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Masters of The Hunt

by Shoe City Records

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1.
You come to the shows You practice the prose You act like you know But you can't hide all the holes You're just a jock, in punks clothes You're just a jock, in punks clothes Where is the unity? It wont start with you and me I'm busy shaking my head from all the bullshit I see I know inside your just a tourist Thats all you'll ever be, I wont hold back if you try to test me Don't try to shake my hand and act like a man You're just another of lifes creatures I'll never understand I've seen you around, it doesn't mean shit I've seen you around, it doesn't mean your legit Tourist I've seen you around, it doesn't mean shit I've seen you around, it doesn't mean your legit I've seen you around, it doesn't mean shit I've seen you around, it doesn't mean your legit You're shit just quit you fucking tourist Straw Dogs
2.
When Ronald Reagan comes around He brings the fascists to your town You think its cool to be a jock We get beat up by the cops Fist Fight Fist Fight Fist Fight Fist Fight in the parking lot I guess my minds all mest up But isn't a result of going to your school, being a part of your system, and follow your orders. I guess you want me to put on a suit and tie and eat a happy meal I guess you want me to have 2.5 children and have a white picket fence I got a better idea, why don't I kick in your window with my boot? You get all the Alexander Haig You get all that Ed Mease It's time for a Fist Fight Fist Fight Fist Fight Fist Fight in the parking lot
3.
Barbaric means of domination. Muffled cries of pure desperation. Murder fiend, tortures extreme—Kill. Six feet under, you can’t hear their screams. Fading fast. Lungs gasp. Hands bound. Heart pounds. Blood-soaked and chained, your body maimed. Sadistic thoughts that can’t be contained. Forced to shovel your tomb, faced with imminent doom. Mangled body, never to exhume. Watching as the lid falls, your skin crawls. Scratching at these coffin walls. Coffin walls. Coffin walls. Awaken in my crypt of torment. Trapped in pure malevolence. Warm blood rush, panic intense. Devoured by the maggots. Convulsing in claustrophobic death. Suffocation, choking for last breath. Scratching at these coffin walls.
4.
Church bells ring through the morning fog, like a dinner bell calling the hungry dogs. From their homes, the masses come crawling, never to return, the blade starts falling. Blood drenches elated faces. Macabre display for all the ages. Squalid crowds of the necro-lusting, cheering for death, so disgusting. Kneel down—in the Guillotine. Face down—in the Guillotine. Single file, the damned wait to die. Black hoods conceal the tears in their eyes. Men without morals begging for solace. What was once man, now a headless carcass. Winds blows cold, you can see their final breath. Beheaded, by the axe-of-death. Kneel down—in the Guillotine. Face down—in the Guillotine. The last head falls yet they still scream for more. Intoxicated by this orgy of gore. Your body writhes as the nerve ends die. Decapitated for the crimes you deny.

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released November 21, 2012

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