Whomp

by Kid Macho

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03:43

credits

released June 19, 2017

Written by Kid Macho (Aarick, Parker, Ian and Zack)
Produced by Peter Catalano at Rex Trax Studios.

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Kid Macho Atlanta, Georgia

Sweaty punk from Atlanta

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Track Name: Cataract City
Caught Tounge’s sentimental pleasantries given a flask of bogus smiles
a fragile regard; a mental note on the fritz
awake and pseudo catatonic in the dark of the pits.
exhume a false notion, kept coded
not gonna make it pagentry distorted
narcacaistic, lack of meaning
mapping out the architecture of a fleeting joke

sweat pours like niagra falls inside
I can’t contain it.
on second thought I’m fine
(you just gotta give me a second)

A Sideways-shifted self expires
as merely just a means to an end
of an end of an ending
I can’t condone this addiction to forgetting

Staleness fractures what transpires,
nourishing a need to pretend,
don’t pretend, stop pretending
distractions counteract a shitty ending

Lesson learned you’ve gotta lick the dirt
to get a taste of what it takes to crash and burn
I’ve been living with parasites
Depleted limbs, half-enabled, will not suffice.

sweat pours like niagra falls inside
I can’t contain it.
obviously I'm not fine

A Sideways-shifted self expires
as merely just a means to an end
of an end of an ending
I can’t condone this addiction to forgetting

Staleness fractures what transpires,
nourishing a need to pretend
don’t pretend stop pretending
distractions counteract a shitty ending
Track Name: Dance Dance Dance
I’ve burned you’re greatest hits on a CD
I’ve even got B-sides on mp3

I’ve got to find a way to mop up that spit take;
cut ties, go limp, die, respawn and then rehydrate
thoughts so intensive get so expensive
lucid inside a fake colossus of my own invention

It’s breaking quite the sweat

Color yourself contrived and blacksmith your vibe
so little patience left for what’s left inside
front stretches far, but I’m fading farther
Tough shit, your common sense exempt from fact
knocks your old self back; a sense of misplaced splendor

I’ve burned you’re greatest hits on a CD
I’ve even got B-sides on mp3

Belongings taken, tensions break and nothing can sustain it
Return to sender; then turn to cinder
Escaping from evaporating sense of self exclaiming
“Scapegoat Merchant!”

It’s boring me to death

Color yourself contrived and blacksmith your vibe
so little patience left for what’s left inside
front stretches far, but I’m fading farther
Tough shit, your common sense exempt from fact
knocks your old self back; a sense of misplaced splendor
Track Name: Bygones
You came attached to the teeth of badgers
And lit a book of matches in a time when the air was thick with fragrant gasoline
Give in abrupt; epitaph abrasive;
a shallow sense of stasis in a state of cynic malcontent disrupting sleep.
I’m still intact, are you still intact?
If not, look’s like we’re never gonna clear that drag
before karma renders you one-eye less photogenic

I must admit the consequences never bothered me; incendiary exacerbation
in conversation, I dissect the world in front of me; incentive to chase hallucinations

cracks in the infrastructure

Patience you foster is at the cost of drenching the matches
high rise of arson

Pack up a grip and default to fuck off
spilling guts; information hemorrhage
stunted growth of self (not this again)
your so tough when you speak
strike a crutch; such massive fuck up
let the muse ridding your belly of all sanctuary and contentment
nurse your sadder state

I must admit the consequences never bothered me; incendiary exacerbation
in conversation, I dissect the world in front of me; incentive to chase hallucinations

Cracks in the infrastructure

patience you foster
is at the cost of
drenching the matches
high rise of arson