METH

by Perverts

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1.
2.
03:50
3.
02:44
4.
5.
6.
01:43
7.

credits

released October 27, 2015

Bass Guitar / Vocals - Dylan Nash
Drums / Vocals - Jason Hamill

Addition vocals on tracks 1, 4, 7 provided by Justin Bruce

Engineered and mixed by Brodie Mohninger
at Blue Door and Labour Love studios. Regina SK.
Mastered by Stu Mckillop at Rain City Recorders, Vancouver BC.

All songs written and performed by Perverts.

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Perverts Saskatchewan

Music for people with low expectations.

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Track Name: Sister Sludge
You said that you'd never leave, but we lost touch after season 3.
I spent the next four weeks sorting through your old dvds.
Friends don't let friends hate friends, friends watch friends til season 10.
I'll always mourn to loss of Matt LeBlanc and Courtney Cox.

Friends don't let friends hate friends, no sleep til season 10.

The one where the stripper cries, the one where old yeller dies.
The one with the jelly fish and the one where Rachel quits.
Although you're at your end, I'm still so glad we met.
If we need someone to blame, blame that fuck wit David Crane.

It's always like we're stuck in second gear, and it hasn't
been your day, your week, your month or even your year.
Track Name: Coultergiest
I couldn't tell if I was sleeping or selling my dreams for drinking.
Covered up in blanket statements, can never tell when I am awake.

So pull off the sheets and wake up on public transit.
I'll never be much of anything.

I couldn't tell if I was late, I must have taken a wrong turn along the way,
The only things left are masterbation, gold chains and real estate.

We all are vacant, we are all forfeitures, let father J.P Morgan erect his church. So save your receipts, bring them all down to me. Save your receipts nothing here is free.

Thank first world economies, fake first world economies.

People don't bleed currency, money is the new kind of morphine.
I'll never be much of anything.

Take all your receipts, bring them all down to me.
save your receipts, nothing here is free.

Take all you've known, they'll be ashes on my mantel.
All that you've learned, are cigarettes inside this urn.

Fake first world economies, always make a fool of me.
Fake fist world economies, and i was always asleep.

So pull off the sheets and wake up on public transit. I'll never been much of anything.

People don't bleed currency, but the devil don't work for free.
Track Name: Swank Bank
I worked hard all goddamn week. Go home and check my social networks to prove my net worth and seem more interesting.

I wanna live on a fucking beach, with Hilary Swank laying next to me. A couple more drinks and I'll see the million dollar baby's unconventional beauty.

Their souls are empty.
Just like my bank accounts.

So let's pull off a heist, rob a dead beat fuck with a desperate housewife.

I'll have more stacks than slayer live.

I'll feel whole in the hole I've dug.

Agnostic children, sit row by row.
We call this living and stare at our phones.

I know I'm a failure, and that's quite alright with me. My million dollar baby loves me.

I know I'm a Fuck up, but that's what I was built to be. no beauty in plastic bodies.

And I'll always get by, one pay cheque at a time.

I wanna live on a fucking beach man.
Track Name: Russian Circles
One hundred Beers, short of a shoe bitch
take back your shit and give me back my timberlands.
Black out your tats, listen to Old Towns
black out your tats and pass out in the Van

Back to Red Deer, back to Steel Wheels, back to Erik's house.

Assemble the beeramid, lets build.
A beeramid, with one hundred beers.

Theres nothing gay about five dudes naked in a hot tub.
Take off your fucking shorts.
Listen to prom night in black and white, and play some
bass in palms to the sky.

One hundred beers *repeat*

Go back to Erik's house, lets go back to Erik's house.
Track Name: Gutter Sludge
I've been better, when I was sicker.
Wouldn't be so bitter if I was thinner.

these empty pockets will take me far from here, new empty promise I'll make every year.

We were born in ash trays, then we learned to walk.
Been breathing smoke for months now, i'll leave my life to rot.

I guess lovin' is what I got, I'd be lying if I said I had a lot.

So sell me out.

Sell your soul for back tracks and stage moves
Trade your mind for your merch and your tattoos.
If your bands full fucking name is pro tools, then I'll pack up my shit.
Track Name: Aubergene Simons
We the sons of poverty, sleep at Hastings and Cambie
yeah we'll just make the ends meet, marry daughters of wall street
I think that all that I need is money to make me happy
I think that all I need is more credit

We need some money, so buy some CD's.
Someday eventually, those ladies will talk to me
Don't hold your breath, learn to breathe in your sea of debt.

We'd all love a loan
just to live alone
I'd really love a loan
just to live alone.

We need more money, to join scientology
they won't even talk to me until they see my pay stubs

So fucking sue me.
Trump 2016
I'm pinching penies, til I'm wealthy

We'd all love a loan
just to live alone.

We the sons of poverty, sleep at Hastings and Cambie.

We need more money, to make Hilary Swank want me.
She'd make me happy and I'd do her laundry
all the time.