns. It burns. It burns Caricature no, conjecture no, Facts alone What's the weather going to bring? It's four generations' future told they will be mutants, they will grow new limbs they will piss in tubes and shit in bags they will spend their days in wheelchairs their parents will outlive their children Their children will burn. Their land will burn
7.
When the lads are in are in our suits, we dominate the footpath space. When we're out on the booze, we always get our way. Like soldiers dripping out of a UNIMOG, our unified appearance white washes you all. Me and the Chads are going hunting for pussy, dressed up in ladies Sunday best We are the thug-youth wing of the Hawks. We are the long, bling clad, arm of the law. My generalisations are just and come from a grounded place. I've discussed them thoroughly with my family and work mates. I feel entitled to explain the opinions of all drivers because I'm 45 and have a license and I can safely say, being male, that every guy on earth likes chasing tail. Our gang is the punks! our gang is the Chads! Our gang is our school! Our gang is the moms! Our gang is the troops!
8.
Nostadium 02:54
To Spend the Days of an Easy Life Asleep Build the tower of a dream, it's a viscous scene On a square of turf gladiators clash while the owners kiss on a pile of cash A culture of victory, a culture of loss needs to capture golden trinkets at any cost The idol's head was squashed into the dirt Retribution!! Revenge and victory played to a patriotic symphony Symphony's funny here like a phony symphony, or forgotten sympathy life's reduced to a game in this sickest tragedy. A simple game with simple rules produces the necessary metaphors For the easy life in which we sleep all day and awaken in the weekend to watch professionals play Stadium! I call you, Theatre of Distraction Hegemonic Construction Monument to Destruction And above all, A steaming pile of shit on the face of the earth, A money making scam for Malcom Farry The Farry friends And other scummy fucks who'd be better off dead.
9.
Tern Away 04:55
Tern Lost Under the pewter surface, the sea is a rich mystery for sure we don't know the nutrient sum of the great sunder. sword fish, ray and marlin slicing through the sun is the gannet's beak cutting loose the tale of blue fin krill pumps, wheezing before moonlit baleen lifeless, white coral reefs are the starving grimace of Oceania Yargh! Counting down to bounty's end from infinity and centuries to decades and days Coconut crabs make fine entrées for whale and wasabi mayonnaise. The sparkling jewels of the sea's glare will soon be the only fare for the deeps have been scoured free of life and crystal clear. Nothing will escape our nets. Nothing can escape our mighty gaff. Flayed white bodies still signify life; our epicurean bellies must be satisfied. The port tolls billion-tonne bells as we harvest the sea floor to gorge ourselves. The Caspian is greener than ever before; it's currents have swung to the north, the pressure rises with the water; our boats moor high above the jetty boards. The villagers sing of fish no more, no more
10.
Queen's Mug 02:25
Her head is detached from her body but not spiked on the palace gates it's burning a hole in my pocket from the purchase that I just made a nice reminder to me of the bodies piled up on the land that was cleared and claimed, an army, a fucking flag, an inbred imperial brain Orchestrated speech for TV not begging for forgiveness, not a guilty plea... "Merry fucking Christmas. Thank you for your obedience, cheers for all your money, thank you for not forgetting us. So here's to death for prosperity and more wealth for my rich family, without you... we would not exist" will we have her head, or burn the flag instead ignoring them doesn't work, and waving flags just makes it worse Celebrity status grand baby's mainstream the regime fight for the nation, fuck for the nation in a glossy magazine a fairytale tabloid porno for the patriots and the regal fanatics and the whities with no other dreams will we have her head, or burn the flag instead ignoring them doesn't work, and waving flags just makes it worse

about

Limited Edition CD: FACT

Hand bound, reconstituted tree CD case with real colour artwork by Gillems Manifold. Includes poster and lyrics sheet.

This is the magnum opus from intellectual welterweights, the Feral Hunks. In their head-first venture to the darkest pit of their own bodies, it captures in sepia toned memoirs the daily grind of Dunedin.
credits

credits

released January 1, 2013

Groundskeeper Gillies (Drum/Vocals)
Migellen Fruit (Axe/Vocals)
Robin Steal (Bass/Vocals)
Mixed and mastered by Kerrian Verrain

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feral hunks Dunedin, New Zealand

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