Skatenigs

Skatenigs

making life livable

Loud is an attitude, not a sound

Words ain't nothin', unless you got something to say
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As immaturity may be a result of certain chemical imbalances
so may the friggin’ Skatenigs, flick the trigger on the sucker
squealing studs of puddness,
they sing stuck in a rut in pig pog land
they share rigs with grave diggers,
worry about death when its done come and gone,
you buy their records and they’ll piss on your momma’s best collectables.
they beat their rancid meat and expect you to pay the check
they ream the beef of bad backstage girls
redundant in new wave black
up the butt, snuck, stuck, mucked-up, sucked
I’d eat baboon bowel before I’d bite on their juvenile, penile pole projections
they casually, smashingly refer to as “my dick”
Infected, rejected, afflicted, mal-addicted, boa constrictive
if immaturity is a indeed a certain result of chemical imbalances,
then these guys are on a permanent, Ammaco overload.
Crawling through maggot breath, yeehaaaaaw
boys with latex toys,
if buttholes were peepshows then the Nigs are the window to the soul
of this fucking ridiculous world
Banality’s got nothin’ on these boys
enough to sign royalty checks,
the forged signitaure
the toilet swipe,
the mega-acid smile
the glitch in the universal way

yeah…
a real boss abortion to brag about at your next barbecue.

– Lorri Jackson (r.i.p.) and Phil Owen (Chemical Imbalance)